Page 102 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

His answer sent a shiver up her spine. “My scent?”

“Yes, it is unmistakable and distinct from the rest. It smells like flowers. The little white ones in the hedges of my garden. I do not know what they are called, but they make me think of you. And you make me think of them.”

Poppy tried to laugh, but the sound caught in her throat. “I—do not know what to say. I was alarmed at first that you noticed me by my scent.”

“It should not be alarming. I meant only that I would know you anywhere.” He stopped as if he had to think before saying the next line. “Even in a crowded room.”

Poppy’s pulse quickened, and her fingers curled against her skirt. All evening, she had thought of herself as unseen by him. Yet he had known her in a way that did not require his sight at all. The feeling both unsettled and steadied her at once.

Neither of them spoke for a moment as they took this in.

Until at last Hector said, “I regretted not dancing with you, Poppy.”

The confession was so quiet and gentle that it surprised her even more.

“Why didn’t you dance?” she whispered, and her voice cracked with emotion.

His head lowered slightly in shame. “Because I am a fool.”

The answer was so unlike his usual careful evasions that Poppy’s throat tightened.

After a moment, she said, “I am a fool as well.”

Hector approached her slowly, and Poppy held her breath. “You are the furthest thing from a fool.”

“I…I⁠—”

“Why would you call yourself a fool, Poppy?” he towered over her, and she gulped.

His nearness affected her so entirely; even her body felt pulled to him against her will.

“I am a fool for expecting to want things when I once agreed not to want them.” The darkness seemed to surround them and push them closer to each other.

Poppy wondered if she had said too much because Hector stopped in his tracks. She wanted to protest against that; she needed him close to her; she wanted to feel his fiery touch again.

She heard the soft placement of his cane against the edge of something nearby. The sound was small, but it echoed as he set it aside.

“Hector?”

“Poppy,” he said her name as if he were confessing a secret.

She could see him only as a shape moving toward her, slowly and with care under the dim light. She could only imagine what he saw, and without the cane, each step cost him attention. She understood that, and that made his gesture all the more romantic.

He stopped close enough that she could feel his breath on her.

“Will you dance with me?”

Her skin came to life when he asked her.

There was no music, guests, or candlelight. Only the dark room and the space between them. Poppy looked up at him and did not even try to keep her smile from forming.

“Yes, I would love to dance with you,” she said.

His hand found hers carefully and gracefully. His palm was warm against hers, but she trembled when their hands joined. Hector set his other hand with restrained precision on her back, and she placed hers on his shoulder. They did not begin with steps. They simply stood, learning the shape and warmth of each other.

When Hector began a slow waltz, Poppy completely surrendered to him.

She felt the concentration in him, and the trust required by every small adjustment he made. She allowed him to lead her as she matched him carefully.