Poppy sat up. “What … what did you say?”
Keane shot her an amused smile. “I love you.”
A thousand effervescent champagne bubbles popped in her chest. “Oh.”
He pushed himself to sitting, and the sight of him naked, with his hair standing on end, made her heart flutter—even as echoes of pleasure still thrummed in her veins.
“You seem disappointed,” he said with an adorable frown. “I realize it wasn’t the most eloquent declaration. Shall I try again?”
“No.” She cupped his cheek in her palm, savoring the slight prickle of his stubble against her skin. “I’m only disappointed that I didn’t get to say it first.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “You could say it now … if you still want to.”
She pretended to ponder the idea as she pulled a quilt from her storage basket and spread it over both of them. They lay down, facing each other in the warm glow of the lantern.
“You once asked me if I could ever love someone like you,” she began.
“I remember.”
“I said I wasn’t sure.”
“I remember that, too.” He lifted a long curl from her shoulder, wound it around his index finger, and gazed at her with a tenderness that made her chest ache.
“I didn’t want to love you,” she said. “I thought that if I did, I’d be betraying my mother’s memory. That I’d be discounting all her suffering and heartache. And I did not want to dishonor her.”
“What changed?”
“I did,” she said honestly. “I realized Mama would not want me to choose who to love based on a title or fortune or lack thereof. When she chose Papa, she followed her heart. And in spite of all the hardships they faced, I know she’d choose him again if she could. She’d want me to listen to my heart, too.”
His lazy smile melted her insides like chocolate. “And what’s your heart saying?”
“It’s saying I love you, Keane. It took me a while to admit it to myself, but I think I’ve loved you for a while now. I love that you were perfectly happy living in this simple shelter. I love that you asked me a million questions and that you’ve never asked me to be anyone other than who I am.”
He chuckled. “Except for when we went to Ascot, and I asked you to be the daughter of a baron.”
“My acting skills may have left something to be desired,” she conceded. “But I love that you let me play a part in the search for your attacker. That you didn’t dismiss me as being too delicate or weak.”
“I know better than that.” He pretended to shudder. “I’m not completely daft.”
“I am fond of your cheeky sense of humor,” she mused. “But would you like to know what I love most about you?”
“I think we’ve established it’s not my title.” His smile slowly faded; his eyes turned a deeper shade of green. “But yes, I would very much like to know.”
She cradled his bandaged hand in hers, lifted it, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back. “I think what I love most of all is that you refused to give up on us. You believed in us, even when I pushed you away. Even when you discovered that Dane was the one who hurt you. It would have been so easy for you to leave Bellehaven—and me—but you never did. Thank you.”
“You are wrong about one thing.” He traced the curve of her cheek with a fingertip, sending a delicious shiver through her body. “It would not have been easy to leave you. It would have felt like leaving behind the best part of me. It would have been damned near impossible. Because I love you. I want to marry you, Poppy.”
Her throat ached; her eyes burned. “I want to marry you, too.” An unexpected tear trickled down her cheek, and she swiped at it, but another followed. And then another, and another.
“Come here.” He hauled her against his body, her back to his chest, and lightly rubbed her head while she sobbed.
She cried because her heart was close to bursting with love for Keane and the life they’d have together. But she also cried because Mama would never see the woman her daughter had become or meet the wonderful man who’d captured her heart. Mama wouldn’t attend their wedding or play with her grandchildren.
It seemed the greater Poppy’s joy, the more she missed Mama.
“I’m going to make you happy,” Keane whispered near her ear. “I swear it.”
She sniffled and nodded. Tonight was a very good start. Warm and secure in the comfort of his arms, she drifted off to sleep.
Pale shafts of morning light shone through the curtain opening at the shelter’s door. Keane pressed a kiss to Poppy’s temple and reluctantly sat up.
“Must you leave already?” The husky note in her voice brought to mind the best parts of the night they’d spent together.
“I look forward to the day when we can lounge in bed, doing wicked things to each other from dawn till dusk,” he drawled. “But today is not that day.”
She pried open her beautiful eyes and pouted her plump lips, practically begging him to kiss her. But, summoning restraint he didn’t even know he possessed, he reached for his trousers and pulled them on.
“Are you certain?” She stretched her supple arms high above her head, and the quilt slipped low, barely covering the tips of her breasts.
He suppressed a groan and stuffed his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “I have a meeting this morning.”
She arched a strawberry brow. “Is it with the king? Because I cannot imagine any other sort of meeting that would drag you away.”
“Not with the king.” He shot her an apologetic smile. “I’m meeting with my uncle.”
“Oh.” She held the quilt to her chest and sat up. “What’s going to become of your cousin?”
Keane shrugged on his jacket. “That’s what we are going to decide. I will tell you the whole of it later today.”
Her mouth curled into a sensuous smile. “I’m going to see you later?”
He nodded. “When I speak to your father. Would you inform him that I’ll be paying a call this afternoon?”
Her eyes went wide, and she swallowed. “You’re coming to the cottage? To talk with Papa?”
“How else would I ask for your hand?”
She bit her lower lip, let the quilt fall away, and sat back on her heels.
Holy hell. “What are you doing?”
She picked up the scarf she’d used to cover his eyes and slid it around her neck. “I was just thinking that you might like having a turn to blindfold me.” She swept her fingertips along the insides of her parted thighs, and his mouth went dry.
With a primal growl, he dropped to his knees, reached for the blindfold, and moved behind her to secure it. “I’m definitely going to be late for my meeting.”
“I realize I am entirely to blame,” she said with mock remorse, even as she pressed her lush bottom against his hard length. “However, I am willing to pay the price. Just name it.”
He eased her head back onto a pillow and braced himself above her. “I suppose it’s only fair that I exact payment,” he teased. He drew a pink nipple into his mouth, then licked a path down her flat belly, taking a detour around her navel.
“And what is it that you demand, Your Grace?” she asked breathlessly.
“Simple.” He dipped his head, flicked his tongue over her sex, and smiled at the whimper in her throat. “I want to hear you scream my name.”
“Apologies for keeping you waiting.” Keane strode into the small but well-appointed library of the mayor’s house and sat in a wing chair opposite his uncle. The curtains were drawn, the room was dark, and the mood was somber—almost as if they were in mourning.
Which, in some respects, they were.
“You are not the one who should be making apologies, Andrew.”
“He is still here?”
Rawlings nodded wearily; he seemed to have aged a decade since yesterday. “I have a couple of footmen standing guard outside his room.”
“I realize this must be difficult.” Keane gestured toward the mayor’s well-stocked sideboard. “May I pour you a drink?”
“No, thank you.” Rawlings gripped the arms of his chair and inhaled deeply. “Theodore confessed to everything. Not that I doubted your word,” he added. “I am horrified—sickened—by what he’s done.”
Keane dragged a hand down his face. “It is difficult to believe.”
“Yes, but I should have suspected this could happen,” his uncle admitted. “I knew he was jealous of you. And he coveted more than your title. He wanted your wit and your charm. He wanted me to hold him in the same high regard that I hold you.”
“This is not your fault, Uncle.”
“Trust me when I say I am partly to blame for Theodore’s lack of character. After his mother died, I thought I could fill the void with gifts. I gave him everything he asked for. Small things at first—a trinket here, a sweet there. But before long, he was demanding a thoroughbred horse and an exorbitant allowance. Instead of refusing, I indulged every whim. It was the worst thing I could have done.”
“You did your best. It was a damned sight better than my father did.”
Rawlings scoffed. “I’m not so certain. I love my son, but he has gone too far this time. He must face the consequences of his misdeeds—whatever those consequences might be.”
Keane stood and paced behind his chair. “If I were to turn him over to the authorities, he’d likely end up in Newgate.”
His uncle swallowed, and above his dark beard, his face turned ghostly pale. “He could hang.”
“I don’t want that any more than you do.” Keane stifled a curse as he rolled his stiff shoulders and flexed the fingers of his bandaged hand. “Despite all he’s done, I believe there’s some good in him.”
“Maybe, but it’s buried deep.”
“I can offer him an alternative to Newgate, but he’s not going to like it.”
“Understood.” Rawlings rubbed the stubble along his chin, thoughtful. “Shall I summon him here?”
Keane nodded, went directly to the sideboard, and poured himself a drink.
Teddy shuffled into the room a few minutes later dressed in the same clothes he’d worn last night. His bloodshot eyes said he hadn’t slept a wink, and his hands trembled like those of a man of eighty years.
Keane pointed to the chair he’d vacated. “Sit.”
Teddy did and shot a pleading look at his father. Rawlings remained expressionless.
“You have a choice,” Keane said without preamble.
Hope sparked in his cousin’s eyes.
“I can take you to the magistrate and let him determine your fate. Given that your crime is attempted murder, I assume you will end up in prison. If I ask the authorities to have mercy on you, you might not hang.”
“I … I wouldn’t survive prison.” Teddy stifled a sob and reached for his father, who sat still as a statue.
“Then you might prefer the alternative,” Keane continued, “which is to join the British Army as a soldier. Prove that you can behave honorably. Serve your country and make something of yourself. When you eventually return, you’ll be a man. You’ll have done something you can be proud of.”
Teddy gulped. “The Army? For how long? How long must I stay away?”
Keane didn’t flinch. “Ten years.”
“But I’ll be almost forty by that time.” Teddy dropped to his knees and put his head on his father’s lap. “Don’t let him do this to me,” he begged.
“This mess is of your own making,” Rawlings said, impassive. “Your cousin is generously giving you a second chance, and I suggest you take it.”
“Fine,” he whimpered pitifully. “But at least purchase me a commission. Don’t make me enlist as a lowly soldier.”
“I will not purchase a commission,” Rawlings replied. “If you want to be an officer, you will have to work your way through the ranks. You will need to earn that distinction.”
“Cousin.” Teddy swiveled his head, scrambled to his feet, and searched Keane’s face with wild, desperate eyes. “Think of all we’ve been through together. Have some compassion.”
Anger so potent he could taste it bubbled in Keane’s throat. He itched to grab Teddy by his wrinkled cravat and plant a fist in his face. But he didn’t want to cause his uncle any more pain. He didn’t want to let hate stain this day—not when he and Poppy had so much to be thankful for.
“Compassion,” Keane repeated, chillingly calm. “Where was your compassion last night when I was hanging by my fingertips?” He held his bandaged hand an inch from Teddy’s nose. “When you watched my skin burn and blister?”
Teddy hung his head and clasped the back of the chair as if his legs might buckle. “I made a mistake. You must believe me.”
“I’ll see you in a decade, Cousin.” Keane strode out of the library without looking back, feeling two stone lighter. Like he’d shut the door on the unsavory parts of his past.
Now he was clear-eyed about the future he wanted. But before he could seize it, he had one more challenge to face—the most crucial yet.