The next morning Poppy jolted awake to the sound of pots banging. “Papa,” she called from her loft. “What are you doing up? Go back to bed, and I’ll bring you your tea and tart momentarily.”
“He’s still snoring,” came a familiar, jocular voice. “And I’m making breakfast today.”
She leaned over the edge of the loft and peered into the dimly lit kitchen. “Dane?”
He held out his arms and shot her a grin. “In the flesh.”
“When did you—” she began in a stage whisper. “Never mind. Give me one minute, and I’ll be right down.”
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Teapot’s already on the stove.”
Poppy shoved her arms into her robe, stuffed her feet into her slippers, and clambered down the ladder. Dane stood in the kitchen like a regular cook, simultaneously poaching a couple of eggs and frying some ham in a pan.
“Earl Grey tea for you,” he said, sliding a cup toward her. “Coffee for me.”
“Papa has been worried about you. I was, too.” She sighed, exasperated and relieved at the same time. “When did you arrive home?”
“A little after midnight, on the last mail coach.” He flipped the slices of ham, and the savory aroma tickled her nose. “I didn’t think I should wake you. Figured you could use your beauty sleep.”
A tiny ember of resentment sparked between her shoulder blades. “I do need my rest,” she said, taking a sip of steaming tea. “Rowing, hauling nets, and lugging baskets of cod is rather exhausting.”
“I know,” he said, chastened. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to work so hard. I shouldn’t have left you to run the business on your own.”
She exhaled, releasing most of her anger. Granted, apologies came easy to Dane. But she knew her brother almost as well as she knew herself, and the rawness in his voice revealed the weight he’d felt on his conscience.
“We’ve been managing surprisingly well,” she said. “Papa’s been following Dr. Gladwell’s orders, and his pain seems to have subsided a bit. The fish have been plentiful, and business is brisk.”
Of course, it helped that she’d had a windfall of sorts, thanks to Keane. He’d given her half of his room and board money up front, and that had allowed her to pay off a few debts, stock the cupboards, and replenish her fishing supplies. She’d hidden the small amount that was left under her mattress, but now that Dane was home, she was considering moving it to her shelter for safekeeping. Just in case.
Poppy was happy that her brother was home, truly she was. But his return did present a particular challenge at the moment. Dane had always respected the clearing with the lean-to as her private domain—primarily because the idea of a reading nook didn’t interest him in the slightest. Now that Keane was staying there, though, it was more critical than ever that Dane steer clear of the shelter.
“I owe you a debt, Poppy. For taking care of Papa, running the business, and keeping up the cottage. I shouldn’t have left everything in your hands, but maybe I can make it up to you, starting now.” He reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulled out a small sack, and plunked it onto the dining table.
“What’s this?”
“My wages,” he said gruffly. “From working on the docks. Use them to buy whatever you need around here.”
She loosened the drawstring, peeked inside, and jingled the coins. It wasn’t a fortune, by any means, but it was enough to keep Calypso in hay and apples for a few months. Besides, the amount of the offering wasn’t nearly as significant as the gesture itself.
Dane could have stayed in London. Spent the coins on whiskey. Wagered them on cards.
But he’d put family first this time and come home. She knew better than to believe he’d turned over a new leaf, and it wasn’t as though she could trust him completely, but it was a start.
“I know it’s not much,” he said, staring at the scuffed toes of his boots. “I owed a fellow … But the wages are good on the docks. Think of this as the first installment.”
She cinched the drawstring, tucked the pouch in a cupboard, and smiled encouragingly. “This will help. Best of all, Papa will be delighted to see you. How long will you stay this time?”
Dane winced. “A couple of days is all I can spare. But for as long as I’m home, you’re not touching a gill net, cod trap, or fillet knife. Let me take care of the business for a spell.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it. A respite would be lovely—and there was no telling when another opportunity would present itself. “Very well,” she said. “I vow to stay away from the beach for the next two days, if you’ll promise to stay away from my reading nook.”
“You’re not hiding a decanter of whiskey or a box of cigars in there, are you?”
“No,” she said, scoffing.
“Then you won’t catch me within one hundred yards of that place.”
“Good. It’s settled then. I shall gladly turn over the oars to you.” Poppy plucked a cup from the shelf, filled it with hot water, and steeped Papa’s willow bark tea.
“How have you been?” Dane’s expression turned sober. “Any of the blokes in town been giving you trouble?”
“They wouldn’t dare,” she replied with a shrug.
“Been spending time with anyone special?” He arched a curious brow.
“Not that it’s any concern of yours,” she said pointedly, “but I’ve had neither the time nor the inclination.”
“I don’t mean to pry.” He slid the ham slices onto a plate and turned his attention to the eggs. “But I worry about you. Don’t you feel lonely?”
“Sometimes. This”—she waved a hand around the rustic kitchen—“isn’t exactly the life I’d envisioned for myself, but after Mama … Well, everything changed.”
“It did indeed. I don’t know how, but she made this tumbledown cottage feel like a palace.”
Poppy nodded, wistful. “Some days I can still hear the sound of her humming—those cheerful little melodies she sang while she cleaned the kitchen or sewed by the fire. The notes would float up to the loft while I lay in bed at night, and no matter how terrible the day had been, I’d feel better.”
“What I miss most is the way that Papa was with her.” It was the first time Poppy could recall her brother reminiscing about Mama, and the catch in his voice made her own throat ache. “Even when he was in the foulest of moods,” Dane continued, “Mama could make him laugh.”
“She was the center of his world,” Poppy said softly. “His North Star.”
“Mine, too,” Dane admitted. “It’s why I can’t stay here too long. There are pieces of her everywhere I look. This chipped teacup, the patchwork curtains, the overgrown garden … they’re all painful reminders of the family we used to be.”
“We’re still that family,” Poppy said firmly. “Perhaps we’re a bit broken, but Mama would want us to pull together, to be there for each other.”
“Family was everything to her, and yet, she couldn’t rely on hers in the end, could she?” His nostrils flared.
“No,” Poppy said. “I think it broke her heart.”
His eyes turned to stone. “I’ll never forgive them for the way they treated her—and you.”
“You mustn’t dwell on it,” Poppy said, even though she was guilty of doing the same. “At least we aren’t beholden to them. I humbled myself once to ask for help, but I won’t make that mistake again. We don’t require charity from anyone.”
“She was their own flesh and blood, and they abandoned her when she needed them most.”
Poppy raised a finger to her lips. “Quiet. You’ll upset Papa.”
“All I’m saying is that you should have a care when you choose the people you spend time with and the people you trust.”
The hairs on the back of her arms stood up. Dane couldn’t possibly know about Keane, and yet, he was giving voice to the worries in the corners of her mind. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you implying?”
“The headmistress you get your books from—Miss Lively, is it?”
Poppy felt her hackles rise. “Hazel is a dear friend.”
Dane shrugged. “Maybe she was—before she married an earl. Just wait till she has her fancy house, a couple of babies, and all the comforts money can buy. She’ll forget where she came from. Before long, she’ll be just as haughty as Bladenton.”
“No.” Poppy frowned. “Blade’s not like that, either.”
But she had to admit that a tiny part of her had wondered the same thing. After all, Hazel was a countess now, and it would be natural for her to gravitate toward friends who were her social equals. People who attended the same sort of parties and mingled in the same circles. Hazel would never forget about the Belles—Poppy was certain of that—but as their trio grew older, the bond between them was bound to diminish.
And Poppy would be left with a gaping hole in her heart.
“Don’t fool yourself,” Dane continued. “They’re all like that. They’re not from our world, and they don’t understand it. The truth is, they’d like to pretend that us commoners don’t exist.”
Poppy swallowed. She’d said something remarkably similar to Keane last night, but hearing her brother echo the sentiment was oddly disheartening.
Because she’d wanted to be wrong about Keane.
“What happened to Mama colored our view of the world, and we can’t help that. But perhaps we shouldn’t paint every member of the nobility with the same broad brush,” she said diplomatically.
Dane snorted. “I don’t have to personally meet every shark in the sea to know they have sharp teeth.”
“Poppy, who’s that you’re talking to?” Papa called from his bedroom, his voice still thick with sleep. “It sounds like Dane.”
“That’s because it is me.” He hurriedly added a poached egg to the breakfast tray, carried it into Papa’s room, and placed it on his lap. “Surprise!”
Papa didn’t even see the heaping plate of food. He circled his arms around Dane’s neck, held on tight, and sobbed with sheer happiness. “Welcome home, son. Welcome home.”
Keane rose at sunrise, took his usual morning swim, and sat on the flat rock overlooking the ocean, hoping to catch a glimpse of Poppy’s rowboat bobbing on the waves. He was still thinking about their kiss last night—and wondering if she was thinking about it, too.
He couldn’t wait to see her today and make the most of their time together before he left for Ascot.
Strange how he already anticipated missing her.
Odd how someone whom he hadn’t even known a fortnight ago had become so familiar, so important to him.
The bright morning sun glinted off the turquoise-blue water, and the warm breeze riffled his damp hair. He held a hand level with his brow and looked east, to Poppy’s fishing spot. Before long, her rowboat came into view—a bit farther from shore than usual.
He stared more intently, but without a telescope it was impossible to make out anything more than the shape of the boat. Still, there was something different about the way it moved today. It seemed to cut through the waves faster and with greater ease.
Someone other than Poppy was holding the oars.
“Keane,” came the breathless voice behind him. And it was her.
“Is everything all right?” He hopped off the rock and reached for her hands.
Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and he belatedly realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “I hadn’t quite finished dressing,” he said with a grin. “Allow me to remedy that.”
“You needn’t bother on my account.” She smiled shyly. “Besides, I cannot stay. I only came to tell you two things.”
“Someone commandeered your rowboat?” he asked, gesturing over his shoulder.
She nodded. “My brother is home for the next few days. I don’t anticipate he’ll come here, but you must stay close to the shelter and well out of sight.”
“Right,” he said frowning. “Maybe Diggs and I could leave for Ascot a day early and return after your brother is gone.”
“You don’t have to do that.” A few strawberry curls fluttered around her freckled face. “In fact, I’d like to accompany you tomorrow … if the invitation still stands.”
He lifted her hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to the palm. “Poppy Summers, you have an invitation to join me anytime. Anywhere. On any adventure you like.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said coyly. “And hold you to it.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” he said. To her, it might have sounded like a bit of idle flirtation, but the moment the words left his mouth, he knew they were the God’s honest truth.
“There is only one catch. I’ll need to concoct an excuse—a believable reason for leaving Bellehaven.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “I have an idea, but it involves my dear friend, Hazel.”
“The countess?”
“Yes. I don’t want to lie to her. I was thinking of confiding in her and wanted to see how you felt about that.”
“You trust her?”
“Absolutely,” she said, emphatic.
“Then I trust her, too.”
She exhaled, clearly relieved. “I’ll speak with her today while I’m running a few errands in town.”
“Don’t worry about bringing me food today. I have plenty left, and we don’t want to make your brother suspicious.”
She hesitated. “If you’re certain.”
“There’s no chance of me starving. Thanks to you and Diggs, I have enough food here to host a dinner party for ten.” He squeezed her hands and released them. “I’ll see you at dawn tomorrow?”
“You will.” Her gaze flicked over his face, lingered on his bare chest, and headed south, roving over the ridges of his abdomen. The naked heat in her eyes made his trousers tight.
She turned, headed toward the path, then paused and faced him. “I’ve a feeling I shall regret this, but apparently I am a glutton for punishment.” She closed her eyes briefly and exhaled before she continued. “Since I won’t see you later, would you like to ask your question now?”
“Indeed I would.” His pulse raced, and though she stood several paces away, he felt a powerful, magnetic energy crackling between them.
She planted her hands on her hips, expectant.
He crossed his arms, thoughtful. There were dozens of questions swirling in his head, but one in particular haunted him. It rose to the top now.
“At night,” he said, “when you are alone, lying in your bed in the dark … do you ever think of me?”
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. “I think of a great many things, Keane.”
“You did not answer the question.”
She raised her chin. “Yes. I think of you.”
“I think of you, too,” he said huskily. “Do you want to know what I think about?”
She swallowed and nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“I think about the sweet taste of your lips … the satin feel of your skin … and the lush sound of your laugh. And I wish that you were with me.”
“When I first found you on the beach, I thought you were a pirate,” she mused. “Now I find myself wondering if you’re more of a poet.”
“Hardly,” he scoffed. “But when you live in a hut by the sea, you have plenty of time to ruminate.”
“Well,” she said slowly, “since you shared your thoughts, I will share a few of mine.”
He gazed into her eyes, shamelessly hanging on her every word.
“Sometimes at night I think about how it feels to kiss you. Like I’m standing on a cliff with my toes curled over the edge, breathless and ready to dive into deep blue waters.” A wistful smile played about her mouth, and she looked at him earnestly. “I wish I could bottle it up—the wonder, the pleasure, the closeness. Do you want to know why?”
He nodded wordlessly.
“Because in my heart I know it’s impossible for something that feels so lovely to last.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she was already walking toward the edge of the clearing. Already making her way up the winding path through the tall grass.
Maybe she was right. Maybe their connection burned too bright to last.
But the fuse had been lit, and he intended to follow it.
Even if it dragged him feetfirst into a powder keg of heartache.