Page 63 of Seductive Reprise
Mann nodded.
“And send someone out to fetch a suit of ladies’ clothes.”
“Ladies’ clothes, sir?” Mann asked. “At this hour?”
“Yes. Undergarments as well.”
“Measurements, sir?”
Yusef waved a hand. “Have Mrs. Simonds select a maid with a skilled needle. The lady is tall and slim. It’ll sort.”
Mann nodded once more, then set off to his task.
Satisfied, Yusef returned inside, shutting the door gently behind him. No doubt Mrs. Simonds will have thought he’d lost his senses, but he didn’t worry. His staff were the best, and they were compensated accordingly. At an even higher rate than his father’s household, of that he’d made sure.
Rose was perched on the edge of the bed, one arm holding the bedlinens loosely against herself, the other holding the framed photograph he’d kept on the nightstand—the one of him as a youth, donning his newly obtained togs for Eton, dwarfed by his tails and hat.
“I’ve sent someone to find a replacement for your garments.”
Rose ignored that, tracing a finger over the glass of the picture. That damnable tightness seized his chest again. Frowning, he set the tray down.
“What will you do now that you’ve ceased your opium dealings?” she asked.
He sat down on a couch and poured himself a cup of tea. “I’m exploring my options. Nothing’s piqued my interest.”
His eyes widened as a nude Rose got up and crossed the room to his closet.
“May I?” she asked tentatively, one arm held across her breast in false modesty.
He couldn’t help the curl of his lip. “If you must.”
It was only a minute or so before she emerged, clad in a simple banyan made of a rich, chestnut-colored silk that accented her hair quite nicely. He nearly forgot himself, nearly told her how he wanted to see her in his dressing gowns every morning from now until forever. But he maintained his cool façade, and extended an arm toward the tea tray.
“Eat, please. I’d assume you would be famished after such an evening.”
She raised an eyebrow and sat down on a chair across from him, reaching for the silver cloche on the tray between them. Then she returned to her previous question, this time getting to the heart of what she truly wanted to know.
“Do you think you’d leave England again?” she asked, not meeting his eyes as she scanned the offerings of cold cuts, smoked fish, and potatoes.
He cleared his throat. “Possibly.”Only if you’ll accompany me.
“What do you think your father would say? If you left?”
Yusef paused, not liking this introduction of the duke into their conversation. She took a fork and speared a bit of fish directly off the tray. When she popped it into her mouth, her eyes closed, her face the picture of bliss as she chewed. All over a bite of herring.
“Surely nothing,” he finally responded.
“Really?” Still she avoided his gaze, reaching for the tea and pouring herself a cup. She then loaded it with not two, not three, but four sugars.
He couldn’t help but smile.
“I wonder…” she started, slowly stirring her spoon, clacking it clumsily against the fine porcelain, “what he might think about, well… you and I.”
“You think I put stock in my father’s opinion?”
“It’s not an unreasonable assumption.”
“On whom I bed?”
