Page 47 of Dearest Beast
“Fancy meeting you here. What, in your own house?” she continued, her lips turning up at her own quip.
“It is,” he said, properly bowing in acknowledgment. “And who might I have the honor of speaking with this evening?”
“You don’t recognize me?” she asked, those same lips turning into a coquettish though slightly pugnacious pout.
“I—” He searched his mind once more, as evidently he’d made some error. His least favorite activity.
“I jest.” The pout vanished, leaving her expression merely coy. “Last time we were formally introduced, I was wearing a mask.”
“A mask?” he asked, searching his mind for the correct occasion. Gentiles most certainly enjoyed such balls, though they were rare in their community. Except for Purim. But that had been nearly a year ago.
“At the final Lira ball,” she supplied.
Roger winced at the reminder of the occasion.
“Though I’m a touch disappointed,” she continued, prowling toward him, “as it’s been said I resemble my father greatly, and you met with him just the other week.” She raised both dark brows expectantly.
He met with her father the other week? David had no guests besides family for Shabbat, and he’d not left the house since—and his eyes widened. He should’ve seen it before. The shape of the chin, the high, wide cheeks, not to mention the set of her nose—
“Miss Teres?” he inquired, working to cover his shock.
What was his soon-to-be betrothed doing here? Now?
Roger cursed in his head. This was not what he wanted. Well, he did want her—just, he was certainly not ready. Not to meet her here. Before matters were formalized, when things could still go awry.
Not that he’d let them, but still… He swallowed.
Fortunately, the woman didn’t seem to notice. Her smile widened, revealing a small dimple on her cheek. “At your service,” she replied with another curtsy. “I hope.”
“I believe I should be at yours,” he offered, forcing himself into character. He cleared his throat. “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked.Especially at this hour?Not that he could say that out loud.
“My maid Renata is under the care of Mrs. Henriques, but given the weather and the close proximity of our homes, it was more convenient to temporarily seek Miss Adler’s assistance,” Miss Teres explained, her voice bright.
Logical. And well said, as far as excuses went. But based on her tone, it was clear her motivation was multifaceted.
The second almost certainly being to test her own satisfaction with him. Annoying, as he’d have liked some notice so he could properly prepare, but fortunately, he was quick on his feet.
“Indeed,” he told her with a deferential incline of his head. “That’s very wise.”
“We endeavor to be,” the woman said with another full, admittedly rather charming smile. And an impressive amount of poise.
“As do I,” he assured her quickly.
“Naturally, as you accepted our offer,” she teased. She traipsed toward him again and clasped her hands in front of her. “Right from the moment I met you—no, when I saw you—I knew you were perfect. For me, at least,” she told him rather earnestly.
The compliment made Roger’s skin itch. Even if it marked success.
“I’m not sure I’d describe myself thus,” he told her, rubbing the back of his neck.
“No.” Miss Teres shook her head. “You’re too modest.” Her smile turned wry. “Given the impending intimacy of our acquaintance, I pray you’ll feel more comfortable being honest with me.” She searched his face.
“Certainly,” he said quickly, a strange thrumming starting in his temples.
“This matter is quite simple, Mr. Berab,” she told him. “We’re each from good, old families who rose from the conflagration of the Inquisition to lead. We have similar traditions, backgrounds, and outlooks. And we each happen to be extraordinarily gifted in proper social comportment. Not to mention we have the style and beauty to put the same to its highest use, coupled with matching will and ambition,” she explained, counting off each attribute on her gloved fingers. “As far as I can tell, we’re each other’s only equals in the community, and thus, as I said before, you’re perfect for me. And I, in turn, am perfect for you.”
Roger stared at her. The words, her recitation, were no doubt correct and more something that he himself might have said, and yet he could not shake the uneasy feeling that had, out of nowhere, settled in his stomach.
Perhaps he should’ve taken more time with his dinner.
