Page 103 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“I have an unusual request,” he said after a while.

Her pulse sped up again. “What is it?”

“You are free to refuse.”

Oh no.

“Hector, you are scaring me.” She halted their steps, and his arms tightened around her.

“It is nothing too serious. I did not mean to scare you.”

He looked troubled, and Poppy dropped her eyes in regret.

“I know, forgive me. What is this favor?”

His fingers flexed faintly against her hand. “May I… touch your face?”

Poppy felt as though she had stopped breathing.

He went still at once. “Forgive me. I should not have⁠—”

“Yes,” she said. The word came out too quickly, and almost like a gasp. She swallowed.

“Yes, you may,” she said more calmly.

His hand left her back. For a moment it hovered near her shoulder, as if he could feel the outline of her without contact. Then his fingertips touched her hair.

The tenderness of it undid her.

He stroked her cheek gently, though the gesture felt more intimate than any caress she had known. His fingers traced the arrangement of her dark blonde hair, paused where a loosened strand had escaped, then moved with reverent hesitation to her temple. Poppy let out a soft sigh when his warm fingers neared her lips. They stood motionless, afraid that any other movement would end it.

Hector inhaled her deeply; his thumb found the curve behind her ear. When he exhaled, Poppy could almost taste him. She trembled under his touch. Slowly, carefully, he studied every detail of her face with his fingertips. The line of her brow, the bridge of her nose, and the softness beneath her eyes. He only stopped at the corner of her mouth again, as though remembering something he had been told. Poppy’s lips parted on a breath, and Hector froze as they both tried to control their breathing.

“May I?” he asked, rougher now.

Poppy could not bring herself to speak, so she simply nodded her head. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, then the side of her neck, barely touching, yet leaving warmth everywhere. She shivered before she could stop herself.

Hector’s hand withdrew an inch. “Why are you trembling?”

“I don’t know.”

It was the truth.

His hand returned to her cheek and cupped it.

“Jasper was right,” he said.

Poppy frowned. “About what?”

“About your beauty.”

Poppy blushed, and she felt her eyes burn with tears.

Why am I so overwhelmed?

“Hector,” she whispered his name, and his breath hitched.

He began to lower his hand, but she caught it and kept him there.