Poppy and Keane ducked through the blanket hanging in the entrance and stretched their arms and legs. Her gaze flicked to his bandaged hand. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really. You are a welcome distraction.”
She held his good hand as they wound their way down the path and through the reeds toward the shore. The breeze whipped at her skirts and turned her hair into a cloud of bouncy curls. When they reached the sand, she inhaled deeply, letting the salty sea air work its magic and soothe her nerves.
“You once asked me why I am distrustful of people like you,” she began.
“Of the nobility,” he said. “You said they hurt someone you loved.”
“It was my mother,” she said softly.
His eyes shone with compassion. “I take it you were very close?”
A lump formed in Poppy’s throat, and she nodded. “When I was five, she taught me to read, and whenever we could steal a few minutes, we would escape into books. Sometimes she read to me; sometimes I read to her. We read books about faraway lands and daring adventure. We read tales about love and loss and redemption.”
“That sounds magical.”
Poppy managed a smile. “It was the best sort of childhood. But Mama wanted a better life for me. She’d been raised as a lady and was determined to teach me fine manners and social graces. I fear most of her lessons were lost on me.”
“You’re kind, caring, and confident,” he said firmly. “I think your mother would be proud.”
Poppy wanted to believe that, but with each year that passed, it was harder and harder to recall the things Mama had taught her. Worse, it was growing more difficult to remember her sparkling eyes and infectious smile. Poppy gazed at the inky black sky and took courage from the twinkle of a distant star.
“The winter I turned nine, Mama took ill. It was a particularly harsh January, and the cottage was so cold that ice formed inside the windows. No matter how many quilts I piled on top of her, no matter how many logs Papa added to the fire, she still shivered. Never before had I felt so helpless or so scared.”
Keane wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “There was nowhere you could go?”
Poppy shook her head. “She became very sick, very quickly. Her fever raged; she couldn’t drink. She barely had the strength to open her eyes. The doctor told Papa we should try to make her comfortable … and say our goodbyes.” Poppy had been sitting beside Mama, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead. She’d bitten the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming.
“Do you want to rest for a bit?” Concern was etched on Keane’s face. “This must be very difficult to talk about.”
“I think I need to keep going.” If she didn’t, she might well lose her courage and bottle up the truth for another decade. “Mama kept asking for her sister who lived in London, but the entire family had disowned her when she married my father.”
“Because he was a fisherman?”
Poppy nodded. “They met while she and her family were here on holiday one summer. He taught her to fish, and she taught him to read. She would sneak away to the beach to meet him. And they fell in love. She wanted to marry my father, but he said he loved her too much to make a lady like her a fisherman’s wife. She was heartbroken when summer ended and she had to return to London. But soon after, she discovered she was with child.”
Keane arched a brow. “I imagine that was quite a scandal.”
“Her parents hastily arranged for her to marry an earl, but she refused. As soon as she could manage it, she ran away and came to Bellehaven Bay. She told my father about the babe, and they eloped. If Mama ever regretted her decision, she never showed it. She never seemed to long for the niceties of her former life, but she desperately missed her older sister.”
“And when your mother became sick, she wanted to see her.”
“Yes. I’d never met Aunt Evelyn, but I’d heard plenty of stories about her. According to Mama, she was whip-smart, gracious, and dutiful. She never married and still lived with my grandparents in London.”
“Did your father try to find her?”
“No, but I did.”
Keane winced. “On your own?”
Poppy nodded. “I knelt next to Mama’s bed and promised to fetch Aunt Evelyn and bring her to Mama’s side. I kissed her cheek and swore I’d be back soon … but I failed her.”
“You were a child.” Keane reached for her face and grazed his thumb across her lower lip. “How on earth could you manage a trip like that?”
“I took the mail coach. I’d been to London with Mama before, and we’d driven past her parents’ house in Mayfair. I remembered the ivy-covered stones and the glossy black door with the brass knocker. It was raining when I arrived on their doorstep, and I was so relieved when the butler opened the door, even though he scowled at me. I told him who I was, and that Mama was sick, and begged to speak with Lady Evelyn.”
“What happened?”
“He said he would see if the family was receiving and told me to wait there. When he came back, he said that I must have been mistaken. That Lady Evelyn did not have a sister, and she most definitely did not have a niece.”
“Poppy,” Keane rasped. “I’m sorry.”
“I stayed there on the doorstep all night, in the rain. I hoped that someone would come or go, giving me a chance to plead my case. But they never did. The next morning, a kindly maid snuck me a sandwich and urged me to go before the earl ordered a footman to toss me on my ear.” Poppy shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I left.”
“Who are they?” Keane’s voice was low and lethal. “The earl and countess. What are their names?”
“It doesn’t matter. By the time I made it back home … Mama was gone. I should have been there with her, holding her hand. I should have at least said goodbye. But I was miles away when her soul left this earth … and couldn’t even grant her dying wish.”
Keane hauled her into her his arms and crushed her to his chest, rubbing her back as she sobbed. She cried for Mama, Papa, Dane, herself, and all the years they should have had together.
She cried because when Mama died, all the dreams she’d had for Poppy died, too.
Till now, she’d never told anyone about the events of that night. Not even Dane or Papa knew exactly what had happened. But Keane had listened. He’d understood. And he didn’t seem to mind that she’d soaked the front of his shirt with her tears.
“Thank you for confiding in me.” He uttered the words soberly—as if she’d given him a rare and precious gift. “It’s no wonder you’re wary of members of the ton.”
She inhaled a shaky breath. “I know that you’re not like them, Keane.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not.”
“But that doesn’t mean things will be easy for us. Some of your friends won’t approve of me. Some of my family won’t trust yours.”
“That is probably true. But when they see how ridiculously happy we make each other, they’ll change their minds—just like you changed yours.” He grinned, scooped her into his arms, and held her against his chest.
“What are you doing?” His arresting green eyes were mere inches from hers, and his hungry gaze made her belly flutter.
“Taking you back to the shelter.” He raised a questioning brow. “Any objection?”
She opened her mouth to say she was capable of walking, then thought better of it. After years of taking care of everyone around her, it felt odd—but wonderful—to surrender into Keane’s strength. To let him take care of her.
“I have no objection,” she said, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder. “Onward.”
Keane savored the feel of Poppy’s lush curves pressed against his torso and the citrusy scent of her hair tickling his nose. She melted into him as though she was nestling into a pile of pillows—and he loved that she was taking the comfort he’d offered.
He was even more touched that she’d confided in him. His strong, self-sufficient, and courageous Poppy had trusted him. She’d shared her most vulnerable time, her deepest wound, giving him every reason to be hopeful.
It didn’t matter that his cousin—the closest thing he had to a brother—had tried to kill him. Twice. Now that Keane was in possession of the facts, he could deal with Teddy accordingly. But that was a matter for tomorrow. Tonight was exclusively for Poppy and him.
On the way back to the shelter, she asked him about all that had happened that evening, and he told her about the faulty scaffolding, Teddy’s shocking confession, and his sadistic attempt to send Keane plummeting from the third-story window.
“Why did you let him walk out of the Assembly Rooms?” she asked, aghast. “He should be locked up and made to pay.”
“True. That’s what Teddy deserves, but imprisoning him would cause my uncle unnecessary shame and heartache … so I’m working on another solution.”
She sniffed, incensed on Keane’s behalf. “I don’t trust Teddy. But I suppose that’s not fair of me, considering I pleaded with you to have mercy on Dane.”
“My cousin lied to your brother. When Dane knocked me out, he thought he was righting a wrong.”
“Dane doesn’t think much at all,” she admitted. “Which is why I fully intend to wring his neck at the first opportunity.”
Keane chuckled. “Dane and I will discuss it over a pint of ale. By the time the pub closes, we’ll probably be the best of friends.”
Her freckled nose crinkled adorably. “Men are vexingly mysterious creatures. But I suppose the important thing is that you were mostly unhurt. How is your hand?” she asked. “The bandaged one.”
“It’s supporting your bottom right now,” he said with a grin. “Which may be the reason I’m not feeling even a hint of pain.”
He wound his way up the path, then slowly lowered her to the ground in front of the shelter, letting her body slide down his.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly. “For taking care of me. Now I intend to take care of you.”
“You do?” He arched a brow, intrigued.
“Mmm.” She took him by the hand, led him inside the dimly lit lean-to, and instructed him to sit on the thick quilt. “First, I think we must remove your boots.” Refusing the help he offered, she wrestled off his Hessians and placed them outside.
“Next,” she continued, “this jacket must go.” She knelt behind him and slowly pulled it off his shoulders and down his arms before setting it aside. “That’s much better, don’t you think?”
“Aye.” He looked over his shoulder at her, and she clucked her tongue.
She slid a fingertip along his jaw, turning his head away from her. “It is your turn to trust me,” she whispered close to his ear. “Do you trust me, Keane?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “With my life.”
“Good.” She dangled a scarf in front of him, slid it along his cheek, then gently placed it over his eyes and secured it at the back of his head. “Is that comfortable?”
“Aye,” he repeated. But in truth, he was more than comfortable. He was totally and utterly enthralled by this game—and by her.
“Excellent,” she purred, tugging at the ties of his shirt. “But I feel certain we can do even better.” Her nimble fingers loosened his collar and slid beneath the smooth lawn, tracing the contours of his chest. Like a glass of brandy, her touch heated his blood and left him reeling—in the best possible way.
She reached around him, grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, and smoothly hauled it over his head. As the evening air cooled his skin, Poppy shifted behind him and pressed her warm lips to his nape, sending a delicious shiver down his spine.
Then her hands went to work, kneading his shoulders and the sore muscles he’d used to hang on to the window. She seemed to know just where the most tender spots were, and she lingered on them, banishing the knots with her unique blend of skill and determination.
Gradually, she moved downward, massaging the tightness out of his lower back until he sighed from the sheer pleasure of it.
“Better?” she murmured against his neck.
“Better,” he confirmed.
“I am glad.” She trailed her fingers over his shoulders and down his arms, leaving his skin tingling in her wake. Her mouth followed a similar path, alternately nipping and licking. Her breasts pressed against his back, making his palms itch with the desire to touch her.
“Poppy,” he rasped.
“Shh.” She brushed a finger across his lips, practically daring him to take it in his mouth. “You must trust me.”
“I do, but … I need you.”
She shifted beside him and pressed a palm against his chest, easing him onto his back. “I know what you need.” She leaned over his chest, and the soft ends of her hair tickled his skin. Her tongue flicked at his nipple while her fingers traced the edge of his waistband. His cock strained against his trousers, and he swallowed a curse.
She kissed her way down his torso, over the ridges of his abdomen. When she reached the tops of his trousers, she moved away and began to unbutton them, slowly peeling them away from his body until his hard length was entirely freed. He heard her breath hitch in her throat and smiled.
But she didn’t stop there. She wriggled his trousers off his legs, tossed them aside, then sat between his thighs.
“From the first time I saw you, facedown in the surf,” she said softly, “I knew you were going to upset all my plans.” She swept her fingertips along the outsides of his legs. “I knew you’d be a danger to my heart. And somewhere deep inside, I knew I wanted to make you mine.”
“And here we are,” he managed.
“Here we are,” she repeated, lightly grazing a fingernail from the inside of his knee to the top of his thigh. His cock twitched in response.
She shifted again, and he felt the warm, tentative touch of her lips on his arousal. She began near the base, slowly licked her way north, and swirled her tongue around the top.
He groaned and clutched the quilt beneath him, praying for control.
She drew him into her mouth, inch by inch. Sucking and stroking. Making little moans in her throat that vibrated through him. Driving him mad with desire.
All the while, her hands explored, too. She squeezed his buttocks and raked her nails down his chest. His cock throbbed. His body broke out in a sweat.
“Poppy,” he gasped.
She went still, slowly raised her head, leaving him wet and impossibly hard. “You liked that.” It was three parts statement, one part question.
“More than you could possibly know,” he ground out.
She moved again, and he heard the rustle of silk. Imagined her lifting the ball gown over her head. Felt her straddle his hips. She rose above him and guided his cock between her legs, rubbing the tip against the hot, slick folds at her entrance.
“Fuck.”
“Not yet,” she said with a mix of breathlessness and amusement. “But soon.” She reached for his good hand, uncurled his fingers, and licked the center of his palm, sending an unexpected shot of pleasure through his arm and straight to his groin. Then she lifted his hand to her breast—which was all the invitation he needed.
She was small and firm, perfect in every way. As he caressed the soft underside, the taut tip grazed his palm, and she sighed sweetly. “Even though you touch me here”—she touched the hand he held to her breast—“I feel it here.” Deliberately, she moved his hand down her smooth, flat belly to the juncture of her legs.
Jesus, she felt good. Warm, wet, swollen. Pulsing with desire.
He propped himself on an elbow and stroked her, finding the spot that made her breath hitch. Using the pressure that made her whimper.
“Poppy Summers,” he growled. “You. Are. Mine.”
“Yes.” She reached behind his head, removed the blindfold, and gazed at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “And you, Andrew Keane … you are mine.”
As if they were sealing the oath, she slowly—almost solemnly—lowered herself onto him. They moved together in perfect rhythm. She met him thrust for thrust, drawing him deeper until they were as close as two people could be.
With every sensuous kiss, she healed him.
And with every subtle moan, she tattooed her name, indelibly, on his heart.
He reached between their bodies and touched her as he gazed at her beautiful, freckled face. Her eyes closed, her back arched, and her skin flushed until, at last, her core pulsed all around him.
As her cries of ecstasy filled his head, pleasure gathered behind his eyes like a firework rocketing into the sky.
He hurtled toward the heavens—and burst into a thousand sparks of light. Torrents of pleasure blinded him. Pounded through his body. Left him sated and utterly spent.
Poppy collapsed on top on him, her legs tangled with his. And he knew he’d never forget that moment.
He and Poppy could live on a majestic country estate or own the most elegant town house in all of London. He’d never love any place more than their little lean-to on the beach of Bellehaven Bay.
He wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed her temple. “I love you, Poppy.”