Prologue #2
“You’ll admit it?” She narrowed her eyes at him, energy flowing through her veins as her mind focused on anticipating his next verbal strike.
“I’m not so insecure in my own intelligence that I cannot see it in another.” The man inhaled, straightening his spine completely, before turning to face her fully.
Suddenly, nothing about his features seemed bland or dull. Handsome, yes, but there was now an almost predatory canniness about him.
“However even if Ellenberg were from my side of the community, I’d find him a self-righteous bore.” He strode toward her like an advancing army. “As for Isabelle—”
“She’s too young for you?” Rebecca cut in. Not the cleverest jab, but the man needed to be stopped.
Halting, he stared at her. “I’m five and thirty.” He gave her another lingering appraisal. “How old are you?”
“You first met me when Isabelle was born,” she reminded him, unnecessary irritation creeping into her voice. “Is your memory leaving you, or has counting to numbers greater than your fingers always been a challenge?”
He eyed her again. “That’s not a response to my question.”
“I’m nine and twenty,” she declared. She was not ashamed of her age. It signaled her experience. “However, I thought you were supposed to be all proper and skilled with polite conversation.”
“I reserve polite conversation for those who deserve it.” He straightened his dark, silk cravat, which, for the first time since he entered, she noticed as being touch disheveled. Along with his usually perfectly pressed coat, which now hung slightly unbuttoned. Odd. She narrowed her eyes.
“What are you doing up here?” she asked, curiosity overtaking her need to verbally spar.
“I could ask you the same question,” he said, his voice now smooth.
“Aren’t you afraid the revelers downstairs will be lost without you to guide them in fun?
” A soft menace emboldened the verb, one that had been absent before, signaling that perhaps she’d found a real vulnerability in the man who seemed to have none.
A shadow fell over his face. The room seemed to vibrate with energy. A thrill spread through her limbs at the realization that if she pushed just right, she could land a real blow.
“And distract them from their chances to lick your boots?” she retorted, realizing her mistake—the out she’d given him—almost immediately after the insult left her lips.
“That is a privilege.” He gave her another self-satisfied smirk, his tall, lanky form relaxing once more as his mask fell back into place. “Though, yes, I’m sure the party is poorer without the option.” He gave a victorious grin. Rebecca’s blood boiled—figuratively, as such was impossible.
At least without combusting spontaneously.
Oy, she hated losing. More than anything. Especially to someone like him.
“I was here first, if you recall,” she pointed out, as she’d had enough.
He raised a single, honey-gold brow. “And?”
“Leave,” she commanded, pointing a finger in the direction of the door. “Please.”
“Look at you, demonstrating a modicum of manners. How progressive.” He prowled toward her once more, halting mere inches away. Close enough that those boots nearly touched the edge of her petticoats. He smiled down at her from his rather substantial height. “And no,” he whispered.
She blinked at him. “Beg pardon?”
“You can leave if you’d like to be alone, but I shall not.” He rolled his shoulders back, extending his already impressive form. As if that could intimidate her.
Well, he was sorely mistaken.
“Yes. You. Will,” she said, emphasizing each syllable, refusing to release his gaze.
He laughed at her then, the deep rumbling so close it sent vibrations through her entire body. “You have no power here. This is not your house, and you’re certainly not going to force me.”
“I loathe you,” she growled at him. Not just due to his insults, his arrogance, the unfair amount of luck that had been bestowed upon him, but also the confusing way her body was now reacting to him and his presence.
It was as if every nerve, every cell, every fiber stood in rapt attention, trembling in unison.
Something physically and scientifically impossible.
“I don’t care enough about you to have an opinion,” he countered, his smirk now rather triumphant.
“I—” But nothing came out. Instead, his lips were on hers, taking the words, as he crushed her body against the door. Desire surged through her as she pressed back, meeting him, pure lust crackling in the air around them.
Hot and demanding, he invaded, taking her breath, her will, and any resistance she might have had, as he stroked her tongue with his, sending tremors through her core, firm and bold and relentless. Not that she wanted him to stop. Ever.
“My god,” he panted, staring down at her, his eyes a bit wild. A sense of power surged through her.
“Again,” she commanded, in a voice unfamiliar to her own ears, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him toward her.
“More?” he asked when they came up for air again.
“More,” she agreed, her senses alight with need, every part of her aching for his touch, his tongue, his attention, him. This time, kissing down her neck, he unbuttoned the front fastening of her gown. “Yes,” she moaned, as his fingers dipped beneath her stays, cupping her breast.
“Say ‘please,’ ” he teased, his finger so close to her now aching nipple, yet so far.
“Or what?” she asked in challenge.
It was his turn to blink. “I was wrong,” he said finally.
“What?” she asked, frowning a little as she studied his face.
His lips curled into the naughtiest, most delicious smile she’d ever seen. “You are fun at parties,” he told her, before hoisting her in his arms and carrying her toward a ladder angled against the wall.
Rebecca watched as Berab fastened the falls of his trousers and retied his cravat with startling deftness and efficiency.
Well, not quite so startling considering she’d experienced that dexterity firsthand. A skill not limited to his fingers.
Her body grew tight at the memory of how she’d near screamed as Berab sucked, licked, and delighted every part of her skin he could expose. Humiliating reaction, especially considering how much she absolutely detested the man.
She bit her lip. She did detest him, right?
He was the embodiment of everything she despised: someone respected not for his knowledge but for his presentation. Who prioritized image over wisdom. Who only valued others for the same.
At least she’d believed he did. At least—the man cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to his face and the rather polite and slightly uninterested expression thereon. An odd, stale gnawing invaded her stomach.
“What?” she asked, folding her arms over her bodice, before reaching up and pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“I apologize, Miss Adler,” he told her. “That was poorly done.”
A pounding began in Rebecca’s ears.
“It was completely inappropriate of me to engage with you in this way,” he continued, his tone clipped, formal, and highly irritating. “I regret it fully, as I’m sure you do as well.” He gazed at her expectantly for her agreement.
Somehow, she managed to force herself to nod.
“Yes,” she said, in a voice she barely recognized. “I do.”
Not that such was incorrect. She should regret matters. After all, sexual congress with a practical stranger in one’s best friend’s library was certainly “bad form,” in both their world and that of the gentiles.
“And I’m sure you recognize that it would be completely inappropriate for us to marry,” he continued.
The pounding in her head stopped. Marry? Who said anything about marriage?
Moreover, who said she had any desire to marry him in particular? She glanced up, studying his once again bland but arrogant expression. Yes, the man he’d been a few moments ago was truly gone. If he’d ever been there in the first place.
Which should make this a great deal easier.
“Don’t worry. Our more prominent scholars might be a hair younger than some of yours, but we do require a ketubah on my side of the community as well,” she told him, making her voice as cold and calm as she could. She would not give him the satisfaction of anything else.
Especially as he was now most certainly right. She didn’t merely understand that she should regret what had transpired, but she most certainly did. Very much.
But she couldn’t think of that. Not with the way he was gazing at her pityingly. That she could not bear. She inhaled, drawing on the well of anger and frustration that sat just below the surface to fortify her.
“I agree, our union would be completely inappropriate. As well as inconvenient.” She waved her hand. “Imagine what it would do to my reputation. A woman of science married to the Sephardis’ best imitation of a fop?” she added, making her tone as derisive as possible.
He stared at her for a moment, probably shocked that she had the audacity to suggest he wasn’t the prize he believed, before buttoning his cuffs. “Good. Then we shall never speak of this.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Berab,” she returned, without a flinch. Smoothing her skirts, she marched to the door before an impish urge drove her to pause and turn back, her lip curling a touch. “I’ve already forgotten.” She exited the room, her head held high.
An excellent parting line, if she did say so herself. Even if it was a complete lie.