But, dogged by a very annoying sense of responsibility, he told her, “I should make you leave now.”
“Or what?”
“Or I will ruin you. And I’m fairly sure you’d hate me afterward.”
“Would I hate you during?”
Christ. Was she trying to get thrown across the bed?
“No,” he said. “But that also isn’t going to happen. Not tonight, anyway.”
“Really.” Poppy looked intrigued.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Poppy. And can I suggest that you finally wear a different dress to dinner?”
“What?”
“You wore the same gown you had on the first night, when I followed you to the beach. Dying it red was a very good way to hide the damage. And all those ribbony things to make it look different.”
“It was the maid’s idea to dye it red,” she said faintly. “I can’t believe you noticed that it was the same outfit.”
“It’s the neckline. I was staring at you for hours both evenings, Poppy. Believe when I say I know exactly how much of you I can see, and how much that stupid dress hides.”
“You do?”
“Sálvame. I do, and it’s distracting.” He opened the door, checking the hallway for people before saying in a low voice, “Please get out of here, Poppy.”
She gave him a look of profound exasperation, and slid past him to the hall.
After she left, it took him a very long time to calm down from their too-short encounter. A century ago, when Carlos would have been classified as a pure pirate, he’d have just scooped her up and taken her directly to his ship to keep her as his mistress. (Pirates had an enviable lack of morals that seemed especially attractive just now.) Alas, the world had changed and he had been raised with a strict sense of honor. Stealing women just wasn’t acceptable.
And even if he stole Poppy, within a week she’d probably stir up a mutiny and seize his ship for herself.
Christ, he could fall in love with her if he wasn’t careful.
Chapter 13
Carlos —
Well, have you solved your Poppy problem yet? Rose knows she’s there (her cousin wrote to her as fast as you wrote to me—the letters arrived in the same post). She is pestering me for details, and I have none to give. I don’t know what you’re planning, but as a friend, I’d counsel you to give up on vengeance and simply try to win the lady back. Trust me, it’s better to have a future you can look forward to than a past you just want to forget. I’d know.
But why do I waste ink on this advice? You won’t stop till you get justice—woe to anyone who hurts someone that de la Guerra calls friend. Just don’t be an idiot. I’d hate to have to write to your family with the news that you’re coming home in a box.
Write when you can, for Rose’s sake if not mine.
—Adrian
Though it had arrived yesterday evening, Carlos read over the letter once again in the early hours of the morning, thinking of all that had happened since he first received it. No one could say that his life was dull at the moment.
He’d have to think before responding to that letter, mostly because he was going to ignore Adrian’s advice completely today. He intended to dig deeper into the world of smugglers and murders, instead of pursuing Poppy.
It’s better to leave her alone, he told himself. Especially after last night, when he learned that having Poppy close led to him making very impulsive decisions and looking for excuses to see her again.
No. He had one reason to be in Cornwall, and it wasn’t (sadly) the fiery Poppy St George.
The sun hadn’t even crested the horizon when Carlos rode one of the horses out of the stable towards town. On his own, he made the journey in half the time it took for a carriage laden with people. As he approached Treversey, only a few people were moving about the streets, and nearly all the stores were shuttered. He rode to Seven Sisters and left the horse there, then walked away from the high street to a place where the road ended abruptly at a promontory overlooking the Channel, one of countless vistas in the area.
Carlos had arranged to meet his first mate Valentin there, to get the full report on Spargo and anything else he gathered.
