Chapter Ten
London, 1869—A Proposal
Do you suppose,” Poppy said, glancing down at him with her steady brown eyes, “that man walking along the path realizes the lady he’s escorting is no older than fifteen?”
Winston stirred slightly, for he too had been watching the couple as he and Poppy reclined under their willow tree. For a week now, they’d taken a daily walk together, and always they ended up sitting beneath the willow where he’d kissed her for the first time. Today, however, she’d eased his head down onto her lap. The shocking intimacy of it, and that Poppy—his reserved and proper Poppy—had been the one to initiate liberties had almost unmanned him. But he was not so foolish as to protest. Besides, the comfort of her lap was utter heaven.
Poppy had felt him start at her question, for her cheeks pinked. “I like to people gaze. I can’t seem to help myself.”
He let his fingers touch hers where they rested lightly on his arm. “Neither can I.” When she glanced down in surprise, he smiled. “Now then, you were saying about the strolling couple? Tell me your theory. You cannot see her face, as they are walking away from us. So then why do you assume she is a youth?”
Poppy’s fingers pulled free from his and drifted up to his hair. He almost purred at the way she toyed with the ends as her gaze went back to the couple. “Her walk. She is not used to gowns of that length. Her skirts are tangling about her ankles because she hasn’t yet learned to properly step.”
“Mmm.” He willed himself not to close his eyes but kept them upon the couple. He hadn’t noticed that. “I do believe you are correct.”
Poppy’s brown eyes gleamed as she leaned in, the action bringing her rather pert bosom wonderfully close to his nose. “The question is, however, does he know?”
Winston cleared his throat, taking in a subtle breath of her intoxicating scent. Soon. Soon he would see those breasts. Anticipation simmered as he gave her a conspiratorial smile and paid attention to the subject at hand. “No, the question is, does she know he is cash poor?”
“Cash poor?” She nibbled on her bottom lip, but stopped quickly, as if correcting herself, and Winston wondered if she constantly self-governed her actions.
“I see nothing in his clothing to indicate poverty,” Poppy said.
Because the sad truth was that clothing made the man, or woman. With a lift of his chin, Winston gestured toward the man. “Observe the soles of his shoes. There is a hole wearing on the left one. No man with proper means would allow that to happen. Unless,” he nodded back at the man, “he saves his funds to address the more obvious items in his wardrobe.”
He was rewarded with Poppy’s grin, a full cheeky one that made her nose wrinkle.
“Very clever, Mr. Lane.” She looked at him, and he grew a little dizzy basking under her admiration.
“I would like to be a detective.” Winston blinked. Now that he hadn’t meant to say. He hadn’t even fully wanted to admit it to himself.
Poppy, however, did not see the strangeness of his desire. “Why not, then? I think you would be brilliant.”
Had they been in private, he would have turned and nuzzled her belly before pulling her down atop of him. As it was, he ran a finger along the folds of her simple worsted gown. “My family would not condone it.”
Her own blunt-tipped finger traced his ear, sending little shivers down his spine. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t.”
There it was again, that wall he could literally feel shooting up between them. The wall she erected whenever she remembered how disparate their families were. Annoyed, he plucked at her skirt, taking it out on her clothing, but she surprised him and rested her cool palm on the crown of his head.
“Why do you want to do it, Winston? When you could live a life of luxury and comfort?”
He rolled fully onto his back so that he could look at her without craning his neck. Behind the fiery nimbus of her hair, the lacy green branches swayed in the gentle breeze. “That is the first time you called me by my name.”
She pursed her lips. “Shall I stop?”
He lifted a hand and cupped the back of her slim neck. “I want to hear it fall from your lips for all of my days.”
Gorgeous, awkward pink flooded her cheeks. “Romantic drivel.”
“Mmm.” His thumb slid under the tight confines of her high collar and found her pulse. “I like a challenge.” It was an answer to both her question and her statement.
Her laugh was short and a bit breathless. “Yes.”
His fingers pushed through her silky hair. “I find the world a puzzle to be solved.”
“You would.” She leaned in just a touch closer.
Gods but he wanted to nibble at the perky tips of her breasts. He eased her even closer, wanting her to feel the heat of his breath. As if answering his prayers, hard little nipples appeared against her bodice. He smiled. “And I want to do some good in the world, not simply take from it.”
“You would make a fine detective, Win.”
Win. That did it.
It was an easy thing to pull her down and roll her alongside of him. She squeaked as she went. He barred her protest by resting his chest lightly upon hers while his legs tangled in her skirts.
“Winston Lane!” She laughed as he kissed her neck. “Unhand me. You are going to get us arrested for public indecency.”
The light in her eyes and the way her breasts lifted and fell beneath her dress told a different story. One that had him grinning over the possibilities. He nuzzled the spot under her ear before kissing his way up her jaw. “All the better to fully acquaint myself with the law, my dear.”
She laughed but stayed him with her hand, her eyes suddenly serious. “Why do you want to be with me?”
The soft confusion in her voice gave him pause, and he studied her before a tender smile tugged at his lips. “Because you are honest and direct,” he touched the curve of her cheek, “and, for whatever reason, I feel wholly myself when I am with you.”
A shadow of something flickered in her eyes, and she frowned. “You believe me to be something better than I am, sir.”
The sadness that dwelled in her eyes bothered him. His fingers trailed to the downy red hair at her temple. “And you give yourself too little credit.” He cupped her face when she moved to protest, and he spoke first. “Why do you want to be with me?” No sooner were the words out than he wanted to take them back. Perhaps she did not have an answer. No one in his life ever really wanted to be around him. His studiousness made his brother edgy, and his father had always detested the sight of him. Winston swallowed hard. But Poppy merely smiled, and it was the dawn breaking over a winter sky. Her brown eyes traveled over his face.
“Strangely enough,” she said, “for the very reasons you served to me.”
He grinned wide. “As I thought. We were made for each other.”
Her lips moved as he kissed them. Trying to talk. Dear girl. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue home. And she melted against him, her capable hands clutching at his biceps in a way that made him want to protect her, take on the world for her. “Marry me, Poppy.” He kissed her again. Again. “Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.” Soft kisses to underscore the seriousness of his need, and how he’d just laid his heart’s desire bare beneath that tree.
“Win.” Her fingers curled into his hair. She held him still and kissed him with a passion that had his heart racing. But she did not say yes.