Page 52 of Seductive Reprise
She approached the collection of oils on the wall, considering each one with a long, stern glance. The paintings were fair whenjudged on their skill and technique, but when weighed as pieces of art, they were sorely lacking.
And although Rose did not speak, he could tell she agreed. After each silent examination she frowned and moved on to the next, bringing Yusef along with her, her grip tightening on his arm. Finally they approached the triptych.
“Ah! Rose!” Mr. Gall called out from the other side of the large work, cutting across the group of viewers before it. “I didn’t think you’d come!”
Yusef narrowed his eyes at the man’s familiarity. He’d pegged the artist as a buffoon from across the room, but now he saw him for what he truly must be: someone more than the mere acquaintance Rose had dismissed him as. A disquiet settled upon him, deepening when Rose broke away to accept the man’s greeting, allowing his grasp on both of her wrists, albeit briefly.
A murderous jealousy exploded within Yusef, and he set both hands carefully atop his walking stick before him, lest he do something humiliating like Mr. Gall’s older female companion, who placed a possessive hand on the artist’s shoulder.
“Oh! My apologies. Where are my manners?” Mr. Gall laughed, shaking his head. “Mrs. Ludwina Upson, this is Miss Verdier. She’s a fellow artist, and a smashing good one, too.”
Mrs. Upson nodded at Rose, her smile strained as she appraised her.
“You look…” Mr. Gall considered Rose as well, his eyes moving up and down. “Different. Well. You look well.” He swallowed, then looked at Yusef for the first time, and his brows knit in confusion.
Yusef did not smile, nor did he move to make himself known. He held still, hands atop his stick, holding the lesser man’s gaze. Finally, he looked lazily to Rose, who had returned to his side.
“Mr. Gall, Mrs. Upson, this is Mr. Joseph Palgrave.” She laced her arm through his with a girlish laugh, her fingertips dancing against him in a flirtatious manner.
Fuck.Suddenly everything became clear to him, harsh and ugly.
“Mr. Palgrave?” Mrs. Upson said, staring at him. “Of the Deaton-Palgraves?”
He could practically see her mind’s eye riffling through the pages ofDebrett’s.
“Yes,” Rose answered for him. “One and the same.” Again she smiled, a coy, closed-mouth expression that he’d never seen on her before. Hang it all, it stung.
Mrs. Upson squinted at him, trying to make him out as if he were one of the paintings on display.
“Are you quite sure? The Deaton-Palgraves of Cheshire? Flixton Hall?” She tapped her chin with one finger. “I don’t recall His Grace being so…dark.”
Yusef felt Rose stiffen next to him. A lifetime of memories descended upon him, passing through him like a frigid blast of wind. Instead of immediately responding, Yusef pinned Mrs. Upson with a stare, a well-practiced expression ferocious in its cold intensity. He allowed the time to stretch out uncomfortably, enjoying the delicious silence amid the conversations happening around them, the other attendees chatting and laughing, oblivious to the slight that had just been done him.
Mrs. Upson’s resolve wavered as the moments passed. Yusef fancied he could mark the exact instant she realized that she’d misstepped.
Mr. Gall looked as though he’d eaten something very unpleasant.
Yusef wouldn’t even look at Rose alongside him in her ridiculous ensemble, which he’d wrongly assumed had been purchased new, for him. He knew everything now. Why shemasqueraded as a blushing milkmaid from a hundred-year-old painting. Why she’d asked him to accompany her here. A dagger of pain slashed across him; he would have doubled over were he not of excellent breeding. Whether it was from rage or hurt, he didn’t care to examine. Rather than dwell on it, he reinforced his defenses.
“His Grace?” He drew the words out, coming as close to a sneer as he dared. “My good woman, I don’t believe I have had the privilege of your acquaintance before.” He paused to give Mr. Gall a deathly glare. The flustered man at least had the good sense to look away. Yusef looked back to Mrs. Upson, and added in an absentminded tone, “Nor has my father, the Duke of Marbury.” He looked over the ridiculous pair once more, the boringly built artist and his striving patroness who now writhed in discomfort. Yusef reached into his pocket to extract his watch and marked the time. “I’ll bid you good evening,” he drawled, repocketing the watch before turning away.
He took Rose along with him as he put distance between himself and the artist and his patroness. He could feel her fingers digging into his arm, but he didn’t want to consider why. Not now, not here.
“Wait!” Mr. Gall chased after them, closing the distance quickly with long strides. He looked to Rose, his face full of hope. “You didn’t say what you thought.”
“Oh,” she managed, and bit her lower lip in consternation. “It was…”
Yusef couldn’t bear it anymore. The whole thing was farcical.
“I think that says quite enough,” he said, forcing the pair’s attention to him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Gall?”
The other man reddened and took a step back.
“Y-yes. Of course,” he stammered as he continued to walk backward. He ducked his head, lifting one hand in a half-hearted wave. “Goodbye Ro—Miss Verdier.”
Yusef placed a hand over Rose’s and escorted her out.
Chapter Eighteen
