She also had an alarming habit of nearly touching him while she made delicate gestures to accompany speech. “…and they say that this new rage is all over London,” she was saying. “With such a to-do over it, I can only imagine what the coming Season will bring. What are your thoughts, Mr. de la Guerra?”
He had no thoughts on whatever she was talking about, because he hadn’t been paying attention since Poppy left. “I’m sorry, I got distracted…What was that?”
“I was remarking that the coming Season will surely be a veritable cascade of wedding announcements. You’d best make your own proposal early, sir, if you wish to be assured of a yes.” Her tone was coy, and her smile slightly naughty.
“I don’t think I’d make any woman a good husband,” he said, more bluntly than he meant to. “I’m at sea more than half the year.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she countered, placing her hand on his arm.
“Or it allows a wife to spend her husband’s money in peace, or find other companionship while he’s away.”
Blanche’s jaw tightened for just a moment. But then she sniffed, saying, “My goodness, Mr. de la Guerra. What sort of woman would ever dream of such behavior? Only a shopgirl would be so gauche.”
A clear shot at Poppy, whose stepfather employed her to work in the shop and warehouse.
“You know,” he said, struck with an idea for escape. “Miss St George just dashed out in the dark. Someone should tell her to stay near the house. I’d best do that before she tumbles off a cliff or something like that.”
Leaving a startled Blanche behind, Carlos strode through the French doors to the terrace, unlit except by the light thrown out from the interior candles and lamps. He looked around, expecting to see Poppy glaring back at him for daring to intrude. Instead, he saw no one at all.
“Miss St George?” he called.
She didn’t answer, but Carlos saw a flicker of movement at the end of the lawn. A woman in a blue dress was walking toward the stairs to the cliffs and the shoreline. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. What else could he do but follow her?
Chapter 5
The beach was a different world at nighttime. Poppy regretted her decision to come down—especially as the moon was hidden behind clouds, making everything dangerously dim—but it was too late now. She had just scrambled onto the top of a large boulder when she heard footsteps descending the lowest stairs.
“Miss St George?” Carlos called, stopping in front of her rock. “Is that you?”
“Who were you expecting?” she retorted. “A mermaid?”
“You could have been hurt, walking down here in the dark.”
“Well, I wasn’t. Proof that women are perfectly capable of doing things by themselves. Some women, anyway.”
“May I join you?” Without waiting for her reply, he vaulted himself easily to the top of the rock and settled near her.
Poppy was quite conscious of him so close, of his steady, quiet breathing. She chose to be annoyed by it. “Oh, please go away,” she said finally. “I am not done pouting.”
“You were not pouting, and Miss Ainsworth should not have said that.”
“All the same, I’d rather be alone.”
“No,” he said simply.
Poppy looked over, curiosity cutting through her frustration. “You realize staying with me is hardly an improvement in terms of my reputation.” Indeed, the idea of him alone in such a place with an unmarried woman was borderline scandalous.
He shrugged. “I disagree. A lady’s physical safety is always paramount. So you’re stuck with me until you’re back at the house.”
“What do you think could happen? I’ll be swept away by the sea? Or kidnapped by a selkie?”
“I doubt you’d let yourself be kidnapped by any mythological creature. You’re much too practical for that. Owls, however, are a possibility.”
“Owls?” Poppy echoed, confused.
“That’s what they sometimes call smugglers around here,” he explained.
She frowned. “I know that smuggling exists, but I thought it only occurred in large cities. What’s to smuggle out here?”
