Rain pattered steadily on the roof and thunder rumbled in the distance as Keane waited for Poppy Summers to respond to his only request: that he be permitted to ask her the occasional question.
She searched his face in a blatant and valiant attempt to ascertain if he was bluffing.
He was not.
He was intensely curious about her, and not solely because she was beautiful, although there was that. Far more intriguing to him were her confidence, her honesty, and her passion. He needed to find the sources of those traits within her. Maybe then he’d have a shot of finding them within himself.
Unlikely, that. But even if he was a lost cause, probing Miss Summers’s mind would give him something to look forward to each day.
She sat on a pillow opposite him with her feet tucked under her, her knees only inches from his. The strands of her thick braid glowed like red-hot embers in the light of the lantern. After the space of several heartbeats, she met his gaze, her face impassive.
“Is this all a lark to you?”
He shook his head, bewildered. “A lark?”
“A game. You’ve decided a holiday is in order—to give you respite from the weighty demands of running a dukedom.” Her tone was dry, with a distinct note of sarcasm. “You have time and money to spare, so you’ve elected to waste away the summer, doing nothing more than lounging in the sun and baiting me for your amusement.”
He shook his head. “Do you think so little of me?”
For the space of several breaths, she stared at him. “Let us just say that I’m well acquainted with your type.”
That stung. More than it should have. “You don’t know me, Miss Summers. Not yet.”
“Perhaps not. Fortunately for you, it’s not necessary for us to like or trust each other in order to do business. I am prepared to agree to your terms if you can adhere to mine.”
She extended her hand, and he took it in his, sealing their deal. He felt the calluses on her palms and the strength in her fingers, but he felt something else, too. A crackling of awareness, a jolt of anticipation—as if they were standing side by side at the edge of the cliff, preparing to leap into the ocean together.
They sat there, hands clasped, for longer than was strictly necessary, and her cheeks pinkened. “Now then,” she said, letting go at last. “How do you propose that we contact your valet?”
“I have a plan.” Keane shot her a grin. “But I’ll need your help to execute it.”
Poppy prepared an early dinner for Papa, read him a chapter of his favorite mystery, and made sure he was tucked into bed before she headed to town in her cart. The rain had pushed off to the east and the sun was slowly setting, leaving a burnt-orange sky glowing in its wake. In short, it was an ideal evening for a bit of subterfuge.
The note Keane had written was tucked in the pocket of the old cloak she wore. She knew precisely where to go, knew exactly what to do. The trick was to accomplish the task without being seen.
She walked into the Salty Mermaid at a quarter past nine, scanning the hazy room from the ancient bar in the front to the dark booths in the back. Locals and tourists alike clinked glasses of ale, shared boisterous tales, and smoked cheroots while holding fans of playing cards. She waved to a few of the familiar patrons, wound her way through the crowd to the bar, and sat on a stool across from the barkeep, who was drying and stacking pint glasses as he chatted with customers.
“Poppy Summers.” The burly bartender slung a towel over his shoulder and shot her a friendly smile. “Always a pleasure to see you. How’s your father?”
“He’s well, thank you, Nathan.” She glanced at the men on either side of her, leaned across the bar, and, in a lower voice said, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Dane lately?”
“Afraid not, lass. I haven’t seen your brother since…” He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the ceiling as if he were consulting a calendar—giving her just enough time to take the note out of her pocket and slide it onto the bar in front of the bespectacled older gentleman on her right.
Meeting her gaze again, Nathan said, “Last time I saw Dane was the night I helped you load him into the back of your cart.”
Poppy heaved a sigh. Not because the news surprised her, but because it was what the barkeep expected her to do. “Thank you. If he should happen to make an appearance, will you tell him I was looking for him?”
“I will.” Nathan gave her a wink. “In the meantime, be sure to call on me if there’s anything you or your father need.”
She thanked him, turned, and left. She felt a little guilty for deceiving Nathan, but she’d also felt a rather heady rush when she’d slipped Keane’s valet the note. Now she simply had to hope that Diggs read it in private and didn’t inadvertently inform the entire pub that the Duke of Hawking was living on her beach.
Now that the excitement was behind her, she looked forward to climbing into her loft and laying her head on her pillow. But she had one more stop to make first. She’d promised Keane that she’d go to the hideaway and tell him about her visit to the Salty Mermaid.
Despite her weariness, she looked forward to seeing him again. Probably more than she should have.
She found him sitting on a broad, flat rock outside the shelter, staring out at the moonlit sea. “This is a favorite spot of mine,” she said, climbing onto the rock and sitting beside him.
“It’s easy to see why.” He leaned back on his palms, his long legs stretched in front of him. “It seems like London is a million miles away.”
“Only one hundred. But it feels much farther on nights like this.”
He chuckled, and a warm breeze rustled the curls that fell over his bandage. “How was your trip to the Salty Mermaid?”
“I am pleased to report that the mission has been accomplished,” she said, making a mock salute. “Your valet was precisely where you said he’d be. The task could not have been any easier.”
“Then we shall think of something more challenging next time,” he teased. More seriously, he added, “You needn’t worry. Diggs will follow the instructions we laid out. He’ll be at the meeting spot tomorrow morning—and he’ll come alone.”
Keane’s casual use of the word we made her skin tingle. With one simple handshake, they’d embarked on a journey of sorts, and she wasn’t at all certain of the destination. “How long has Diggs been your valet?” she asked.
“Since my father died,” he said flatly. “Two years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.
He shrugged. “I knew Diggs long before that. He was a footman in our household when I was a lad, and he eventually married my nanny.”
“How sweet,” Poppy mused.
“Yes,” he said, swallowing hard, “but she passed away during childbirth. Their baby didn’t survive, either. I’m the closest thing Diggs has to family now—and vice versa.”
She checked the sudden and unexpected impulse to reach out and squeeze his hand. To tell him that she understood loneliness and loss. She longed to ask him what had happened to his mother but bit her tongue—mostly because she was not prepared to answer similar questions about her own mother.
“Then I’m glad Diggs knows you’re safe,” Poppy said sincerely. “He was probably worried sick, scouring all of Bellehaven looking for you.”
Keane chuckled. “I’m afraid he’s accustomed to my misadventures. But yes, I’m happy we could put his mind at ease”—he turned and shot her a lopsided grin—“thanks to you.”
She ignored the warmth blossoming in her chest, sat up straight, and brushed her palms together. “I shall leave you to rest. You should be comfortable enough.”
“After two nights sleeping on the cold, hard ground, your shelter is going to feel like a palace. I already vastly prefer it to my room at the Bluffs’ Brew.”
“That’s good, because you’re paying me a considerably higher rate,” she said, hopping off the large rock. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Keane.”
“Wait.”
Blast, she’d been so close to making her escape. “What is it?” she said dryly. “Did you need me to tell you a story? Tuck you into your bed?”
“I wouldn’t mind either of those things, truth be told, but no. I wanted to ask you a question.”
“By all means,” she said, extending an arm in invitation. “Fire away.” She kept her tone breezy and her expression slightly amused. But her belly turned somersaults as she waited to hear what he’d ask.
He jumped off the rock and walked toward her until they stood toe-to-toe. Moonlight painted the clearing in silver and gray, tall grass tickled their legs, and salty air swirled around them. For several heartbeats he held her gaze, as if choosing a question was a matter that required deep deliberation. Meanwhile, the flips in her belly grew more vigorous.
At last, his mouth curled into a slow, wry smile. “Miss Poppy Summers,” he drawled, “if you found yourself injured and stranded on a remote beach, and you could only contact one person in the world, who would that person be?”
She didn’t even have to think about her answer. “My friend Hazel.”
“And who is she?” Keane asked. “How did you become acquainted?”
Poppy arched a brow. “Those are two additional questions—and they will have to wait for another day.”
“Fair enough.” His low chuckle rumbled through her, settling in the vicinity of her belly.
She was about to do the prudent thing—namely, to turn and go—when her curiosity prevailed over good sense. “What about you?” she asked. “Is there someone who you are missing while you are isolated here? Someone in London, perhaps?”
“Miss Summers,” he said teasingly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were doing a different sort of fishing.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and she was grateful for the cover of darkness. “Do not flatter yourself. It was simply a question. One I find I’m already regretting.”
“Come, now.” He shot her a knowing look. “You’re not the least bit interested in knowing if I am romantically involved with a woman?”
She rolled her eyes. “Good night, Your Grace.”
She’d taken two steps toward the path when he said, “Wait. Please.”
She froze but did not turn around.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I was only having a bit of fun. You asked a straightforward question. If you give me another chance, I promise to answer truthfully.”
She remained rooted to her spot in the sand.
“Please. I … like talking with you.”
The sincerity in his voice thawed her resolve. Slowly, she faced him. “I’m listening.”
He quickly retrieved a quilt from the shelter, spread it on the ground, and waited for her to sit before he sat opposite her and continued.
“The person I miss is my cousin, Teddy. We grew up together, close as brothers. I spent more time at his home than I did my own, and I liked it that way. We climbed trees, swam in the river, and learned to ride together. When I was twelve, Teddy and I snuck into his father’s study, drank a decanter of brandy between us, and passed out beneath the desk. No one knew where we were, and when night fell, my uncle was so worried that he and the rest of the staff scoured the estate in search of us. We finally awoke and staggered into the breakfast room the next morning, our clothes reeking of spirits. My uncle was understandably irate.”
“Oh dear.” Poppy clucked her tongue. “Was your punishment severe?”
Keane shook his head. “Teddy told his father that the brandy had been his idea. Later, when I asked why he’d taken the fall for me, he said there was no sense in both of us enduring my uncle’s wrath.”
“He sounds like a good friend. It’s no wonder you’re close.”
He gazed toward the sea, oddly wistful. “Lately, we haven’t seen each other as frequently as I’d like. We both reside in London, but our schedules rarely align. I suppose we’ve become preoccupied with adult matters.”
“It happens,” Poppy said with a shrug. “Life carries us along like we’re fish swept up in a current. But if you keep swimming, eventually you’ll find your way back to the people who matter most. When you see Teddy again, you’ll probably pick up precisely where you left off. Let’s hope it’s not in a drunken stupor on the floor of a study.”
Keane laughed. “I can think of worse things.”
Poppy arched a brow. “I don’t doubt it.”
She stayed on the beach talking with Keane longer than she should have.
And not nearly long enough.