Page 54 of Seductive Reprise
Rose wandered in, her head thrown back in awe, not realizing she was circling about as she absorbed it all, trying to work out justhowthe painted sky could have such depth, and what the artist might’ve done to create the dynamic sparkling effect.Wait—were those actual crystals?She stepped back, overwhelmed with sheer delight, though unfortunately short on spatial awareness as she tripped over her own feet, and she fell backward.
Backward into Joseph’s outstretched arm. Belatedly she gasped, having anticipated a painful impact with the floor that didn’t come.
“The ceiling—” she began to explain.
“I know,” he said, a gentleness softening his face. “I can arrange a meeting with the architect, if you like. Although I suppose you’d have more questions for the painters and workmen who affixed the ‘stars.’”
“I’d like that,” she whispered, overcome with a joy at being so intimately known. Before she could delve too deep into what that meant, she righted herself; Joseph had no free hands to aid her, as his other arm was wrapped around both his walking stick and an ice bucket containing a bottle, while the hand of the arm with which he’d caught her gingerly held two cut-glass coupes.
He followed her gaze. “For old times’ sake,” he said dryly.
They ascended a massive, curving staircase with a marble balustrade that made the London mansion feel more akin to a royal palace, then wended their way down hallways that were immaculate and imposing, but blessedly empty. The whole of the world seemed to have retreated, leaving Rose alone with the man who’d once been her sole dream and desire.
When they stopped before a massive door, he gave her a conspiratorial glance and said, “My rooms,” before opening it wide to reveal a large, tasteful chamber done in dark purple, with an enormous bed against the center of the far wall. He was admitting her to his most private sanctum, opening the champagne as she ambled about, picking up enameled boxes on a dressing table, running her fingers along the bed curtains. With a sigh of relief, she kicked off her heeled slippers, immediately glad to feel steadier. The carpet underneath her feet felt so plush and heavenly she couldn’t help but wriggle her toes in the pile. She could hear the wine fizzing from across the room, the clink of the glasses as Joseph set to pouring. The walls were sparsely decorated, dotted only with brass lamps and featuring a massive mirror, allowing the rest of the rich, polished furnishings to speak for themselves.
“How long have you lived here?” she said as she picked up a small framed photograph. It depicted a boy with large, dark eyes and a solemn, steady gaze he seemed too young to have mastered already. Joseph.
“Lived? Not long. Between sojourns. I prefer my Hertfordshire property, Sarnesfield Hall.” She heard the slosh of the melting ice as he replaced the bottle in the bucket, and set the picture back down.
She felt his presence behind her before he spoke again, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “You’d prefer it as well, I’d wager.”
“Oh? And what do you do there?” Rose turned, her cheeks at full color, and accepted the coupe he offered.
“Ride.”
She choked on a laugh. “Is that it? All the money in the world and not a thing to do but… ride?” She lifted the glass, a few stray chuckles escaping her lips before she drank.
“When I’ve a willing partner I play tennis. I was quite a hand at Eton fives back in the day,” he mused. “Nowadays I prefer solitude when I’m not working. Rowing is an adequate activity.”
“And work,” she said. “You’re still pursuing… the opium trade?” The end of her question was tentative, as she was wary of setting off his aristocratic hauteur.
“Right now I find myself unoccupied.” He fiddled with his glass, then looked back to her. “With professional matters, that is,” he added huskily.
“Why did you leave? I mean, all this,” Rose gestured with her glass, accidently sloshing the golden liquid over the rim and onto her hand. “Oh,” she murmured, lifting her thumb to her mouth without thinking, unwilling to lose even a drop of the delicious wine. She flushed again when she realized how loose she was being with her manners, and took a hurried sip, this time from the glass. Her eyes met his over the rim, and her heart nearly stopped.
“Why did I leave England, you mean?”
She took another swallow and nodded. Once more she felt the hypnotic effect of his full attention—a man so self-assured of his own power and presence, a man so fine and vigorous, whohad the world at his feet. And still he stared at her from those rich, dark eyes as if she were the only woman on earth, the only thing that could slake his thirst. Once more she was a simple, unpolished girl, paralyzed by his gaze, helpless to do anything but lose her head and her heart in short order. Only tonight there was a darkness to him, an antagonism roiling just below the surface. His intense look was one of not only longing and desire, but of concealed fury, a violence of feeling.
Rose fluttered her lashes and looked back to her champagne. Had she done that, years ago? Blown up at him, torn them apart over his selfish arrogance? She drank again, deeply. She’d never believed she’d misstepped. Now, though, in his bedroom in stockinged feet, in this ridiculous dress, before his penetrating eyes, she wavered.
Perhaps the darkness she sensed was simply Joseph smarting from the presumptions and suspicions of Mrs. Upson. Rose felt a lurch of guilt in her stomach again. She shouldn’t have asked Joseph to attend the reception. It had all been a mistake—taking the earl’s money, buying these silly clothes, attempting to inspire envy in Silas. The only part of the day that hadn’t been a blunder was stepping into Joseph’s carriage and coming here. Because tonight they would have what they had both long wanted. She drank again.
“I went back home, after Oxford. To Egypt.Masr. I didn’t stay long. I suppose I was looking for what everyone seeks when they’re that age.” Joseph finally looked away from her, setting his own champagne down on a marble-topped table made of some type of fine, dark wood.
Rose noticed his glass was still full. For some reason it made her nervous. She took another sip and guessed, “Experience?”
Joseph chuckled, then removed his jacket with a sigh. “No. Belonging.” He unfastened his cufflinks, setting each onealongside his champagne coupe. They were heavy, judging by the low clink they made against the marble.
“And did you?” she whispered, not daring to speak any louder.
“No. It was no longer home for me, in the way it was before I had left,” Joseph said, looking back at her, his expression stoic and his tone hollow. He’d undone his tie, dropping it atop the cufflinks as if undressing before her were the most natural thing in the world.
Her heart thudded. Before she could speak, he continued, bending over slightly to remove a shoe.
“My Uncle Ram did his best, taking me under his wing. Making introductions. They thought perhaps I might settle into politicking.” He scoffed, dropping his shoe to the floor before reaching down to remove the second. “Unfortunately, I had no love for the limited profits of governance, nor for making concessions to the British.” He crossed the distance between them and reached for her hand.
Anticipation knotted inside her, and she wanted to fold into herself, against the ache she felt. Instead she extended her hand limply and watched him trace its lines, sending shivers down her back as he brushed against her skin. She downed the rest of her champagne, eager for the wine’s blooming warmth.
