Page 33 of Dearest Beast
Hopefully her friend was not inconvenienced. She had guests of her own and a husband to tend and didn’t need to be bothered with such nonsense. Caring for Rebecca was not Isabelle’s role in their relationship—Rebecca washerconfidante. A damned good one.
Flopping on the admittedly comfortable pillow, she retook her new spectacles. A rather decent pair, actually.
Though the dratted man really hadn’t needed to deliver them himself. Lopez would’ve sufficed. Especially as he’d come while the dressmaker was pinning the muslin for her gowns, and she’d been less than properly attired to say the least.
She swallowed, recalling the sensation his mere voice had stirred in her traitorous core. How her body had heated and tightened ashe’d appeared in the threshold, absurdly handsome in his simple but perfectly cut—not that she cared about such things; she just was an observant person—coat stretching across his chest as he contemplated her.
The memory of the Lira library, when those cool, assessing eyes alighted with heat as he bunched her skirts over her waist and—
What was wrong with her? Not merely her obstreperous mind, but her behavior? For example, the night in the hothouse, had she truly… flirted… with Berab? She’d not intended to engage in anything of the sort—the opposite, in fact—but that appeared to be the most accurate description of their encounter. She hadn’t planned for a conversation when she’d found him.
But there had been something, once again, about how he looked, not merely jacketless but without his cravat, wearing only braces and trousers, as if he was a regular person, bent over his plants, tending to them. It had sparked something inside her. Something she’d not known existed.
Something reckless she needed to quash before it not only made the next few weeks worse, but, if reported outside the house, could humiliate her for all times. If wearing a gown too fine for her person was laughable, imagine what people would say if she was believed to be mooning over a man who’d engaged only with people like his first wife.
And Isabelle.
For while she adored her friend, she was not her equal and would never be.
Fortunately, the man had then treated her like, well, a guest, the next day, and the day after, and so forth…
Not that she’d seen much of him. Each day, he’d eaten before she arrived in the dining room, the only evidence of his presence severalprettily crafted notes containing excuses regarding business and appropriately worded but empty regrets.
A preferable situation, truly.
Matters were much more comfortable without him hanging about.
Besides, privacy was better for healing. Thus, declining both the invitation to attend Shabbos dinner at his brother’s home and to join the servants for their meal in favor of lighting candles alone had also been a prudent course of action. Especially given how pleased Maduro had been when he’d visited the prior day. He’d even promised that if she continued caring for herself, she’d be able to remove the sling within a week.
Yes, the more she rested now, the quicker she’d heal and be able to return to her old life. That and making good use of the temporary workspace that had been created for her in a corner of the kitchens.
Not an ideal location. But it would do.
Rebecca closed her eyes once more, willing sleep and the new day to come.
And yet, after another what seemed like thirty minutes but was a mere three, according to the clock on the mantel, she kicked off the covers and shuffled through the books on the small shelf above the mantel.
Read, read, read, read twice, read… Rebecca sighed.
Time to seek out this allegedly wondrous library the staff mentioned. Doubtful, considering she’d never seen Berab read anything but correspondence and the gentile scandal sheets, but acquisition of books was fashionable even among the barely literate, and it seemed someone in the household knew of a decent dealer, so there was hope.
Slipping her new spectacles back on her nose, she wandered to the wardrobe and pulled out a dressing gown. She slid her good armthrough one of the sleeves and pulled the shoulder over her bad side, securing it with as many buttons as she could. Not particularly elegant, despite the material, but it would have to do.
Besides, she only intended to find the library, snatch a book, and return to bed.
At least that was what she told herself, until a faint gleam of light glimmered up the staircase from the second floor. Oy. She should go back to her chamber. But her feet did the opposite, and soon she found herself at the door of a secondary parlor, heavy on the black marble. Berab himself sat in a large chair in the center, before a roaring fire, book in one hand, glass in the other, as he had the use of both arms and the fortune of not requiring assistance for his eyes.
Once again wearing only trousers and a shirt.
“On a nocturnal stroll, Miss Adler?” he asked, closing the volume.
“I sat too much earlier,” she said, glancing at the spine of the book as he placed it on the table on top of a series of papers.Debrett’s.Was this what the man did in his spare time? Memorize the ranks and lineage of the ton so he could better perform at their functions? How absolutely boring. No wonder he took to gardening.
A reminder of how ill-suited they were for each other beyond the bedroom. Though truly, how different could he possibly be from another man of similar experience and energy? After all, sexual pleasure was merely a matter of applied maneuvers and stimuli—the execution, not the participants, drove the results. Not that she needed a man or any sort of partner. In any way. She was fine on her own.
“Not enough physical exertion for you these days?” He leaned back in his chair.
Was his mind in the same naughty place as hers?
