Page 66 of Seductive Reprise
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the early morning,as the darkness gave way to only the faintest suggestion of light, Rose stirred, warm and happy.
And starving.
She ought to have eaten more of their late dinner, but the siren song of that bath had been too much to resist. And by the time she’d dried off, she’d been too preoccupied with Yusef, and making love to him again—slower and more decadent this time—until they finally fell asleep.
She propped herself up with one arm, relishing the cool slide of the sheets over her nude body. They felt so decadent compared to the extensively mended tatters that made up her own pathetic bedlinens. Stifling a groan, she ran her fingers along the bed, smoothing it out. Lovely. Was this to be another luxury she couldn’t bear to do without? At this rate she’d be taking her allowance from the Earl of Ipsley on a monthly basis.
The thought sobered her, and she glanced over her shoulder, searching.
For Yusef. A small smile teased at her lips, recalling how he’d asked—no,demanded—she call him that. Her body tightened atthe memory of him, bare-chested, his eyes dangerously intense. He wasn’t alongside her now, but the sheets were mussed. She reached out to place a hand upon them. Still warm. He mustn’t have gone far.
Restless, she got up from the bed.
The lamps were burning, albeit low, another clue that he’d already roused. She wandered over to the armchair littered with her effects, eyeing the remains of her shredded chemise on the floor, bunched up and filthy. A total loss. She sighed and stepped over it.
Glancing up, she caught her reflection in the massive, gilded mirror.
Her pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness, her lips swollen, her cheeks a healthy pink. Her reddish-brown hair was wavy and loose, as if she had stepped off a Rossetti canvas. She might not be thought of as beautiful by most, but still, she felt handsome. Desirable. With a low laugh, she looked away, searching for the banyan she’d worn last night. She wasn’t quite ready to dress, though she spared a happy glance at the white box, wondering what surprises it held. She fastened a couple of the loops on the robe, then paused to run her hand along the slippery silk.
Perhaps he’d buy her one of these as well, she thought dreamily.
Her hand halted. Since when did she spend others’ money so freely? Heat pricked at the back of her neck in a shameful warning. She took a deep breath.
Just because she’d taken the earl’s money, it didn’t mean she couldn’t pay it back. Yes, perhaps she’d do just that.
In a fluster, she opened the door to a small hall that led to the same lavish room she’d used for bathing last night. With wooden wainscoting and a bright white tiled floor, not only did it contain the decadent, wood-paneled tub she’d luxuriated in until the water cooled, but all the other essentials—and nonessentials—which she’d gladly made use of. After splashing her face with cool water from the polished faucet and elegant porcelain sink—not tepid, stagnant water that had been sitting in the ewer since yesterday—she felt even more humiliated at just how much she enjoyed such modern conveniences. She returned to the little hall and paused. There was another door, opposite the open one that led back to his bedchamber, which she hadn’t been through. Curiosity beckoned her to it.
Cracking the door ajar revealed a dark room with heavy, tightly drawn curtains. But the gentle light filtering in from the bedchamber was enough for her to see walls lined with bookcases and a heavy desk. Surely this was his study.
She flung the door wide and wandered in, the soft lamplight from behind her unsettlingly casting a tall, narrow shadow of her form. She headed for one of the bookshelves, eager to see what volumes he deemed worthy of surrounding himself with, when something pricked at the back of her neck, urging her to look behind her.
And although it felt odd, waltzing about someone else’s darkened home clad in nothing but their robe, Rose was not worried. This was Yusef’s domain. She was safe here.
Without hesitation, she turned around.
Then she froze.
The wall behind her contained the door leading back to his bedroom, yes, but whereas the walls in that room were sparsely decorated, this one more than made up for it. Small to medium-sized paintings were hung within inches of one another, almost papering the wall from floor to ceiling.
And she recognized them.
Her heart kicked up, her limbs abuzz, on alert. Without thinking she put a hand to her neck, clutching the half-fastened banyan’s collar together.
The paintings were hers. Every single one.
Her recent experiment, in which she’d painted the window frame of her sad little room along with its view of Mullock’s cabstand and the filthy, soggy street. An unusually small piece she’d done a couple years ago, using Ruth as a model as she embroidered one evening, barefoot. Her housemate had only allowed it on the condition that Rose change her appearance, so the subject boasted dark, curly hair as opposed to Ruth’s fine flaxen locks. There were several still lifes from her Netherlandish phase a decade ago. And from even before that, a landscape she immediately recognized as a view from a hill not far from The Bit and Bridle.
Rose drew a gasp, her other hand wavering before her lips. He had…nearly everything.
But why?
The sound of a door shutting in the adjacent room gave her a start.
“Ah, there you are,” Yusef said, appearing as a silhouette in the hallway, lit from behind. “I fetched us some breakfast.”
“What…” she started, her voice unnaturally thin and high. She took a moment and tried again, this time more assured. “What is all of this?”
