The Earl Not Taken Page 22

  * * * *

  It had occurred to Poppy to avoid Rhys and whatever he wanted to say, since it had put such serious concern on his face. The one thing she had determined during the long carriage rides filled with gazing at the countryside was, lying to herself would serve no purpose. She wanted to see him, to know what he thought, and if possible, to ease his worry.

  She stepped inside the gallery and came face-to-face with a white marble statue depicting Achilles lying on his back with an arrow protruding from his heel. His mouth open in pain, he grasped the arrow’s hilt. Agony was etched on his stone face.

  “It’s quite lifelike, isn’t it?” Rhys stood just a few feet away.

  Poppy hadn’t heard him at all and started at his sudden appearance.

  He closed the distance between them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Once her pounding heart settled back into her chest at a normal rhythm, Poppy chuckled. “I don’t know why I should be so jumpy. I knew you’d be here after all.” Another deep breath. “It is a stunning rendition. I’m very fond of the Greek and Roman mythology.”

  “Is that why you use those colorful expletives?”

  She shrugged and walked around the life-sized statue. “It started because Mother forbade me from using the ones I’d heard in the street or the barn. It also annoyed her to no end. Then it just became a habit.”

  Offering his arm, he said, “Would you care to see the rest of the gallery?”

  “I would, but I think I would like to talk before I’m distracted by the art.” She took his arm. His warmth reached her through her glove and his clothes.

  His frown made her wish she’d just enjoyed a tour of the amazing gallery. The only windows were set very high on the white walls, letting in streams of light yet keeping direct light from harming the treasures within. An added benefit was more wall space for the works of art. A Vermeer hung to their right, its deep colors catching her eye.

  A low bench in the corner was cushioned in royal blue. Rhys led her there and they sat.

  He kept her hand in his and tugged gently on her glove until he exposed her fingers. Tracing a line from her wrist to her palm before holding her firmly, he said, “I want to talk about my past.”

  Instinctively she flinched. “What do you mean?”

  “Women. I want to talk about the women in my past. I want there to be no secrets between us. I know it was my behavior as a young man that colored your opinion about me.”

  “You already told me about Melissa.” She shuddered at his exposing things she might not be able to forgive. Men had needs. Her mother had told her so many times that men couldn’t control themselves when faced with temptation. Yet Rhys had always been in control. Even when they’d made love, he had been gentle and loving, never the brute her mother had hinted at.

  “I know, and I appreciate how kindhearted you are toward her.”

  “What more could you want to tell me? I have no need to know about every conquest of your life, Rhys.” The idea of hearing his tales of other women nauseated her.

  It was the first time she had seen him blush. “Conquest is a bit too strong, Poppy. That’s exactly what I want to make you understand. I was much like most men in my youth. I enjoyed women, and I’ll not apologize for it.”

  Another thing Poppy’s mother often said was that men took what they want and made no apology. Poppy drew a deep breath and held fast to her seat even when she wanted to bolt from the gallery.

  Rhys must have noticed her restlessness. “Shall we tour the art?”

  She leaped to her feet. Ready to rush away, she was stopped when he threaded his fingers through hers.

  One wall was covered in family portraits. Each had a small plaque giving the name of the Richmond depicted and the year of his or her birth. A tall man stood next to a chair with a plump woman seated. She gazed up at him adoringly, and he looked equally enamored. Poppy gazed a long minute at the love reflected in their eyes. Donald and Philippa Richmond, 1650 and 1654…even so many years in the past, their love survived in this portrait.

  “David looks a lot like Donald Richmond,” Rhys said. “Same red hair and narrow chin. They look quite in love.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was small and squeaked with emotion.

  Rhys walked on, and she didn’t resist the tug of his hand.

  “I have not been a saint, Poppy. I told you that, but I want you to understand it was never about conquest and I have never forced myself on any woman nor tried to persuade someone who was unsure. I have enjoyed women who wished to trade pleasure with me.” There was a sense of pleading in his voice as if he wanted her to understand something.

  Poppy’s nausea returned. “I’m not sure I want to hear anymore.”

  Stepping in front of her, he took her other hand and kissed both. “I’m sorry. This is very awkward and uncomfortable. I would not tell you this, but I know you think the worst of me in regard to relations with women. It’s important that you not create some fantasy of my bad behavior; better to have the truth.”

  There was logic in that notion. She did have ideas of men going from woman to woman to win some challenge from their birth to bed as many as possible before death. “And what about me, Rhys?”

  He cocked his head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I came to you willing and wanting just as you describe these other women.” Shame covered her like a tattered blanket. A shiver ran through her, and she closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness.

  Rhys lifted her into his arms and strode to the bench. He sat with her nestled in his arms. “Listen to me, Penelope.” His voice was a warm whisper where he pressed his face against the side of hers, his lips touching her ear like the wings of a butterfly. “What is between you and me is more special than I’ll ever do justice to with words. You gave me a priceless gift that night and I cherish the memory. Do not cheapen what was beautiful by making such a comparison. The moments spent with you both that night walking in the dungeons and this time right now are precious. I would spend a lifetime making more moments like this, going on adventures and making love with you, if you would let me.”

  Something inside Poppy broke, and tears spilled from her eyes. She wept against his chest, shaking, unable to stop.

  “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” He ran his hand up and down her back.

  “I want to believe you,” she sputtered. “I want the things you say to be true and to think you’ll want me and only me for our lifetime.”

  “But…” he prompted.

  Poppy pushed against his chest, putting enough distance between them so she could look him in the eye. “Everything I’ve ever seen from men is colored by violence, greed, and selfishness. I don’t know how to alter my opinion.”

  Smiling, he kissed her nose, her cheek, and then her lips. The pressure there didn’t force or push but rather waited and enjoyed until Poppy gave permission for more.

  She opened her mouth, giving him entry, and let the kiss take form. Her tongue met his and swirled around. Inside her body melted with desire and love.

  She stilled as the thought took form. She loved Rhys.

  “What is it, Poppy?” He cupped her cheek and threaded his fingers through her hair.

  Unable to tell him her truth, she asked, “Why aren’t you angry with me?”

  A warm smile spread across his handsome face, making him stunning to behold. “Why do you think I should be angry? You told me your fears. I must endeavor to soothe them.”

  “I think most men would be furious to hear I believe them violent and selfish.” She slid off his lap, afraid she might ask for more from him if she didn’t create some distance.

  “I know these things aren’t true in reference to me. There is no reason to be mad over something you have been taught just because it is incorrect.” He stood and offered his hand. “Come. You should rest before dinner.”

  Taking his hand, she got up. “Thank you for being so honest about your past. I wish I was different, Rhys. Sometimes I wish I was one of those girls who longed for marriage.”

  “I would not change a thing about you, Poppy.”

  She stopped their progress toward the gallery door. “You would have me more graceful, more feminine, more accomplished, with a better sense of fashion….”

  He silenced her with a finger across her lips. His eyes were wild with some emotion beyond description. “Not one thing,” he said with more force. “I adore everything about you including the occasional tumble, torn gown, and habit of saying shocking things. I want you just as you are and would be very vexed if you changed a thing. My only wish is for you to see me as I am and not as your parents have painted men as a whole.”

  “I will do my best.” The agreement came easily to her. Already many of the notions she believed were being tested by his sweet courtship.

  * * * *

  It was late the night they arrived at Thwackmore two days later. Poppy was so exhausted, she followed blindly behind the housekeeper, and once Jane helped her out of her dress, she fell into a deep sleep.

  In the morning, she was disoriented. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Outside her window, drizzle added to the gloom she felt. She’d thought she wanted to arrive and be still, but now she was afraid Rhys would press her for an answer she wasn’t ready to give.

  Shaking herself, she said, “He has not forced anything and he’s not likely to start now.”

  After washing, she put on a simple peach day dress. The room was covered in a similar color, though the bed curtains leaned toward salmon. A small writing desk with paper, ink, and quill stood near the window.

  Gathering her courage, Poppy studied the white gazebo at the far edge of the garden off to the left. Even in the misty weather, it was lovely with hills rolling away. Poppy imagined mountains beyond the clouds and hoped the weather would break so she might view them.

  Her stomach grumbled, forcing her to brave Rhys and her friends down in the breakfast room.

  The tall stairs went on forever, making her wonder how she had managed them the night before. They led down to a large foyer complete with giant chandelier and the most enormous door Poppy had ever seen. Impossibly, it was another feature she’d been too tired to notice the night before.

  A footman stood to the right and with a short bow opened the door for her. “The breakfast room is through here, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” Steeling herself and lifting her chin, Poppy entered.

  Rhys, Aurora, and Garrett sat around a round table set for six. White linen hung from the table and sideboard with silver and gold covering everything from the goblets to the window trim.

  Tall windows allowed light to flood in from the east, and gossamer white curtains draped like waterfalls.

  “What a beautiful room,” Poppy said by way of greeting.

  The men stood until Poppy sat down.

  “Did you sleep well?” Rhys folded the paper he’d been reading and sipped dark aromatic coffee.

  A middle-aged butler stepped beside her. He wore a green-and-blue tartan and bowed. “May I get you a plate, my lady?”

  “Just some coffee and toast, please. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” Poppy should have paid better attention when they arrived. She was sure the butler had been introduced.

  “It’s Woolery, madam. I’ll see to your breakfast.” His accent was rich with a hint of the Scottish Lowlands thrilling the sound.

  Poppy returned her attention to the table and Rhys, who watched her with a pleased expression. “I slept very well, thank you. I was so tired, I have no memory of meeting your butler, Garrett, nor climbing those enormous stairs.”

  Aurora laughed. “I had a similar experience, Poppy. Don’t feel bad.”

  “It was a very long day yesterday,” Garrett agreed.

  Her toast and coffee arrived; she thanked Woolery and sipped. The warm, rich drink slid down her throat and invigorated her. She’d taken to drinking it against her mother’s wishes about a year earlier. Mother felt tea or chocolate was more ladylike. Poppy needed something a bit stouter to start the day.

  Clearing her throat, Aurora sipped the last of her tea and stood. “Poppy, when you have finished will you meet me in the gazebo? I would like a private word.”

  Poppy agreed. Aurora left and the men sat back down.

  “What was that about?” Rhys asked over his paper.

  Shrugging, Poppy chomped her toast. “Is there a plan for today, or are we able to amuse ourselves?”

  Garrett pushed his plate aside. “You may follow your own wishes. Nothing is planned and the weather is not fine. Perhaps if it is better tomorrow, we might all take a long walk.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Faith will hate it, but the rest of us will be delighted.”

  “What will I hate?” Faith called from the door.

  Mercy was beside her and went to look at the available food on the sideboard.

  “A walk,” Poppy said.

  Pulling a face, Faith joined Mercy.

  With the last of her toast eaten, Poppy rose with her coffee. “I’m going to meet Aurora. I’ll see you all later.”

  The men rose and bowed.

  Poppy made a quick curtsy and carried her coffee to the garden. She pulled on an overcoat on account of a mist and the promise of rain as she walked to the gazebo. The first meeting with Rhys and no mention of the reason for the journey had set her at ease, and she was determined to enjoy the manor, its gardens, and her friends’ company.

  The gazebo, while beautiful, offered no shelter from the mist. Poppy tromped up the three steps. “Why are we meeting out of doors on such a day?”

  Aurora startled and jumped from her seat on one of four benches set along the walls. “What I have to tell you is difficult and I didn’t want to involve anyone else.”

  Poppy didn’t know if she had ever seen Aurora looking so troubled. “Whatever could have put you in such a state, dearest?” She put down her coffee cup on one of the benches and rushed to her friend.

  “Oh God, don’t be kind. It makes this even harder.” Aurora’s voice rang with anguish.

  Taking her hands, Poppy held them so Aurora couldn’t look away. “What are you talking about?”

  A tear ran down Aurora’s pale skin. Dark rings smudged under her eyes, and her lips quivered. “It was me.”

  Confused, Poppy didn’t know what question to ask next. Her friend was near hysteria and she wanted to help. She tried to lighten the exchange. “All right. It was you…. What was you?”

  More tears spilled from Aurora’s eyes, and she shook. “I wrote an anonymous letter to your mother informing her about you and Rhys.”

  Poppy’s insides froze. She released Aurora’s hands as if they burned. It was hard to breathe. It took her a several beats to push back the wave of lunacy threatening to overwhelm her. She backed farther away. “Why would you have done such a thing?”

  Hands opening and closing on nothing, Aurora bit her lip. “It was so obvious when the two of you came back from Mr. Arafa’s home you were in love and perfect for each other. I knew you would never accept that you loved him without a push.”

  “So, you betrayed me? One of the few people in my life I trust, and you deliberately put me in a position to be owned by a man? Did Rhys ask you to do this?”

  Aurora stepped forward, eyes pleading. “Rhys knows nothing about this. And would it be so terrible to be married to him? A man who will love you and care for you. A man who will never hurt you. You would be my sister.”

  “I already was your sister.” Poppy’s heart ripped in two. The garden spun, and she gripped the post of the gazebo, a splinter digging into her palm. She gripped harder.

  “Don’t say it as if it is no longer true,” Aurora cried in earnest. “I wanted you to be safe from my fate and to be happy.”

  Chin quivering, Poppy fought to keep her knees from collapsing. “And have I been happy since Mother got your letter? Have you made me or Rhys happy with your subterfuge?”

  Aurora’s mouth opened, but she said nothing.

  Hobbling down the steps, Poppy ran through the garden to the open hillside.

  Aurora called after her.

  Chapter 17

  Rhys walked into luncheon after searching the manor and grounds for Poppy. When he didn’t find her there either, concern knotted a ball in his gut. “Has anyone seen Poppy?”

  Three pairs of eyes gawked at him in innocence, but his sister was less wide eyed.

  “Rora, where is she?”

  Garrett leaned forward at the head of the table. “She must be in her room. She might have needed more rest after the journey.”

  “I have been to her room three times over the course of the morning. She has not been there, and Jane, her maid, knows nothing about her whereabouts. But I can see that my sister knows something.” Rhys rounded the table until he was next to Aurora’s chair.

  Mercy narrowed her eyes. “Aurora, if you know where Poppy is, you had best tell us. She might need help.”

  Picking up the napkin next to her plate, Aurora dabbed her eyes. “I upset her this morning, and she ran from the garden. I thought surely she would return once she calmed down.”

  “What did you say that would send her running into strange lands?” Faith’s eyes were wide, and she stood, though her voice was soft.

  Sobbing was the only response from Aurora.

  The uncharacteristic display of emotion from his sister forced Rhys back a step. Since they were children, she’d always kept her emotions inside. Rhys’s trepidation increased to the point where he had to clutch his hands at his side to keep from shaking the knowledge from Aurora.

  Garrett rounded the table in a flash and pulled Aurora into his arms. “You will have to tell us what happened, Rora. Poppy might be in danger. The rain isn’t likely to let up, and it will be dark in a few hours.”