The Earl Not Taken Read online

“I suppose that is true.” He was close enough that his breath tickled the back of her neck as the hallway opened up into a cavernous room carved into the ground beneath the house.

  Poppy rushed forward to put distance between herself and Rhys while she turned to get a better look at the remarkable stone construction.

  The mushy floor turned to mud. Poppy’s foot slipped. One second she was avoiding the lovely tickle of Rhys’s breath on her skin and the next she was flat on her back in three inches of mud and who knew what else. “Oh, Satan’s beard!”

  Reaching down, Rhys took her flailing hand. “There is the Poppy I know.”

  Heart in her throat, she wished she could bury herself in the mud and disappear. “I suppose you will now berate me on all my flaws and how unladylike I am.”

  He cocked his head. “I was thinking how perfectly adorable you look.” With ease, he lifted her to her feet, bringing her chest tight to his.

  Breathing was difficult with him so close and his sweet smile just for her. “You’re lying. I’m a clown to most of the ton.”

  “Only to those who don’t know you, Poppy.” His lips were only inches from hers.

  Poppy couldn’t take her eyes away from his mouth. She knew she should push away, but his sweet words held her as much as his strong arms. “And you know me, Rhys?”

  He smiled and brushed his lips against hers like a promise. “I think I do. It seems my eyes were clouded for all these years and in the last few days you have become clearer to me.”

  “But you don’t like me and your father hated me.” She wished her voice wouldn’t tremble, but her heart was beating so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. In such a short time, the feelings she’d masked with disdain for Rhys were fighting to the surface. It was terrifying and exciting.

  “My father was wrong about a great many things. I have been mistaken where you are concerned.” He kissed her again, but with the same gentle touch.

  A soft sigh escaped her, and she longed for more from him. She made a weak attempt to hold her ground. “I have never liked you.”

  “I know.” He deepened the kiss, melding his lips to hers. Making love to her mouth as if she were the most precious treasure.

  Low in her belly, a tightness tugged at her. A voice in the back of her mind told her to pull back and maybe even slap his face, but it was too delicious to want to stop. She touched the soft tendrils of hair at the back of his neck and slid her hand along his broad shoulders.

  She had to stay in control. Losing herself in the affections of a man was not what she wanted for her life. She jolted with fear and pushed back, breaking the kiss. His eyes asked questions she didn’t know the answers to. “If you know I don’t like you, why are you kissing me?”

  He took her hand and the candelabra and started back toward the stairs. “You should get cleaned up. That mud must be very uncomfortable.”

  Of course, he was right. Her boots had not staved off the wet and muck, and her dress was ruined once again. Covered in mud from ankle to midback, she should have just agreed and let the conversation die. “You’ll not answer me?”

  At the bottom of the steps he stopped and lifted her chin with his finger. “I know my opinions of you have been irrevocably altered in the last week, and I suspect you have changed your mind as well.”

  “And these changes prompted you to kiss me?”

  “You did not stop me, Poppy.” His smile was at once sweet and wicked.

  “No. I suppose I didn’t. It is all very confusing.” She went up the stairs Rhys followed close behind. “I will give it some thought. You are not exactly as I have believed these six years.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment.” At the top of the stairs, he stopped Mrs. Bastian crossing the foyer. “Madam, can you find a few maids to help Lady Penelope? She’s had a bit of a mishap.”

  Mrs. Bastian took one look at Poppy, and her eyes went wide. “Good gracious, my dear girl. You’ve been in the pit. The master uses it for storage, but I avoid that dark, damp place. It would seem some of the past day’s rain made its way inside. Oh dear. I’ll have a bath drawn in no time and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

  Poppy was ushered up to her room before she could ask Rhys any more questions about the kiss. It was just as well. What more could she ask? He hadn’t declared his love. But he had indicated that his regard for her had changed since this most recent association.

  What she wanted to know was why.

  He was a rake to be sure, but some said those who reformed made the best husbands. Good Lord, where had that thought come from? It was only a kiss. Most gentlemen would take advantage of such a situation with an unprotected lady. Except it hadn’t felt like he’d done anything untoward. She really had no idea how to manage a sweet and affectionate Rhys Draper.

  Two footmen came with a tub, followed by a constant chain of them carrying buckets to fill the vessel, then a long line of maids with hot water in pitchers.

  Sitting on a stool in the corner, she spotted Rhys down in the garden, his attention fixated on the landscape and his hands clasped behind his back. His blond hair fell to his shoulders and fluttered in the breeze. Not overly tall, he still struck a fine figure in his fawn breeches and boots. Had he always been so broad in the back and chest? If so, she’d never noticed until recently.

  “My lady, the footmen have gone. Would you care to bathe now? I’ll help you out of your dress and have it cleaned.” Mrs. Bastian straightened her royal-blue turban and wore a kind smile as if guests fell in the muddy cellar all the time.

  “Thank you. I apologize for my constant need for a laundress.” Standing, Poppy allowed Mrs. Bastian to help her out of her dress.

  “Not at all. These things happen.” Mrs. Bastian put the soiled clothing aside and helped Poppy into the deep tub.

  The water was warm and scented with lavender. It soothed every ache, and she melted into relaxation. “They seem to happen to me with greater frequency than anyone else.”

  Poppy leaned forward to allow water to be poured out of a pitcher to wet her hair.

  With both gentleness and strength, Mrs. Bastian washed her hair and massaged her scalp. “It just happens that way for some people. One of the reasons I don’t go down into the cellar, my dear.”

  “Then we have that in common, madam. It is not looked upon favorably to be so clumsy when one’s mother wishes to marry you off to a fop with a large pocketbook.” The scent, the warm water, and the massage were putting her in a complete state of bliss. Poppy sighed out her contentment.

  Mrs. Bastian giggled. “It is not a happy ailment for a maid either, my lady. In Egypt I was thrashed more than once for a burned garment or torn sheet.”

  Sitting up, Poppy wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry, but I hope you mean verbally and not otherwise.”

  With the same pitcher, Mrs. Bastian rinsed the soap from Poppy’s hair. “I wish it were the case, but things were different there. It was not as if an English maid could leave her English employer and go looking elsewhere for work.”

  Relieved it had not been Geb who abused poor Mrs. Bastian, Poppy’s curiosity would not let her abandon the topic. “How did you come to work for Mr. Arafa, then?”

  Handing Poppy a washcloth and soap, Mrs. Bastian smiled. “This was all a very long time ago, mind you. Geb Arafa was quite young and the son of a wealthy man. He had dealings with my master and came to the house often. I had fallen in the garden while hanging laundry. My knee was cut open and my elbow was badly bruised. My dress had torn, and both me and my lady’s gown were covered in mud.

  “It was unfortunate that my master crossed the foyer at the exact time I had come in to get a bandage and wash the dress again. When he saw me, he went into a rage and tossed me across the hall. I hit the wall very hard and collapsed in a heap.”

  Poppy gasped before she could cover her mouth and hide her horror.

  “Mr. Arafa arrived and, having heard the commotion, let himself in. Appalled by my treatment, he commanded my employment be terminated. He carried me out of the house and took me to his father’s home. I was cared for there as if I were a member of the family.”

  Mrs. Bastian gathered the soiled things in her arms. “The master planned a journey to England and asked if I would like to come and be his housekeeper.”

  “And then you came here?” Poppy already liked Geb, but his kindness to a stranger from another land solidified her opinion.

  Nodding, Mrs. Bastian walked to the door. “Kosey, the master, and I sailed west a week later. I have been very happy ever since.”

  “Does Mr. Arafa require you to wear the turban?” She blurted it out before she could check herself.

  Mrs. Bastian burst into laughter. “Oh, you are a treat. So different from the stoic or indifferent ladies of the ton.”

  “I have offended you. Please forgive me. My mouth is as clumsy as the rest of me.” Poppy thought she might slide under the water and drown herself. Why couldn’t she act more like Faith in these situations and always say the right thing?

  “Not at all,” Mrs. Bastian said. “I wear turbans because I like them, and here, I can do as I please as long as the house is in order. Mr. Arafa is a different kind of man both here and in Egypt. He enjoys all manner of people and lives without judgment. Besides, ladies don’t wear turbans even in Egypt. I think it gives an old housekeeper a bit of interest, don’t you?”

  Poppy wished she could stay forever in a place without the world looking down upon her. “It suits you very well.”

  “Thank you, my lady. I’ll just take these things to be cleaned. You enjoy your bath and I’ll return with something for you to wear.”

  Pruney skin and tepid water were what finally dragged Poppy from the tub. She wrapped herself in the oversized towel and curled up near the fire with a borrowed comb.

  Everything she’d learned about Geb Arafa told her he was a good and trustworthy man. If he considered Breckenridge a friend, did that mean Nicholas was the kind of man worthy of Faith?

  Perhaps it did.

  If she really thought about it, she’d liked Nicholas at their one and only meeting. He was hiding something, to be sure, but did it mean he was a bad choice for a Wallflower to marry?

  She sighed.

  To know, she would have to find out what he’d been up to in France and why he didn’t want to share that information.

  Maybe she wasn’t the best person for this assignment. After all, she’d thought Rhys a complete ass and a fiend with regard to women. Yet when he kissed her it had been an invitation and not a demand. His kindness had made her uneasy as if he were up to something, but it seemed he liked her.

  The real problem was, she liked him too. It had happened so quickly; she’d hardly caught her breath before she was in the middle of it. The kiss had put her over the edge. Determined not to turn into a ninny, Poppy told herself to focus on Faith and Nicholas and leave Rhys to his own life.

  Hair damp and mind in the clouds, Poppy startled when Mrs. Bastian returned with a gown.

  “Sorry to disturb you, my lady. Mr. Arafa sent this gown for you to wear to dinner. He was horrified to hear of the mishap in the cellar and hoped this would be accepted as his apology.”

  Poppy examined the light green confection. Lace over satin, it was far more daring than anything her mother would let her wear. “There is nothing to forgive. This is beautiful.”

  Mrs. Bastian beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. Mary is coming up to do your hair and help you dress. I’ve heard there will be music after dinner. Kosey is a very talented musician.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bastian. You and Mr. Arafa are very kind.” Her heart sped up at Rhys seeing her in such gown meant for a married lady rather than a debutante. Poppy touched the soft fabric and dreamt of Rhys touching her in such a gown.

  “It is the least we can do after all you did to save those horses the master loves so much and our neglect in the cellar. We will get your dress cleaned though, don’t you worry, my lady.” Mrs. Bastian thought Poppy was worried about an old day dress, when the gown before her was exquisite beyond words.

  “It is nothing,” Poppy said. She had danced with Rhys before, but somehow, now, it was different.

  Chapter 8

  Rhys couldn’t get the kiss out of his head.

  Geb had been speaking to him for several minutes about the difficulties of transporting rare artifacts from the East into England, but Rhys’s mind was elsewhere.

  A great deal of what Poppy believed about him was true. He had dallied with several girls in his youth and taken a mistress as an adult. He had enjoyed some of the local ladies at his family’s country estate when he was young. The kiss in the muddy cellar had been far from his first, yet he felt like a neophyte.

  The sound of her sigh and the scent of her lingered with him until he’d lost track of the day. He’d walked for hours in the gardens, hoping to return to his commitment of shedding Poppy from his thoughts. He believed if he persuaded her to like him, his interest would wane.

  She had kissed him back and looked at him like he was the sun to her world, and still he wanted more Poppy. If he were honest, he wanted all Poppy all the time.

  Everything was turned upside down with a few simple kisses, and he didn’t know what he was going to do about it.

  Geb whispered something that caught on the breeze, and Rhys couldn’t make out the words.

  Poppy stood in the doorway flanked by two impeccable footmen all in white. The moss-green gown dipped low, showing off the swell of her breasts. Like a goddess, her dark tresses were curled and braided on top of her head with only the most tempting curls resting along her neck.

  Her blue eyes were somehow bluer as she watched Rhys through those dark lashes. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

  Geb rushed forward and bowed over her hand. “You have not, but such a stunning vision would be worth any length of time.”

  “Thank you for sending the gown. I’m sorry to be such a burden.” She curtsied.

  “No trouble at all. It is one of many items I have stored in this house. I think it must belong to you now. No one else could do it justice after seeing you in it.” Geb escorted Poppy inside the parlor and waited until she was seated on the ridiculous round cushion before he sat next to her.

  Geb’s smile was beginning to annoy Rhys, who sat across from them. “You look very lovely, Lady Penelope.”

  “Thank you. I’ve had a most relaxing afternoon.”

  He’d seen the footmen toting water up to her room. The thought of Poppy submerged in a warm bath had been the thing that had sent him out of the house. The realization that he’d have given anything to join her in the tub both excited and terrified him. “I’m glad. I walked in the garden.”

  “You had fine weather for a walk.” She tugged on the lace around her gloved wrists.

  Geb cleared his throat. “The good weather should mean you can cross the bridge tomorrow.”

  A knot tightened in Rhys’s chest. They would return to London with little news and a lot to answer for.

  Poppy bit her bottom lip and stared at the carpet.

  Looking from one to the other, Geb said, “Of course, you are both invited to stay as long as you like. I just assumed you wanted to go home once it is safe to cross the river.”

  Poppy drew a breath so deep her breasts swelled. “Of course, we must go back to town. It is only that here I have had more fun and been more helpful than in my usual day.”

  “I am certain you are a great joy to those around you each and every day, my lady.” Geb stood.

  Kosey entered. “Dinner is served.”

  The meal, while sumptuous, was painfully slow. Poppy sat across from him, and Rhys wanted to touch her more than he wanted roasted duck, no matter how good the food was.

  The more she spoke of weather and fashion with Geb, the more crazed Rhys’s desire became. The dining room was too hot, and his cravat rubbed. He made several attempts to adjust the neck cloth, but to no avail. It was torture.

  All the while Poppy and Geb continued their happy chatter.

  When the final course was cleared away, Geb studied Rhys. “It is a bit warm in here. Perhaps we should take our cake in the parlor. I’ve asked Kosey to play for us. He’s quite talented.”

  “Yes. Good.” Rhys blurted out the monosyllables before he could stop himself.

  Poppy said, “That would be very nice. Thank you, Mr. Arafa.”

  “Do you play, my lady?” Geb asked.

  The footman held her chair, and she shrugged. “Not very well. I’m afraid I do not excel at any of the charming occupations that make a fine lady accomplished.”

  Something about the apology in her tone set his blood boiling. Had he been one of the people in Poppy’s life who had made her feel less than spectacular? “You have a great many talents, Lady Penelope. I have heard you play and was well entertained. I also happen to know you enjoy reading a good deal, which is a fine way to improve one’s mind.”

  Geb offered his arm, which she took. “And modesty is a fine attribute as well.”

  Vexed with Geb for being so charming and angry with himself for his behavior over the last six years, Rhys lagged behind, giving himself a moment to rein in his madness. Whatever was happening to him, he hardly recognized himself, and he didn’t like it.

  Notes from the pianoforte in the other room drifted in. A minuet filled the house.

  Rhys swallowed down his raging emotions and went to the parlor, where he found Poppy dancing with Geb. She was laughing and happier than he’d ever seen her. Geb was a rich man with a lot to offer any woman. Perhaps Poppy was falling in love and Rhys should stay only as her protector.

  A footman offered him a brandy. Rhys was happy for the distraction, though no amount of alcohol would dull his senses where Poppy was concerned. It would only impede his good judgment. After one sip, he left the glass on one of the tables that had been moved aside to allow dancing.