Chapter Seven #2
Clearly, she had no understanding of what self-preservation actually entailed.
Not that he was surprised. While the woman was astute, there were obvious limits to her abilities. Take, for example, her statement in and of itself. While accurate, it was… shallow. Or perhaps unfair, though to whom—Miss Adler or those in the community she served—he was not quite sure.
He had no desire to ponder the matter. While he was committed to their people’s care, he liked almost none of them.
Albeit he didn’t care for the majority of those outside their community either. People in general were a rather tedious lot.
Like roses, just not in a satisfying way.
However, unlike her, he was disciplined enough not to let anyone know his feelings on the subject; hence, he was and would continue to be far more successful in endeavors that required the approval of others than she could ever dream of being.
He coughed into his hand. “How lucky for you.”
“It’s more honest than the responses you elicit, I’m sure,” she said, her eyes flashing again in challenge, as if the respect he fought so hard to earn could be so cheaply reduced to armor, protecting him from the truth of his own inadequacies.
As if the years he’d spent squashing all his poor attributes meant nothing at all.
Something Miss Adler could never understand.
Roger cleared his throat once more. “Are you still dissatisfied with your accommodations?”
“I never complained about the bedchamber, and the meal was quite tasty.” She adjusted her sling, swishing from side to side again, causing her neckline to sink a little lower—no. No, he was not staring. Not at all. He was in control.
“If I’m being absolutely fair,” she continued, “while the garments in my rooms are not appropriate for my business and slightly ill-fitting in certain areas…” She tugged at the overly large neckline that had fallen even lower.
“I’ll admit they’re perfectly adequate for spending time inside.
Please thank your relatives for their generosity,” she added with surprisingly little acerbity.
“I shall,” he told her, working to picture anything but what might have been a flash of a peachy nipple—no.
He coughed again. “They also told me what to order for you,” he added, his voice slightly strangled.
“At least to start. The selections from both the milliner and the wholesaler should be ready soon. We’re having a dressmaker come the day after tomorrow, and you can make any alterations or additions… ”
“And subtractions?” Her lips tipped in a small smile, her blue-gray eyes twinkling a touch.
“You’d probably want those if I notice something extra.
After all, you’re making me whole, not remaking me.
” As if that could be possible, no matter what she wore.
Though one would suppose her old garments made it much more difficult for the unenlightened to notice the intriguing mix of intelligence, truculence, and sensuality she exuded.
Probably why no one in her community had married her, sharp tongue and pillow throwing notwithstanding.
Not that carnality was fundamental to a marriage. Or a priority for him. Besides, Miss Adler was not alluring to him. He could just appreciate her potential allure to others.
“No, but the funds aren’t an issue,” he assured her, moving back to his plants, pretending to inspect a group of thorns. “You’ve been through an ordeal and shouldn’t need to worry about frugality, just that you can once again be comfortable.”
“Must be nice,” she murmured.
“It is,” he said, smiling at her startled expression.
“What? You’d like me to pretend money is the root of all evil, and only the poor can live a pure, goodly life, while standing in a room full of roses that will hopefully bloom in winter?
” A favorite argument, not of the poor but of the rich, whose money was old and who desired to keep their ranks small.
Especially those who did not require their own labor to feed their bellies.
“I—” She still gaped at him. And he’d not felt so clever, nor so proud, in a long while.
“I’ve surprised you,” he said, turning fully toward her now.
“Yes,” she said with a quick nod. She pursed her still rather fetching pink lips. “I hadn’t realized you were so… percipient. Especially concerning yourself.”
More than she was, certainly. Not that he could say that out loud. At least not without angering her, and he’d relish not having anything else thrown at his head. Nor lure them each into other forms of release for the emotion.
“One does not lose everything and rebuild the way my family did without that skill,” he said, leaning against the table, crossing his legs as he gazed at her.
“I have a good sense of reality, Miss Adler. Having a particular amount of funds generally has no bearing on whether or not one is ‘good’ nor ‘bad,’ both concepts better suited for behavior rather than people.”
“True,” she said, pausing for a moment as if she was considering the matter, raising a single finger. “But one might argue that it is easier for a rich man to fulfill mitzvot, to engage in good behavior, and thus they should be held to a higher standard.”
The woman was relentless.
“With the second part, I agree. Completely,” he told her. After all, he did hold himself to a high standard. Perhaps not the same one as she, but one as important, if not more.
“And the first?” she asked, cocking her head a little.
Now it was his turn to purse his lips and consider the matter, which was far thornier than one would think. And not because he did not know the specifics of as many mitzvot as she—something he was not ashamed of, per se, but would never disclose. At least not to her.
No, it was more. For example, it was far easier to say a bracha before or after a meal in one’s own home than as a guest at a gentile’s table. Or observing work prohibitions when one only relied on the community for clientele. Or were employed by someone who did.
“I believe it’s… complicated,” he said, rubbing the back of his head, nearly dislodging his kippah.
“Complicated?” There was a distinct skepticism in her tone.
“It depends on the person and on the mitzvah,” he explained.
She stared at him for another long moment, the gaze of those large blue-gray eyes impossible to relinquish. “What about you?”
Roger frowned. “What about me?”
“Which mitzvot do you struggle to follow?” she asked.
This time, a hundred ideas, all of them breaches of modesty and inappropriate bodily contact, flitted through his mind. Which was most certainly a sign that he needed to go to bed.
They both did.
“I enjoy several spirits of the nonkosher variety on occasion,” he told her, pushing himself into a standing position. “The hour is getting late, Miss Adler,” he added, unable to stop himself from leaning forward, so close that he could see the rise and fall of her chest, which sped considerably.
For a moment, he thought she’d turn and run, or at least step backward. But she did not. Instead, she gazed up at him once more, her eyes so focused, so serious. Her tongue darted out and wet those light, dare he say, rosy lips.
Desire sped through him. Hot and fierce, battering his walls of control as he struggled to keep them in place.
He could not break. He could not. It was a mistake the first time and would be disastrous now. He was going to marry Leone Teres, and finally, after so many years of losing, win. That was better than a few moments of pleasure. And yet he couldn’t seem to find the correct words to end the moment.
“It is,” she said finally, breaking the spell.
Turning toward the exit, he motioned for her to follow. “After, I shall verify the work on your house is going as it should,” he assured her. “I promise, you’ll be home before you know it.”
“We can only hope.” She brushed past him. “Good night, Mr. Berab. Thank you for your hospitality,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried back into the main house, disappearing around the corner as he watched.