Later that afternoon, Diggs joined Keane on the pair of flat rocks that overlooked the bay. “It’s growing more difficult to skirt questions regarding your whereabouts,” the valet said. “I’ve become adept at changing the subject and avoiding people altogether, but there is an exceptional amount of curiosity about you.”
Keane stroked the stubble along his jaw. “We want my attacker to think he succeeded in killing me. Everyone else can formulate whatever theories they wish, so the less you say, the better.”
“Don’t worry. I am nothing if not obtuse.” Diggs shifted on the boulder and scowled, clearly wishing for a proper chair. “I am impervious to the inquires of matrons, ladies, and debutantes alike. For reasons I cannot quite fathom, you’re something of a celebrity in Bellehaven.”
Keane chuckled at the good-natured dig. “I’m sorry to have put you at the center of this, my friend. If you want to escape the questions and scrutiny of the townspeople, you could remove yourself to the country. Take the coach to Hawking Manor and hide out there until all of this is over.”
“And forgo the chance to witness your hare-brained scheme as it plays out? No, I prefer to keep my front-row seat for the drama that will undoubtedly ensue.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Keane admitted. “Because I could use your help for the next act.”
Diggs lifted his chin and straightened his cravat. “I’ve become rather indispensable, haven’t I?”
“I suppose,” Keane said with a snort. “But don’t let it go to your head. We still have far more questions than answers. Which brings me to our next suspect—the Earl of Tottenshire.”
Diggs snarled. “Nasty bit of business.”
“Indeed. And I happen to know exactly where he’ll be two days from now.”
“Wherever it is, I’m guessing we’ll be there, too.”
Keane shot his friend a grin. “You can bet on it.”
It was dusk when Poppy glided into the clearing. Her loose white gown billowed around her legs and a satin green ribbon pulled her hair away from her sun-kissed cheeks. Keane’s pulse quickened at the sight of her.
“What’s all this?” she asked, gesturing at the pile of driftwood he’d collected that afternoon.
“It’s for my next project,” he said. “I’m going to try and make a chair so that Diggs will have a place to sit the next time he visits.”
She nodded in approval. “It’s the least you can do for Diggs.”
“If it’s not a complete disaster, I’ll make another for you. In the meantime, I have a more traditional gift for you.” He pulled the book he’d been hiding from behind his back and gave it to her.
“For me?” Her face beamed.
“A small thank-you for your help.”
“This is lovely. Have you read it?”
“Me?” He scoffed. “I only read when it’s an absolute necessity. I asked Diggs to select something with adventure and a bit of romance. And I firmly instructed him to steer clear of anything remotely stodgy.”
“I detest stodgy books.” Poppy hugged the gift to her chest. “Thank you.”
“I also asked him to bring some wine,” Keane said. “Care for a glass?”
She hesitated for a beat, then relented. “Perhaps a small one.”
As he headed for the shelter to fetch the wine, a rogue raindrop hit his forehead. He paused, faced her, and felt a few more drops. “Would you like to come inside?”
She frowned at the sky and shrugged. “No sense in getting soaked.”
He swept aside the curtain at the entrance while she went through, then followed her into the cozy lean-to. She lit the lantern while he uncorked the wine and poured a glass for each of them. They sat facing each other, her knees only inches from his.
They’d been in the shelter together once prior, but that was before half the space was filled with bags of clothes and other necessities. It was before he’d known her name. And it was definitely before he’d kissed her.
“A toast,” he said, raising his glass. “To books that aren’t boring … and to kisses that are unforgettable.”
She flushed, clinked her glass to his, and tipped it to her lips. “I suppose we should talk about that, but first I am eager to hear what you have planned for your next excursion.”
“A day at the Royal Ascot, in Berkshire. The day after next.”
“The horse races?” Poppy’s eyes sparked with excitement. “I once overheard Lady Rufflebum say it’s a mad crush of ladies and gentlemen, dressed in their finest and behaving their worst.”
Keane laughed. “It can be a raucous affair. Steep wagers will be placed, and a great deal of money will change hands. That’s often a recipe for trouble.”
“And your next suspect will be at the race?”
“Without a doubt. Tottenshire never misses an opportunity to gamble. In fact, he owes me quite a bit of money.”
She sipped her wine, thoughtful. “You think he might have attacked you in order to avoid paying his debts?”
“Among other reasons.” Keane idly swirled the liquid in his glass. There was no need to tell Poppy the whole of it, especially since he’d sworn to keep the scandal a secret. “Suffice it to say that the earl is not an honorable man.”
“A dishonorable earl,” she mused, her expression brooding. “I cannot claim to be surprised.”
“You say that as if you’ve encountered a few.”
She blinked at him, then looked away. “In my experience, the nobility do not always behave nobly.”
A surprisingly fierce, primitive rage sparked inside him. “Did someone hurt you?”
“Not exactly,” she said, slow and deliberate. “Not in the way you may think. But they did hurt someone I loved—and I’ll never, ever forgive them for that.” The quiet finality in her words was frightening in its intensity. For a moment, all the air seemed to have been sucked out of the shelter, and the only sound was the distant rumble of the surf below them.
At last, he said, “I don’t know what you went through, but I’m sorry that your loved one suffered.”
Her expression turned wistful. “So am I.”
“Maybe someday you will tell me what happened.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, uncharacteristically chilly. “Someone like you … Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t understand.”
Her lack of faith in him stung. “That’s not fair.”
She scoffed. “Much in this life is not fair.”
“But you haven’t even given me a chance.”
“I don’t blame you, Keane. It’s not your fault that you were born to be a future duke. But you can’t begin to comprehend what it’s like for the rest of us. A few weeks away from your elegant London town house and your sprawling country estate doesn’t change that.”
“True,” he said. “But if you were to talk to me, maybe I could understand.”
“I could confide in you, tell you everything there is to know about me. What I eat for breakfast, what songs I sing on my rowboat, and what I worry about at night. You might learn enough to know me here,” she said, pointing to his head, “but you still wouldn’t know me here.” She placed a palm over his heart. “There’s a difference, you know. Between understanding something logically and feeling it deep in your bones.”
Damn. One of his guiding principles in life was to avoid anything deep. To run like hell in the opposite direction, actually. But he didn’t want to run from Poppy. “Give me some time,” he said. “Maybe I’ll prove you wrong.”
“I’m hardly ever wrong.” The half smile she shot him seemed sadder than a full-fledged cry. “But if I am in this instance … well, just this once, I wouldn’t mind.”
Her words hung in the air for several heartbeats, challenging him. Daring him to rise to the occasion. And though he didn’t know exactly what the test would be—how he’d prove to her that he understood her in the depths of his heart—he suspected he’d recognize the test when it presented itself. And whatever form it took, he planned on passing it.
At last, she took a sip of her wine. “Tell me more about Lord Tottenshire. How do you plan to discover if he was in Bellehaven on the night you were attacked?”
“Diggs and I will be going undercover. He’s going to play the part of a wealthy bloke looking to wager his money on the horse races.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be a stablehand. Close enough to help Diggs if he should encounter trouble.”
“A stablehand?” She nodded thoughtfully. “You did say you wanted to get your hands dirty. This should be a prime opportunity.”
He smiled, smug. “I can shovel with the best of them.”
“I’m certain you can.” She rolled her eyes and took a long sip from her glass.
“Now,” he drawled. “Let’s talk about that kiss.”
Poppy had rehearsed just what to say to Keane on the subject of kissing.
“Yes, the kiss.” She’d intended to make several well-reasoned points, but the close quarters, the heady wine, and the pattering rain all seemed to conspire against her. She took a deep breath. “First of all, I think it’s important to note that it wasn’t a single kiss but rather a series of small kisses.”
“I agree with that characterization,” he said so seriously that she could only conclude he was jesting.
“The distinction is important because it demonstrates just how easy it is to become carried away in the moment.”
“Once again, I find myself in complete agreement.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Not at all.” He set his glass on the overturned crate, reached for her face, and brushed a thumb across her lower lip. Her whole body shimmered in response. “When I kiss you, Poppy Summers, I am at grave risk of being carried away. The pull I feel toward you … it’s stronger than a riptide.”
His words swirled around her, sweeping over her skin like a caress.
“That’s why we must be careful,” she murmured.
Reluctantly, he lowered his hand. “I want to kiss you again, but if you don’t feel the same, I won’t press you.”
She swallowed. “Kissing you is akin to a riptide. But a dangerous current doesn’t induce one to give up swimming entirely. The trick is to be aware when you are in peril and have a plan for escaping it.”
His eyes turned dark, and his voice grew husky. “I see. And how, precisely, do you plan to escape the peril of our kisses?”
“Simple,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “I shall swim parallel to the shore.”
His forehead creased adorably. “I’m not certain I follow.”
“When we feel as though we’re being swept away, we needn’t struggle against the passion, but we needn’t surrender to it, either. Rather, we shall slowly steer ourselves into safer waters.” He still stared at her blankly, so she chuckled and said, “We can take a step back and gradually lower the temperature—until we’re able to think with clear heads once again.”
“I can see how your plan would work in theory,” he said with a wickedly brooding glare. “But one never knows about these things until they’re put into practice. Perhaps a test is in order.”
It took several heartbeats for her to catch her breath, and in that short space of time, the shelter grew warmer, the rain fell steadier, and the air around them crackled with energy.
“Very well.” Her belly flip-flopped as she placed her glass next to Keane’s, sat back on her heels, and placed her palms on her thighs. He leaned forward and stared at her mouth, silently willing her to initiate the kiss.
And she reminded herself what was at stake.
This kiss was about proving that she was capable of touching him without completely losing her head. That she could enjoy the considerable physical attraction between them without forgetting who he was—and that their differences made a future with him nigh impossible.
So even though she longed to crash into him, to feel the rush of passion, she mustered every ounce of restraint she possessed and moved ever so slowly. Deliberately, she trailed her fingertips down the side of his face and across the stubble on his jaw. Tipped her forehead to his. Listened to the subtle hitch of his breath and savored the first sensuous melding of their mouths and tongues.
Despite all her good intentions and grand plans, her heart began beating triple-time. Her skin tingled like she’d taken a January dip in the ocean.
Everything Keane did seemed designed to please her. He speared his fingers through her loose hair. Brushed his lips along the column of her neck. Tangled his tongue with hers.
Indeed, given his level of expertise in these matters, it was no wonder her body responded by melting into a puddle of pure pleasure. His warm, sure hands caressed her upper arms, cruised down her back, and skimmed over her hips, drawing her closer. Making her dizzy with desire.
She would have loved nothing more than to throw caution to the wind. To let passion carry them where it would. But some remote corner of her mind was aware that now was the time to pull back. To resist the tide while they still could.
Reluctantly, she pressed a palm to his chest. Felt his heart beating as erratically as her own. “Keane.”
He nipped at her lower lip, lingering for a few interminable seconds before sitting back. He blinked and shook his head as if waking from a dream. “You rescued me this time,” he said with a knee-weakening grin. “Next time, I shall rescue you.”
“Are you certain there shall be a next time?”
“I’m hopeful there will be. Call me an eternal optimist. Or an insufferable rake. Your choice.”
She suppressed a smile and blew out a long breath. “I enjoyed the wine and the experiment, but I must go.”
“Then I will bid you good night … after my one question.”
Her heart tripped in her chest. “You are insatiable. But please, go on.”
“Would you rather see a sky full of fireworks or a single shooting star?”
“Fireworks,” she said firmly. “I’ve seen at least a half dozen shooting stars, and all my wishes have been in vain.”
“Give them time,” he said smoothly. “Your wishes might still come true.”
She rolled her eyes, slipped her shawl over her head, and ducked through the doorway into the misty night.
Most old wives’ tales were harmless, but not this one. Keane made her want to believe—and that was very dangerous indeed.