Chapter Thirteen #2
Gabriel’s hands tightened on the reins before he made himself ease them. “I knew he wished for peace and quiet. I knew it would be dishonest to allow him to imagine marriage to you would provide it.”
Poppy went very still.
Marriage to you.
The phrase lingered after he had spoken it, far too intimate for a conversation that ought to have remained professional.
“How considerate of you,” she said.
“Poppy.”
“No, truly. Lord Ketterham wanted a placid household, and you protected him from the horrifying possibility that Mama might call him darling from time to time.”
“That is not fair.”
“Is it not?” She turned toward him, blue eyes flashing now. “You told him the truth. A truth he had every right to hear. A truth I have lived with for years. I understand all of that. But you might at least admit why you did it.”
“He did not deserve you,” Gabriel nearly shouted.
Poppy’s lips parted. Her eyes widened. She blinked at him in surprise.
“He wanted a housekeeper with a pretty face and a title suitable to his own. He admired your competence because he thought it might make his life more comfortable. The moment he understood that your life might require something of him, he withdrew.”
The words fell between them with no possibility of retrieval.
Freddie twisted suddenly, lunging toward the water as another duck appeared between the trees.
Poppy’s grip slipped. The puppy bounded from the curricle before either of them could catch him.
“Freddie!”
Gabriel reined in. His groom descended from the rear seat and took the horse’s bridle while Gabriel jumped to the ground. Poppy had already climbed down without waiting for assistance and was hurrying toward the path beside the Serpentine.
Freddie vanished behind a shrub.
A duck erupted from the greenery in a fury of wings and indignation.
“Freddie!” Poppy called again.
The puppy emerged a moment later, soaked to the knees and delighted with himself.
Poppy caught him before he could renew the chase.
“You dreadful creature.” She tucked the wriggling dog against her chest. “You cannot hurl yourself after every passing temptation.”
Gabriel stopped beside her.
Freddie sneezed water onto his coat.
Poppy looked down at the damp mark, then up at Gabriel. A laugh escaped her before she could prevent it.
Gabriel should have been annoyed by the entire debacle. Instead, he wanted to hear her laugh again.
She set Freddie on the ground but kept a firm grip on his dirty ribbon. The puppy became absorbed in a patch of grass, apparently satisfied that his work among the ducks was complete.
They stood on a narrow path screened from the avenue by trees and flowering shrubs. The curricle remained visible through the leaves. So did the groom. They were not alone.
It only felt too much like they were.
Poppy smoothed one hand over her skirt. Then again.
The gesture was small, instinctive.
Gabriel recognized it now. She put things to rights whenever the world refused to oblige her.
“I ought not to have said that,” he began.
She nodded once. “That Lord Ketterham did not deserve me?”
“Yes. It was not my place.”
“No,” she said softly. “It was not.”
Gabriel looked at her.
The faint breeze stirred the ribbons of her bonnet. A curl had loosened at her temple. He remembered the ribbon beneath her chin and the breathless second in which he had nearly abandoned every sensible resolution he possessed.
She held his gaze. “Why did you say it?” she asked.
He should have answered carefully.
Because Lord Ketterham’s intentions were inadequate. Because she required a husband willing to accept the obligations accompanying the match. Because candor had always been Gabriel’s habit.
All were true enough to be defensible. None was honest enough to satisfy her.
“Because I could not bear it,” he said.
Her fingers stilled against her skirt. “Could not bear what?”
“The thought of you marrying a man who would take the easiest portions of you and resent the rest.”
Poppy stared at him, her eyes growing wider.
Gabriel had begun now. There was no graceful retreat.
“You are not merely useful,” he said. “You are not a sensible addition to someone’s household or a pretty face across a dining table.
You are not a calculation to be balanced against your mother’s improvidence.
Any man who asks you to marry him should understand your worth before he asks.
He should value your loyalty, your wit, your courage, and the innate kindness that makes you apologize for disasters you did not create. ”
Her eyes had gone bright with unshed tears. “And Mama?” she asked.
Gabriel drew a slow breath. “He should understand that Lady Montague is part of the bargain. He should know she will invite fraudulent counts to dinner, encourage poets to expire upon his furniture, and call him sweetie until he loses the will to object.”
Poppy’s mouth trembled. “And Freddie?” she asked.
Gabriel looked down at the puppy, who had begun investigating his boot with unbridled enthusiasm. “He will have to tolerate the dog as well.”
“Even with ducks?”
“Especially with ducks.”
Her laugh was soft, but it faded quickly. She searched his face with an openness that made him feel exposed in a way no courtroom, negotiation, or professional error ever had.
“You have given this a great deal of thought,” she said.
Gabriel knew the ground beneath him had become unsteady... He continued regardless. “I have spent several days considering your circumstances.”
“As my solicitor.”
“Yes, and—”
She waited. The two words sat between them, insufficient and unfinished.
“And?” she repeated, biting her lip.
Gabriel’s restraint frayed. The wind lifted one ribbon of her bonnet and laid it briefly against her cheek. Gabriel wanted to touch it—wanted to touch her.
The impulse had been with him the previous night, in the drawing room that morning, and every time she smiled through something that ought to have made her weep.
This was precisely the kind of folly he had spent his adult life avoiding.
Poppy looked at him, no laughter remained in her face now. “Mr. Ashby,” she said quietly, “are you attempting to say that you appreciate me?”
There was no safe answer. Gabriel gave the only answer he had. “Yes. Very much.”
Her breath caught. He saw it. He saw her eyes drop to his mouth and return to his face. Saw the tiny movement of her gloved fingers against Freddie’s ribbon. Saw hope, uncertainty, and a question she had barely dared to form.
Every sensible reason to step back presented itself with insulting clarity.
She had five days to secure a future. He was meant to be helping her find one.
His groom waited by the curricle, the park was public, and Gabriel had already crossed one line in a dim foyer because a ribbon had defeated his judgment.
None of those reasons moved him.
For once, wanting her felt stronger than the rules he had assembled to survive wanting anything too much.
He closed the distance between them. He had meant only to touch her cheek. Perhaps he had meant to say her name. Perhaps he had meant to warn them both.
Instead, his hand rose to the side of her face, and he bent his head and kissed her.
For one suspended second, she did not move. Then her lips softened beneath his, and every sensible thought Gabriel possessed vanished.
The kiss had nothing of propriety or caution in it. It had none of the restraint he had demanded of himself since the moment he stepped into the Montfort house and found her standing in the hall with yolk on her gown and mortification in her bright blue eyes.
His thumb moved along the curve of her cheek. Her free hand came to his coat, fingers curling into the cloth. The small sound she made undid him.
Poppy, with her laughter and ledgers and impossible household. Poppy, who straightened vases when frightened, apologized for everyone’s failings but her own, tasted faintly of tea and something sweeter, and opened her mouth beneath his with a trust he had done nothing to deserve.
Gabriel drew back sharply.
His breath had become uneven. Her gloved hand remained curled against his coat. Her lips were parted, her eyes dazed and vivid beneath the brim of her bonnet.
He released her as if the touch had burned him. “Forgive me,” he said.
The apology sounded hoarse and wholly inadequate.
Poppy blinked.
For one dreadful moment, he thought she might step away. Might look wounded. Might remind him that he was her solicitor, and she was a desperate young woman with five days to find a titled husband.
Instead, her fingers tightened in his lapel. “No,” she said.
Gabriel stilled.
Her cheeks had gone pink. Her breath had not yet steadied. But when she looked at him, there was nothing uncertain in her expression.
“No?” he repeated.
She lifted her chin. “Kiss me again.”