Chapter 3

3

T hough it didn't normally require much thought, breathing seemed to be a thing Poppy's body wasn't doing naturally anymore. And to make matters worse, while she concentrated on trying to take a breath, her knees felt unnaturally hot, as though the heat of Dougal's body was leeching the mere inch of space between them to taunt her flesh.

Despite the cool air brushing against her cheeks, her face felt hot, and she found herself looking anywhere but at him, now completely aware that he was having such an effect on her. In more ways than one. Of course, there was the physical, but beyond that, her mind was buzzing in a thousand different directions as though someone had unscrewed the top of her head and dumped an entire bee farm inside her brain.

Why was he being so nice?

Nice was good. It was great, fantastic even, but… He'd abruptly left her in London without a word. Why now? Why bother?

Glaringly evident was the fact that Dougal Mackay was acting more concerned for their well-being than their own brother. That stung. She and Edward had used to be close. Before Mary. After Mary, there was a sudden change. No more popover visits. No more letters full of jests. No shopping trips and whirlwind journeys to London to take in the theatre.

But despite the distance that had ebbed between them over the last eight years or so, shouldn't he care a little bit? Though she supposed Edward thought he was doing a good deed by providing them with a roof over their heads, which to his credit, meant they weren't homeless, and that was important. And knowing Mary and her resistance, he'd had to put his foot down to get them even that much.

Also, hadn't it been her father who'd told her once never to expect more from someone than they'd proven willing to give? Edward had changed. And if the last eight years were any indication, she should stop expecting more. Stop expecting the brother she had once known to come back to her.

And if Edward and Mary didn't care about them, why did Dougal? She couldn't help but think that Dougal was up to something. Popping up so fortuitously now… What was his ulterior motive?

Try as she might, Poppy couldn't think of any reasons why a handsome, charismatic Scotsman would come down from his estate in the Highlands to parade her and her sister around town. Protect them, distract them from the machinations of Mary. And was it a coincidence that his friend happened upon them, and that said friend was coming to dinner, and that Anise was blushing ten shades of crimson every time Colonel Austen looked at her?

Poppy's mind was a whirl of questions and skepticism.

She rather hated that—and the pucker it surely gave to her face.

Skepticism was a new personality flaw that had popped up near the end of her father's life, and rather than abate with time as sorrow often does, it had only grown.

There had been little contingencies made for his daughters. A meager one hundred pounds a year, which was hardly enough for one person, let alone three, unless they were to move to the country and live in a small cottage, working the land themselves. A thousand pounds set aside for Anise and Poppy upon marriage was better than the per annum stipend, but there were plenty of other ladies in society who had more. And if Poppy were to be honest with herself and with Anise, most marriages were made based on alliances and money. That meant Poppy and Anise would be at the bottom of the proverbial barrel.

No other provisions had been made. As if her father hadn't planned to die or didn't care enough to see that his family was cared for in the afterlife. A hasty letter to his stepson—in addition to her mother's letter to Edward—pleading to provide housing had been the last of his attempts to see them not flung into the gutter for the rest of their lives.

There was no question that she and Anise needed to find suitable husbands—and quickly, or else they would be cut off without a penny. Or at least that is what their mother feared. Because Edward and Mary weren't going to let them live there indefinitely. Maybe not even to the end of the week.

Though she was Edward's mother, Lady Cullen had never been well-loved by her son, who seemed to have resented her marrying so quickly after his own father's death. But now, seeing the situation they were in, Poppy could understand it, even if Edward didn't realize that Baron Cullen had provided a roof over his young head.

Mother was even less loved by Mary, who somehow managed to conjure enough of a heart to smile at her son, though it often looked brittle enough to shatter.

One of their mother's greatest fears was that she would be left destitute, so she begged her daughters to marry as soon as possible so she might know at least she'd be kept well by one of them.

Poppy had just celebrated her twenty-first birthday, and Anise was barely over nineteen. Her sister had missed her coming out season due to their father's illness. And their mother, rightly so, had not thought it appropriate for Anise to be galivanting about town when their father was ill.

Of course, now Mother didn't feel she could ask Edward to give Anise the coming out she deserved.

And so, her sister was, in turn, quite unhappy not only at their father's passing but at what seemed to be the passing of her youth and place in society. No longer did she have much chance of a marriage match to a man of means—one who lived in the city and traveled to London. Anise had admitted late into the night that she feared she would be doomed to marry a countryman, one who didn't even own an evening jacket.

Poppy was lucky to have had a coming out season not only in Edinburgh but also in London last year. The season of the fated kiss. She'd seen plenty of opportunities with handsome men, but had squandered all her attention on the one man who'd abandoned her.

She stared now across the curricle at Dougal, who was grinning in jest at something Colonel Austen had said, which Poppy had completely missed.

Not paying attention to some of the other less charming prospects was foolish now, in hindsight—and not at all like the sensible person she thought herself to be. But she'd not known her father was going to pass so quickly, and her heart had been claimed by a ruse. Nor did she know that they'd be at the mercy of her brother and his wife, whom she hadn't realized would grow more awful with each passing day. And most especially, she'd not known that Dougal was going to run away. That his kiss hadn't meant anything. The touch of their lips had been as fleeting as his last meal, it appeared.

If she'd had a crystal ball and knew the path of her future, she would have surely turned her back on him before it was too late, and they wouldn't find themselves in the current situation.

But she supposed she had the man sitting across from her to blame for that. Poppy frowned, leaning into her censure.

Dougal Mackay had been first introduced to her about five years prior when she was merely sixteen. And she thought it might have been love at first sight if such a thing existed.

He'd been dressed impeccably in a suit at her brother's wedding. And the moment he'd bent over her hand to kiss her palm, she'd practically swooned. He'd offered her one dance, and the feel of his hand on hers, the touch of his fingers at her waist, had her losing her breath faster than a too-tight corset.

The rest of the wedding ball, she'd wished for him to ask her to dance again, but he had not. Devastating really to a young lass like her, mooning over her first real crush. Of course, looking back now, she was a little embarrassed to have wished for a second dance. After all, he'd been twenty-two at the time, not interested in a fresh-faced adolescent girl who'd yet to come out in society. The only reason she was even allowed at the wedding ball was because the groom was her brother.

Otherwise, she would have been tucked up on the nursery with the rest of the children. Even Anise had been allowed one short dance, though she'd been fourteen. Anise's dance partner had been in uniform, not the colonel who rode beside them now, but another dashing hero. Anise had followed him around like a puppy until their mother sent them both upstairs for bed.

Then last year, when Poppy had come face-to-face with Dougal at the ball in London, she'd been shocked to see him. And shocked even more so by how her body reacted to being in his vicinity. All heartbeats and sweaty palms. Even her knees had knocked together a little bit, and she needed to get air.

Time had only made him more handsome. And apparently, it had only made her interest in him grow from a spark to a sizzling flame that ended in that devastating kiss.

But he'd expressed about as much interest in her last year as he had when she was sixteen—except his lips had roved from kissing the back of her hand to her mouth. Surely a hint that he'd loved her. And what now?

Oh, Poppy, you were so na?ve.

"Are ye hungry?" Dougal's question jarred her, and Poppy worked to unwrinkle the frown on her forehead, the pinch of her lips, until she hoped she resembled someone more…or less.

Poppy shook her head, though really, she could eat. All the time. Her appetite was ravenous, likely given how active she was, pacing constantly, dancing when no one was looking and riding when she could. But her mother had warned her early and often that ladies—proper ladies—didn't have appetites and that she needed to rein in her desire for sustenance.

"What are you offering?" Anise asked, earning her an elbow from Poppy. "Ouch," she muttered.

"There's a delicious creamery just ahead. I thought the two of ye might like some iced cream."

Poppy's stomach growled in acceptance, and she hoped that no one heard it.

"Ah, do let me join ye," the colonel said jovially. "Their iced creams are to die for."

"I'd love to try one. Poppy?" Anise asked.

As much as she wanted to say no to keep up the appearance of being a lady, she also wanted to try it.

Relenting, Poppy said, "All right, but just a small bite."

"Ye're going to want more than a small bite after one taste," Dougal said.

"Indeed," the colonel agreed.

Poppy bit her tongue because his words resonated more deeply than for just a bowl of iced cream. One taste of his lips, and she'd been ready to sign over her life to him. Oh, what a scourge that kiss had been.

The carriage pulled to the side, and Dougal hopped down first, offering his hand to Poppy while the colonel waited to assist Anise.

"Feeling better?" Dougal leaned toward her, asking the question as if it were in confidence.

She hated how close they were. How the look in his eyes appeared so genuine. How her gaze accidentally moved to the corner of his mouth, where his lips curved into a smile that would surely melt all the creams inside.

Poppy shifted her gaze to the door of the creamery, cleared her throat, and hoped she sounded less than intrigued. "Yes, thank you."

Dougal didn't notice that she'd stiffened, his voice a caress as he said, "My pleasure."

Cad.

Why should it be his pleasure? By God, was he taunting her on purpose? Wanting her to fall in love with him all over again? Well, she refused. There was no time for her to be toyed with by Dougal Mackay all over again. Not when she needed to find a husband to save her mother from destitution and save her sister from making a mistake in an early marriage she wasn't ready for.

The inside of the creamery smelled like sugar and vanilla and chocolate decadence. Small round marble tables were in the shop with wrought iron chairs, mostly filled by ladies and gentlemen enjoying bowls of iced cream. Poppy's mouth watered, and she was fairly certain she was going to want to come back here and that she was going to eat more than one bite.

"What flavor would ye like?" Dougal asked.

"Strawberry," Anise said.

"My favorite. Good choice," the colonel replied.

"And ye, Miss Featherstone, what do ye think will be your favorite?"

Poppy glanced to the side where he was staring at her intently. Her favorite… Oh, but he was toying with her again. She sniffed and turned away, taking little pleasure in turning her nose up at him, even though she wished she could bathe in satisfaction at giving him the cut direct. "I think chocolate."

"An excellent choice."

She wanted him to hate her choice, not find it excellent.

Dougal and Colonel Austen retrieved the iced cream, bringing it to one of the small tables that Poppy and Anise had procured. Delicate scoops of light brown iced cream melted in her bowl. The first bite was heaven. The second felt like a decadent sin.

What a tease, bringing them to a place like this. She was going to be ruined forever.

It was hard for Poppy to eat each bite slowly without groaning in exquisite pleasure. After her third bite, she looked up to see Dougal watching her, his iced cream forgotten, and the look in his eyes akin to…desire.

Blast him!

Her face heated as he watched her, and she was suddenly self-conscious in a way she'd forgotten. Self-conscious in the way a man looks at a woman when he wishes to kiss her—a look she remembered quite well on him. Even then, she'd recognized it for what it was. That was something she'd seen when she was attending balls on the regular. But most of the men she'd been acquainted with—until Dougal had waltzed into London—were sticks-in-the-mud. And over the last year, none had compared, nor shown as much interest.

Dougal was no stick-in-the-mud but an exciting, intelligent, jovial man. The air in the room changed when he was there. His very presence could elicit a smile from even the sourest matron—except for Mary. No one could make Mary smile.

And perhaps that is why she'd been in love with him for the last five years. Because he lit up the world.

Well, perhaps love was a bit of a strong word. A more appropriate description might be that she, too, desired to kiss him every day for the rest of her life.

"Do you not like your iced cream?" she asked, staring at his melting bowl of chocolate hoping to get him to stop staring at her.

"I think I like yours better," he said.

Poppy almost choked, her spoon clicking against her teeth.

Colonel Austen tried to cover his laugh with a cough, accidentally inhaled his iced cream, and then coughed for real with Anise slamming her hand against his back.

"My goodness, Colonel, are ye well?" The question came from a young gentleman who'd entered the creamery along with a friend.

"Aye, Sir John, just fine."

Sir John's gaze moved to Anise, sitting beside Colonel Austen. "My lady, allow me to introduce myself. Sir John Ross at your service."

The young man was handsome—Poppy would give him that. A riot of brown curls and eyes that were the color of her iced cream. Tall, well-formed and impeccably dressed. The twinkle in his eye suggested he might also be a fun conversationalist, but there was something else there, just hidden beneath the surface, that gave Poppy pause. On instinct, she wasn't sure he was a man who could be trusted.

And from the way the colonel stiffened, she wondered if she was right.

"Mackay," Sir John said in greeting to Dougal.

"Sir John. What brings ye to Edinburgh?" Dougal, too, seemed to stiffen in the young man's presence.

"Business, and ye?"

"Aye, same." Dougal glanced at Poppy, and she wished she could read what was going on behind those eyes. "Sir John and I are practically neighbors, as is Colonel Austen here."

"Ah." She nodded as if she understood but truly was as confused as she'd been before, and her chocolate was melting into a puddle.

"Would you care to join us?" Anise suggested, to which Colonel Austen, Poppy and Dougal stared at her in shock.

Anise was batting her lashes prettily, and Poppy wanted to groan.

"A grand invitation, but I'm afraid I canna stay. Perhaps I could call on ye tomorrow at…" he asked.

"Of course. We're staying with my brother, Lord Leven."

"Until then." Sir John bowed slightly and then left the creamery, apparently having only entered upon seeing Colonel Austen and Dougal.

Was it Poppy's imagination, or had she picked up on some sort of rivalry?

Poppy wanted to yank Anise by the arm to somewhere private where she could ask what had gotten into her flirting with Sir John and encouraging him, but that would only draw attention to them both, which she didn't want to do. And besides, she also could understand her sister's motivation to act that way. They were, after all, both in need of a husband. Perhaps she should let her sister know she was willing to take on the responsibility of marrying a man she didn't love so that Anise could fall in love.

The conversation from that point was dampened. The colonel looked deep in thought, and Dougal tried to pick up the cheer, but nothing worked. Sir John, it appeared, had waltzed into the creamery and dumped saltwater on all their sweets.

They left the creamery and climbed back into the carriage.

"I bid ye adieu," Colonel Austen said, tipping his hat. "A pleasure meeting ye both. I shall see ye at dinner."

"You are welcome any time. We look forward to your continued company," Anise said, shocking Poppy.

Was Anise angling for both Colonel Austen and young Sir John? What game was she playing?

"A pleasure indeed, Miss Anise." He took Anise's hand and pressed a kiss to the air above her glove and then did the same to Poppy.

For Poppy, their return curricle ride to the house was filled with trepidation. Flashes of Mary's snarls, Mother's sad sighs, Edward's frowns. Besides, despite the ride and the stop for iced cream, it was not nearly time yet for tea. Which meant Poppy would either need to hide in her room or deal with Mary in the drawing room. The latter of which sounded tantamount to torture.

Isolation seemed a better bet. And at least she shared a room with Anise and could ask her just what she was thinking with encouraging both men, and that it wasn't necessary for her to do so.

Dougal helped the two of them down from the carriage, and as they walked up the path to the door, held open by the butler, he said, "I thank ye both for taking the time to accompany me. It's always rather awkward when I go and get an iced cream by myself."

"It was lovely, thank you," Anise said, and then she hurried inside and up the stairs, leaving Poppy alone to bid Dougal farewell.

Poppy's smile was tight as she tried to keep her emotions inside. "It was a pleasure, my lord. And I think I've found a new indulgence I'll have to avoid." You being the first.

"I think if ye find something ye love, why not indulge?" Though he was speaking of iced cream, she couldn't help but think of their past together. And how much his words could have represented that moment.

She decided to answer directly regarding the sweets. "My dresses would not agree."

Dougal chuckled. "Nothing an extra walk or ride willna accommodate."

"Perhaps you're right." But she still wasn't going to do it. Especially knowing he frequented the venue. Running into him unnecessarily would only hurt her more.

He winked. "Perhaps."

Oh, why did he have to wink at her? The teasing, taunting deliciousness of it was too much. Her smile faltered, and she turned away from him, needing the sanctity of her room and the door that would separate her from him. As she climbed the stairs from somewhere, Mary's shrill voice could be heard admonishing someone. Poppy doubted it was her son, as the sweet four-year-old could do no wrong. Likely a servant or even Edward, as Mary seemed to be the queen of this castle.

"Goodbye for now," Dougal called after her.

"We shall see you at tea?" Poppy asked, glancing over her shoulder and remembering too late that Mary had said no.

"I will try to sneak in, but my sister is verra particular about who attends, and I'm no' usually on the list." His laughter traveled up the stairs to stroke her skin.

"A shame. I think you may have been the most interesting guest." She shrugged, emboldened by the distance the stairs put between them to tease him back.

He grinned, and even with the length of distance between them, she saw it for how handsome it was. "I'm certainly no', but I shall see ye at dinner."

"Are you staying here?" The question was perhaps inappropriate, but she was curious just how much she would have to avoid him.

"I have a house just down the row."

Thank goodness . "That is very convenient to be so close to your sister when you're in town."

Dougal raised a brow. "I'm no' certain I would call it convenient. Maybe something a little more akin to problematic."

"How so?" Poppy couldn't help asking, even though now that she'd reached the top stair, she really should run away.

Mary's voice was growing closer, and the two of them glanced around, trying to locate which direction she was coming from. The way her voice echoed it was as if she were descending from the ceiling itself.

"I find being close to my sister to be a little…distracting," was all he said. "Though, with the ladies Featherstones as her guests, it is less so."

"Well, I do hope not distraction enough to keep you from your business."

"No' at all."

"Dougal." Mary's voice was sharp as appeared before them rather suddenly as if she'd seeped from the walls. "My tea will be starting soon."

"Is that an invitation?"

Poppy pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, for Mary's declaration had such a sharp edge that she might have sliced him to ribbons with the insinuation that he should leave immediately. Slowly, she backed away from the stairs, hoping she wouldn't be seen.

"You know it's not," she practically bit out. "But you may come to dinner."

"I accept."

Mary stared at him. There seemed to be more she wanted to say, but she managed to keep herself in line.

"Miss Featherstone," Dougal waved to where Poppy stood, and Mary flashed a shocked, then irritated, look.

Poppy held in the sigh that begged to be let out, forced herself not to crack, and waved to Dougal.

"Until this evening, then," he said, backing out of the house, a mischievous grin on his too-handsome face.

"Well," Mary called up the stairs after he'd left. "Don't set your designs on my brother. You'll only be disappointed."

Poppy eyed her sister-in-law. "Designs?"

"I can see what's happening here. And I won't allow it."

Poppy bit her tongue to keep herself from retorting something unkind. As if Mary would have any say in Poppy's future. Her dowry had been written into their father's will for Edward to execute—much to the chagrin of her Cousin Thomas who wished to control everything—and there was no way that her brother would go against what their father wanted. Besides, she'd gone for a carriage ride and a sweet treat—that did not make a marriage proposal.

And she was pretty certain Mary did not know about the kiss from last year that Dougal deemed unimportant.

"I'm not certain what you mean," Poppy said innocently. "I should go prepare for tea."

Though her back was to Mary as she retreated to her room, she could feel her sister-in-law's eyes burning into her skull.