“I’d say the dinner party’s going rather well so far,” Keane ventured, as he and Poppy strolled down the pebbled path in Lady Rufflebum’s lush garden. A few lanterns hung from tree boughs, lighting their way, and a sultry summer breeze ruffled the tendrils at Poppy’s nape. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I suppose that depends on the goal you’re trying to achieve,” she replied. “What do you hope to accomplish?”
He chuckled and shot her a look so intimate, so hungry that it took her right back to the night they’d lain together on the beach. “My goal is to spend time with you, in the company of others, so that no one will think it odd when I begin to openly court you.”
“They’re going to think it odd, regardless,” she said.
He shrugged. “Then let them. The only opinions that truly matter to me are yours and your family’s.”
She glanced at his handsome profile. He looked quite ducal in his fine jacket and freshly trimmed hair. “And what of your family’s opinion?”
“My uncle would be pleased—and a bit relieved, I suspect—to learn that I’ve found someone who makes me happy. I’ve no doubt your courage and wit will win him over. Say the word, and I’ll arrange a meeting,” he said, arching a brow.
“I think we would do better to focus on successfully navigating this evening’s festivities.” She paused to admire a large topiary trimmed in the shape of a dolphin. “Have you made any more progress with your investigation?”
He hesitated for a beat, then said, “Not really. I’m still not certain who wanted me dead or why.”
“But you have some leads that you’re pursuing?”
“Nothing definitive,” he said vaguely. “Now that I’m out of hiding, perhaps my nemesis will try again.”
Poppy shivered. “What if he succeeds this time?”
“He won’t,” Keane said, confident. “If he makes a reappearance, I’ll be ready for him.”
“I hope so.” But she still had an uneasy feeling. Not only that he was still in danger, but that he was reluctant to share all the details, to tell her everything he knew.
After all they’d endured together, it hurt to think he was keeping something from her. But there were topics she avoided, too, and he’d been patient with her. She could do the same for him.
On the path ahead of them, Hazel, Blade, and Kitty strolled along, chatting and laughing like a proper little family. Poppy loved seeing her friends so happy, but she felt a pang of longing, too. She’d known that sense of belonging once, but now it seemed forever out of reach.
Keane faced her, clasped her hand, and lifted it to his lips. “I’ve missed you,” he said softly.
“I’ve missed you, too.” She sighed. “Everything is different now that you’re gone from the beach.”
“How is your father?” he asked, and though it might have sounded like a polite inquiry to anyone who overheard it, the concern in his eyes touched her.
“He’s been trying to walk a bit each day, and he’s gradually getting stronger. The recent visit from my brother seems to have benefited Papa more than the medicinal tea I give him. Whatever the reason for his improvement, I’m grateful for it.”
“Do not discount everything you do for your father,” Keane said sincerely. “You’ve devoted most of your life to caring for him, and that is admirable. But you deserve the chance to chase your dreams also.”
“I’m beginning to believe that,” she admitted. “I know I want more than the life I’m living now, but sometimes when I’m dressed like this”—she swept a gloved hand down the lovely gown she’d borrowed from Hazel—“I feel like an impostor. Like an actress playing the part of someone I’ll never be.”
“I feel like that too sometimes,” he confessed. “I wish we were still free to swim in the ocean and sleep under the stars.”
“We could be there now … if you hadn’t left.”
He laced his fingers through hers and searched her face, as if willing her to understand. “We couldn’t hide there forever, Poppy. And I wasn’t going to be satisfied with another day or another week. I want a lifetime with you.”
His words wrapped around her like an embrace, burrowing their way into her chest. Still, she couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “I was not born into this life.” She waved an arm around the elegant garden. “I fear it would take the life out of me.”
“I’m not asking you to change. I’m only asking you to envision a future with me in it. We can sort out the details as we go.”
“I want to say yes, but I can’t risk losing myself in the process.”
He nodded soberly. “We’re at a turning point now, and you have a choice to make.”
She swallowed. “I know.”
“You can choose to open up to me, to help me blend our worlds together. There’s room for all of it: London, Bellehaven, family, and adventure. Or … you can shut me out. It would gut me, Poppy. But if you tell me there’s no chance, I’ll respect your wishes. If you ask me to, I’ll leave Bellehaven and never come back.”
“No.” She shook her head to erase the image of him walking away for good. “I don’t want you to leave. I am willing to walk the narrow plank between both worlds. Even if I must spend mornings fishing in my rowboat and my evenings wearing borrowed gowns.”
He exhaled in obvious relief. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not with words, but I’ve become rather adept at deciphering your facial expressions.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “What’s my expression telling you right now?”
Her belly fluttered. “It’s saying you want to kiss me.”
“You are good at this.” He clasped her wrist, pulled her off the path, and backed her up against an ivy-covered trellis where the moonlight illuminated the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips.
“Isn’t Lady Rufflebum expecting us for charades?” she teased, draping her arms over his shoulders.
His answer was a low, knee-melting growl—just before he covered her mouth with his.
She drank in every detail: the familiar scent of his skin, the springy feel of his hair, the hard wall of his chest. His hands swept down her back, over her hips, and up her sides, claiming her for his own. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, begging entrance, which she gladly granted.
He tasted like a stolen sip of brandy in a moonlit cove. Tangy, heady perfection.
No, she couldn’t give him up. She’d made her choice and was now committed to it, even if it upended her life. Even if it broke her heart.
Slowly, she pulled back and gazed into his glowing eyes. “What happens next?”
“There’s going to be a ball after the regatta next week.”
“Yes, in the new Assembly Rooms. Kitty’s been talking about it all summer.”
“Everyone in Bellehaven and half of London is going to be in attendance. I think we should go and dance together—more than once. Let everyone know how we feel about each other.”
Poppy swallowed. “There will be no going back after that. People will say you’ve gone mad. They’ll call me a fortune hunter and a light-skirt—and worse.”
“I don’t care what people say about me, but if anyone dares slight you, they’ll suffer the consequences.”
“What do you intend to do?” she asked. “You can’t very well challenge someone like Lady Rufflebum to a duel.”
He arched a dark brow and conjured an evil smile. “Maybe I’ll hide a dead fish under the seat of her coach or fill her drawers with sand.”
Poppy smiled. “I don’t really care what people say, either.” The real test of their relationship wasn’t what other people thought about them. It was whether she could trust someone who’d been raised so differently to understand her, to respect her family and way of life. To love her even in the most difficult of times.
“Then it’s settled.” He brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “Even though all I want to do is bustle you into my coach and whisk you away to a private spot overlooking the ocean, I will refrain. Instead, I shall do the honorable thing and escort you back to the countess’s drawing room where we will endure a tedious game of charades. I will pretend that I’m not thinking of kissing you or reliving the nights we’ve spent together.”
She shot him a sultry grin. “And I shall pretend I haven’t seen you walking naked out of the surf.”
“Right,” he drawled. More seriously, he added, “But the good news is this: We won’t have to pretend for much longer. Soon, everyone at the First Annual Bellehaven Regatta Ball will know how smitten I am with you. And maybe you’ll begin to believe it, too.”
Just before they reached the house, Keane paused and faced her. “Miss Poppy Summers.”
The tender way he said her name made her pulse quicken, and she knew what was coming. “I thought I’d fulfilled all my obligations,” she teased.
“Out of the goodness of your heart, will you grant me another question?”
“Are you always this greedy?”
“Where you’re concerned, I fear I am.”
She softened. “Go on.”
“How do you take your tea?”
“Steaming hot, with one sugar cube and a spot of cream.” She hesitated, then added, “Poured into a chipped, hand-painted teacup that belonged to my mother.”
He smiled as though she’d given him a precious gift. “That is good to know.”
On the day before the regatta, there were so many people pouring into Bellehaven Bay that the streets seemed as crowded as London. Every room at the Bluffs’ Brew Inn had been let, the boardinghouse was full, and any cottage that had room for an extra guest—or six—was bursting at the seams.
Keane was dragging a straightedge down one lathered side of his face when a knock sounded at the door. “Give me a minute,” he grumbled before setting down the razor, striding across his room at the inn, and swinging open the door.
Diggs stood in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically officious. “Your uncle is here,” he announced.
Keane blinked. “In Bellehaven?”
“At the Salty Mermaid, to be precise,” Diggs replied. “He asked if you would be so kind as to meet him there.”
“Of course. I’ll can be there in a quarter of an hour.” Keane hurried back to the looking glass to finish his shave with Diggs on his heels. His uncle was one of the few people he trusted. One of the few people who’d been kind to Keane when his own father could scarcely stand to look at him. “I wonder what brought him here,” he mused. “The regatta, the ball…?”
Diggs chuckled. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say you brought him here.”
He patted his chin with a towel. “I guess we’ll find out soon, won’t we?”
Keane straightened his cravat and exhaled as he walked into the Salty Mermaid a few minutes later. It had been months since he’d seen his uncle, the Viscount Rawlings, but Keane immediately spotted his bald head, dark beard, and twinkling blue eyes at a table across from the bar. Upon seeing Keane, he rose and held out his arms for an embrace. “Andrew,” he said, slapping him on the back. “It’s been far too long.”
“This is a welcome surprise. It’s good to see you, Uncle. How is Teddy?”
“Your cousin is fine. He’s here in Bellehaven, too. He ran into a friend at the tea shop earlier and was persuaded to join in a game of cricket.” He shook his head ruefully. “Theodore’s the same age you are, and yet, I sometimes wonder if he’ll ever grow up.”
“It’s why the ladies find him charming. I assume you’re in town for all the festivities,” Keane said, taking a seat on the bench opposite his uncle. “I’m surprised you were able to find lodgings.”
“We’re guests of the mayor,” he said with a shrug. “But I didn’t come to Bellehaven for the entertainments. I’ve been worried about you, Andrew. There were rumors that you hadn’t been seen for weeks. And now you’ve reappeared—with the devil of a scar, I see.”
Keane ran a finger over the jagged mark. “Aye. Someone blindsided me as I left this pub one night.”
“Good God.” His uncle threw back the rest of his whiskey and signaled the barmaid for a couple more drinks. “They’re not very bloody hospitable toward out-of-towners here, are they?”
Keane scoffed. “The person behind the attack has a personal grudge. He wanted me dead.”
His uncle blinked, and some of the color drained out of his face. “I’d assumed it was your standard pub brawl. Are you in some sort of trouble, Andrew?”
“No. That is, I don’t think so.”
“If you’re in debt or caught up in some sort of scandal, I can help. You only need to ask.” He reached across the weathered tabletop and squeezed Keane’s forearm.
His uncle’s eyes contained more affection than his father’s ever had, which made Keane both grateful and sad. “Thank you for the kind offer. But I’m not in debt, and I haven’t done anything to warrant an attempt on my life.”
“Of course you haven’t.” Rawlings slowly exhaled. “Look, I don’t know what precipitated the attack, but I do know this: It’s time you came home to London. You have responsibilities … and a life there.”
“You’re right. I do.” Keane paused while the barmaid plunked a couple of glasses on the table, then continued. “I’ve realized I cannot continue to shirk my duties. I have leaned on you for far too long, and it’s high time I stepped into my father’s boots.”
“You’re different from him, you know.”
“Yes.” Keane’s chest tightened. “He was fond of reminding me how different I am. In fact, he derived a great deal of pleasure from listing all the ways I fell short of his expectations.”
“Don’t give any credence to his words. What I meant is that you’re better than him.” Rawlings took a sip of his whiskey and met Keane’s gaze. “He was my brother, and I loved him, but he was not a kind person, Andrew. And he was definitely not a good father.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Keane hated that his throat burned. Hated that the mere mention of his father could still affect him so. “But it’s been years. I see no point in dwelling on his shortcomings.”
“You can’t escape your past until you make peace with it.” Rawlings swirled the liquid in his glass. “Your father was bitter. Angry at your mother—and himself, I suppose.”
That was putting it mildly. Keane’s childhood had been little more than a series of shouting matches echoing through the cavernous house as his parents hurled vases and trinkets, threats and accusations. Their fights were so nasty, so intense that Keane would burrow under his bedcovers to avoid hearing them. But not even his pillow could muffle the worst of it. Mama sobbing, saying his father spent more time with his mistress than her. His father bellowing, accusing Mama of sleeping with half the ton.
Indeed, Keane could still recall the evening that his parents returned home from the opera, yelling at each other as they made their way down the corridor outside his room.
Mama had wanted to peek in on Keane as he slept; his father had asked which of her myriad lovers had sired her son.
Mama gasped and slapped him.
But she didn’t contradict him. Or deny the allegation.
It took Keane some time after that to admit the truth to himself. He hadn’t been ready to believe it at nine, but by the time he was twelve he understood deep in his bones that he was not his father’s son.
And when he was fourteen and his mother turned gravely ill, she told him to be brave and to never cower from his father. She died soon after, and Keane did his best to stand his ground.
His father could yell loud enough to rattle the windows. Keane wouldn’t flinch.
His father could take a switch to his backside. Keane gritted his teeth and smiled.
On the outside, he was tough and unbothered. But some of his father’s vitriol seeped through the cracks in his armor and took root. A boy couldn’t live that way day after day, year after year without wondering. Without thinking that, perhaps, he’d deserved it.
Rawlings cleared his throat, snapping Keane back to the present. “Your father wanted you to believe that your kind soul and generous spirit were weaknesses, but they aren’t. You’ll run the dukedom differently than he did—and that, Andrew, is a good thing.”
“Since my father’s death, I’ve been drifting. Afloat at sea,” Keane mused. “I was happy to leave it to others to run the estate and follow the precedents set by my father. But all of that is about to change.”
“I’m glad to hear you’ll be more involved. You are the duke, and your tenants rely on you.”
“My first order of business is to do right by them. To make sure they have safe, comfortable homes, plenty of food on their tables, and a doctor to tend to them when they’re sick. My father was a miser who watched over his fortune like a dragon guarding a treasure trove, but that’s no way to run an estate.”
“Good for you,” Rawlings said approvingly. “Are you contemplating other changes?”
Keane looked his uncle in the eyes. “I plan to split my time between London and Bellehaven.”
Understanding dawned, and Rawlings smiled sagely. “You’ve met a woman.”
Keane nodded. “I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t realize how much I’d been given till I saw the world through her eyes. I was blessed with a title and a fortune. I’m not going to squander the chance to do some good with those things.”
“A noble sentiment,” Rawlings said, nodding. “I look forward to meeting the woman responsible for your change of heart. I assume you intend to make her your duchess?”
“That is the plan,” Keane confirmed. “If I can convince her to go along with it.”
“I cannot blame her for having reservations—especially since it seems someone tried to kill you.” Rawlings rubbed his jaw, thoughtful. “Solve that mystery first. Maybe then the rest of the pieces will fall into place.”
“What pieces?” Teddy sauntered toward them and gave Keane a hearty embrace before sliding onto the bench next to his father.
His cousin had a few new lines around the eyes, but his wry grin was as familiar to Keane as the path from his childhood home to the river where they’d fished. “It’s been too long. You’re looking well.” Teddy’s jacket was perfectly tailored, and his waistcoat expertly embroidered, but apparently all the pomade in the world couldn’t tame the cowlick he’d had since they were lads running through the fields like a pair of banshees.
“Glad to see you’re hale and hearty as well. I told Father he had nothing to fear. You’ve always been able to take care of yourself.”
Rawlings chuckled. “Andrew was just telling me that he’s met a woman here in Bellehaven. And he wants to marry her.”
“You don’t say.” Teddy grinned at Keane, flagged down the barmaid, and ordered a pint. “There can’t be many local women who are duchess material. Who is the lucky lady?”
“Miss Poppy Summers.” Just saying her name felt good. Right. “I can’t imagine anyone who’d be a better duchess. And you’ll both have the chance to meet her at the Regatta Ball tomorrow night.”