Page 72 of Seductive Reprise
He paused as he came upon Trafalgar Square, his eyes scanning the pavement, as well as every female face that wasn’t obscured by a hat or bonnet. No one there possessed her gait and her height. Nor her gleaming, gorgeous hair. The hiss of the streetlamps was barely audible against the din of the people, horses, and vehicles passing through the square—carts rattling, drivers shouting, pedestrians calling after one another. Setting his jaw, he picked his way through the tangle of humanity, ignoring the curses from drivers he either cut off or briefly approached head-on in an attempt to overtake a slowerconveyance on his side of the road. It was dark, and he began to fear he wouldn’t spot her, or that he’d passed her completely. Perhaps she’d already boarded a train out of the city by now.
As he approached Lambeth Bridge, he cursed. The entire street was blocked, with hackney coaches, buses, and carriages nearly grating against one another as they came to a dead halt. There was no way around it. Yusef craned his neck, desperate to spot Rose along Market Street. There were crowds further up, encircling a tight clutch of overlapping vehicles. He couldn’t see a blasted thing.
Impatience overtook him, and he guided Socrates to the edge of the road, nearly on the pavement.
“I say,” he called out to a policeman standing in the midst of it all. “What’s happened?”
The man responded with an irritated glance, then did a double-take, the quality of Yusef’s horse and dress obviously registering.
“There’s been an accident, sir. Felled horse.” He spoke with an edge to his voice, as if he resented Yusef his social station.
“And?” Yusef said, doing his best to ignore the man’s cheek and not shout. Socrates whuffed under him, and he placed a gentle hand on the horse’s neck.
The policeman shrugged, as if he’d be damned if he knew what was to be done. “It’s been over an hour, sir.”
Yusef drew in a breath, cursing silently. His patience was wearing thin. “Yes,and?” When no reply was forthcoming, Yusef persisted, his jaw clenched. “What of the horse, man? Has anyone thought to move it?”
The policeman sighed, and reached down to hitch up his trousers. “Several men working at it, sir.”
Yusef now cursed aloud, his eyes searching the chaos. Rose could’ve walked by at any moment and he might’ve missed her.
Finally, he came to a decision. He dismounted, then stomped over to the policeman, holding out the reins.
“Watch my mount,” he demanded, and stripped off his coat. He was desperate at this point. Desperate enough to lower himself to performing physical labor. He tossed the coat over the saddle, then handed his hat to the policeman, who stared at him, slack-jawed.
“I’ll not be long,” he said, rolling up his sleeves.
And into the fray he went.
Rose crossed the tollbooth at the end of Lambeth Bridge, wondering at how it might feel to not have to begrudge every tax, fee, and toll.
That she would very much enjoy.
But then she weighed it against the worry that she’d never be herself, but some idler named Rose Driffield. And that terrified her, as she imagined a gaping hole to the unknown opening before her.
What was actually happening before her, though, was some sort of traffic accident. Throngs of passersby were gathered in the middle of the road, while vehicles of all sorts sat still. They were all at sixes and sevens with one another in what had likely been a failed attempt to circumnavigate the snag.
Rose tightened her grip on the leather bag holding the finished canvas of Walter. One never knew, in crowds like these. Then she approached the commotion, forgetting the haste with which she’d left her home in an attempt to reach the Hartleys’ at a decent hour, for she’d meant to leave for Worcestershire on the earliest train tomorrow. But everyone, even Rose, possessed an innate curiosity about traffic mishaps.
She could hear men shouting as she got closer.
“What’s going on?” she asked a woman next to her, who had tired shadows under her eyes and held her brown shawl tightly around her bony shoulders. The woman looked Rose over before answering, “Felled horse. They’ve been trying, bless them.”
Rose nodded her thanks. When she saw the woman mark her leather bag, she held it closer and slid between two large men, working her way to the front.
“Off your knees, man! Squat!”
The scene was loud and chaotic, but she thought she heard a familiar voice.
“That’s it! Now go around and get on that side…”
Could that be—
She rounded another group of bystanders and saw.
A draught horse was down, and at its back were five men. Including Yusef. The scene slowed before her, like a dream.
“On my count—” Yusef called out, looking to his right and left, his dark hair falling in his face. He was in shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows. Muck and mud streaked across his forearms, his trousers.
