Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways, #3)

by Lisa Kleypas

The ferret paused at a corner, checked to make certain he was still being chased, and in his happy excitement, he did a little war dance, a series of sideways hops that expressed pure delight. Even now, when Poppy wanted to murder him, she couldn’t help but acknowledge that he was adorable. “You’re still going to die,” she told him,

But it was one of Poppy’s failings that she loved conversation, and like Dodger facing a drawer full of garters, she couldn’t resist indulging.

“Poppy Hathaway,” he whispered as if it were a magical incantation.

For Beatrix, there were also special codas: When paying calls, wear gloves and hat, And never bring a squirrel, or rat, Or any four-legged creatures who Do not belong indoors with you.

Poppy had no idea why her brother and Miss Marks displayed such antagonism toward each other. “I think they secretly like each other,” Beatrix had said mildly.

“They war with each other whenever they’re in the same room, which, thank heavens, isn’t often. Why would you suggest such a thing?” “Well, if you consider the mating habits of certain animals—ferrets, for example—it can be quite a rough-and-tumble business—” “Bea, please don’t talk about mating habits,” Poppy said, trying to suppress a grin.

Bea looked at her for a moment, her blue eyes innocent. “Young ladies never contemplate . . . the ways that creatures procreate . . . ”

A ferret? The Hathaways were definitely involved.

And deliver it to Mrs. Rawlings at her residence.” “With your compliments?” Jake asked hopefully. “No, with this note.” Rutledge gave him a sealed letter. “I’m breaking it off.” Jake’s face fell. God. Another scene. “Sir, I’d rather go on an errand in east London and be pummeled by street thieves.” Rutledge smiled. “That will probably happen later in the week.”

“I have no idea what a kabob is,” Valentine said to no one in particular, “but I don’t think the monkey’s going to like it.”

“What makes you think there’s a wild creature in my hotel?” Harry asked, as if the idea were inconceivable. The macaque chose that moment to utter an enthusiastic screech. Holding his gaze, Poppy grinned.

“I can only hope so,” Harry said, aggravated by the distraction. He didn’t want to be bothered with the logistics of capturing an unruly macaque. He wanted to be alone with Poppy Hathaway.

She stopped herself and fidgeted, and muttered, “I’m not going to babble.” Harry didn’t want her to stop. He found everything about her endlessly interesting, although he couldn’t explain why. She simply was.

“Forgive me. I talk excessively. I shouldn’t—” “No,” Harry said, overwhelmed by a baffling and unfamiliar emotion, white-knuckled with it. “I could listen to you all day.”

“She has experience with primates?” Harry asked sardonically. Poppy considered that. “We’ve just been through the London season. Does that count?” Harry chuckled, with a genuine amusement that didn’t often occur, and both Valentine and Brimbley glanced at him with astonishment.

Jake Valentine regarded the two intent young women dubiously, and looked at Harry. “Mr. Rutledge—” Harry gestured for him to be silent and allow the Hathaway sisters to proceed. Whether or not their attempt actually worked, he was enjoying this too much to stop them.

Then he realized what her plan was. “Clever,” he murmured. “It may not work,” Beatrix said. “It depends on whether the monkey is more intelligent than we are.” “I’m rather afraid of the answer,” Harry replied dryly.

Beatrix sighed and watched as the macaque was carried away in his crate. “I wish I had a monkey of my own,” she said wistfully. Miss Marks gave Poppy a long-suffering glance. “One might wish she were as eager to acquire a husband.”

“Then you found Mr. Rutledge unsettling, too?” “No, but I understand why you do. He watches you like one of those ambushing sort of predators. The kind that lie in wait before they spring.”

“No, you’re a rabbit.” “A rabbit?” Poppy made a face. “I don’t like that. Why am I a rabbit?”

“Oh, rabbits are beautiful soft animals who love to be cuddled. They’re very sociable, but they’re happiest in pairs.”

“Well,” Poppy said in resignation, “it’s better than being a hedgehog, I suppose.” “Miss Marks is a hedgehog,” Beatrix said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Poppy grin.

“I was going to say that Mr. Rutledge is a cat. A solitary hunter. With an apparent taste for rabbit.”

Settling on her side, Poppy watched her sister in the flickering glow of the hearth, while a chill of uneasiness penetrated the very marrow of her bones. Not because she feared Harry Rutledge. Because she liked him.

I want so badly for Poppy to be happy, and . . . what will we do, if he breaks her heart?” “We’ll take care of her,” he murmured, cuddling her. “And love her. That’s what a family is for.”

and she let out a watery giggle even as hot tears began to slide from her eyes. After closing the door firmly, Amelia sat beside Poppy and reached out to grasp her shoulders. She stared into Poppy’s blurred eyes. “You are,” she said, her voice ragged with emotion, “such a lady, Poppy. And much kinder than he deserved. I am so proud of you. I wonder if he understands how much he has lost.”

However, I must say . . . the phrase ‘I can’t’ comes rather too easily to his lips.”

You will always be loved, Poppy.”

It was unfair that the people who longed for love the most, searched the hardest for it, found it so elusive.

Leo sat and reached for Poppy, gathering her close. He held her, patting her back, until he heard her sniffle. “That bastard,” he said quietly. “Shall I kill him for you?”

“I don’t have any reason to be proud.” “I don’t either,” Leo said. “But that doesn’t stop me, does it?”

“Please control your language,” Catherine said.

Lol

“You think not? I’ll have you know, Marks, that scores of women have remarked on my—” “Ramsay,” Cam interrupted, giving him a warning glance.

And smile.” “Like this?” Poppy attempted to turn the corners of her mouth upward. Beatrix regarded her doubtfully. “No, that’s not pretty at all. You look like a salmon.”

“And Poppy, remember that someday you will meet a frog who will turn into a handsome prince.” “Good,” Beatrix said. “Because all she’s met so far are princes who turn into frogs.”

“Mr. Bayning is not a frog,” Poppy protested. “You’re right,” Beatrix said. “That was very unfair to frogs, who are lovely creatures.” As Poppy parted her lips to object, she heard Miss Marks snicker.

At that moment Miss Marks returned, having just dispatched Michael Bayning. Her brows lowered in a scowl as she looked up at Harry. “No,” she said shortly. “No?” His lips twitched with amusement. “I haven’t asked for anything yet.”

In one astute glance, Harry took in the entire scene: Poppy’s unshed tears, Michael Bayning’s set face, and the slew of curious gazes encompassing them. “How can I help?” he asked gently. “Take me away,” she said. “As far as possible from here. Timbuktu.”

“Why?” she asked faintly, without thinking. “Why what?” “Why did you ask me to dance?” Harry hesitated as if torn between the necessity of tact and the inclination toward honesty. He settled on the latter. “Because I wanted to hold you.”

Poppy blotted her eyes. “I can’t begin to tell you,” she said unsteadily, “how very sorry I am. You were so kind in asking me to dance, and now you’re k-keeping company with a w-watering pot.” Looking amused and sympathetic, Harry leaned an elbow on the balcony railing as he faced her. His quietness relieved her. He waited patiently, as if he understood that no words could be an adequate plaster for her bruised spirit.

“I’m sorry, but . . . no. It wouldn’t be a good idea at all.” “I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had. Why can’t we?”

“You were courted by a boy, who had to do as he was told.” His hot breath feathered against her lips as he whispered, “You should try it with a man, who needs no one’s permission.”

She broke off as he bent slowly and touched his lips to hers, as if her laughter were something he could taste.

Suddenly nothing at the ball seemed quite so interesting as his sisters’ companion. Leo decided to go bother her.

When a Hathaway caused a scandal, they never did it by half measures.

“Yes, she has,” Leo replied, while Poppy let out a little moan. “It’s a bad habit our family’s fallen into. Marks, you’d better write a poem about it.”

“You can’t die a dozen times.” “You can if you’re a Buddhist,” Beatrix said helpfully.

Besides, any man who allowed scruples to get in the way of having a woman like Poppy was a fool.

“And there’s one more thing to be aware of,” Cam said, with a wintry softness that disguised all hint of feeling. “If you succeed in marrying her, we’re not losing a sister. You’re gaining an entire family—who will protect her at any cost.” That was almost enough to give Harry pause. Almost.

“What about Beatrix?” Harry asked, the sun striking glimmers in his dark hair as he looked down at her. “She likes you. But then, she likes lizards and snakes.” “What about you?” “I can’t abide lizards or snakes.”