Kidnapped For His Royal Duty. Jane Porter
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were thinking that you’re a bundle of nerves, and a little bit of alcohol sounded like the perfect tonic.”
“Maybe. But we don’t drink together. I don’t think you and I have ever had a drink, just the two of us. If there was wine, or champagne open, it’s because Sophie was there and Sophie wanted a glass and we never let her drink alone.”
“No, we never did. We both looked after her, didn’t we?”
Poppy’s throat thickened. “Please don’t hate her.”
“It’s impossible to like her right now.”
Poppy stared down into her glass. “Maybe it’s better if we don’t discuss her.”
“Four hours ago she was to be my wife. Now I’m to simply forget her? Just like that?”
She looked up at him, struggling to think of something she could say, but nothing came to her and she just gave him a look that she hoped was properly sympathetic without being pitying.
“I’m shocked and angry, not broken. Save the sympathy for someone who needs it.”
“Do you want her back?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Because even if she did decide she’d made a mistake, I don’t think you’d forgive and forget. At least not for a long time.”
The corner of his mouth curled. “I don’t like being played for a fool, no,” he said, giving her a long, penetrating look that made her squirm because it seemed to imply that he also thought she had played him for a fool. And if that was the case, then spending the next week working together was asking for trouble. He wouldn’t be in a proper state of mind.
The flight attendant appeared with a crystal tumbler. “Your whiskey,” she said, handing him the glass. “Captain Winter also wanted you to know that the new flight plan has been approved, and we’ll be departing in just a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Randall said, giving the attendant a warm smile, the kind of smile he used to give Poppy, the kind of smile that had made her put him on a pedestal in the beginning.
And just like that, tears filled her eyes and she had to duck her head so he wouldn’t see. Because if she did look at him, he’d see more than she wanted him to see. Randall was startlingly perceptive. He paid attention to people and things, picking up on details others missed.
“I knew it wouldn’t be long before you got weepy,” he said, extending his long legs, invading her space. “Before this morning, I would have said you are nothing if not predictable, but you surprised me today. You’re not at all who I thought you were.”
She drew her legs back farther to keep her ankles from touching his, and told herself to bite her tongue, and then bite it again because arguing with him would only make the tension worse.
He gave his glass a shake, letting the amber liquid swirl. “Did you know about Crisanti?”
Poppy continued to bite her tongue, because how could she answer that without incriminating herself? Clearly in this case, the best answer was no answer.
“Poppy.”
The flight attendant was closing the door and locking it securely, and the deliberate steps made Poppy want to jump out of her chair and race off the plane. She should go now, while she could do. She needed to escape. She needed to go. She couldn’t stay here with Randall—
“My bride was carted off from the church today, and she didn’t even make a peep of protest,” he continued quietly, almost lazily, even as his intense gaze skewered her. She didn’t even have to look at him to know he was staring her down because she could feel it all the way through her.
Poppy swallowed hard. “I think she peeped.”
“No, she didn’t. And neither did you.” He growled the words, temper rising, and she jerked her head up to look at him, and the look he gave her was so savage and dark that Poppy’s pulse jumped and her stomach lurched.
“You weren’t surprised to see Crisanti marching down the aisle today,” he added, lifting a finger to stop her protest. “Enough with the lying. It doesn’t become you. You forget, I know you. I’ve worked with you, worked closely with you, and I saw it in your face, saw it in your eyes.”
“Saw what?”
“Guilt. But I also saw something else. You were happy to see Crisanti arrive. You were elated.”
“I wasn’t elated.”
“But you weren’t devastated.”
She placed the flute down on the narrow table next to her. “I’d like to take my vacation time, the time you promised me. I don’t think it’s a good idea to work together this next week. I think we both need some time, and time apart—”
“No.”
“I can take the train back to London.”
“No.”
“I don’t enjoy you like this—”
“Perhaps it’s not about you anymore, Poppy. Perhaps it’s now about me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want to know what happened today. I want to know everything.”
His voice was deep and rough and it scratched her senses. She dragged her attention up, her gaze soaking in his face. She knew that face so well, knew his brow and every faint crease at the corner of his eyes. She knew how he’d tighten his jaw when displeased, and how his lips firmed as he concentrated while reading. If he was very angry, his features would go blank and still. If he was relaxed, his lovely mouth would lift—
No. Not lovely.
She shouldn’t ever think his mouth was lovely.
Even though she’d vanished, he still belonged to Sophie. He’d always belong to Sophie. They’d been engaged since Sophie was eighteen, with the understanding that they’d be married one day happening even earlier in their lives.
The fact was, Randall and Sophie had been practically matched since birth, an arrangement that suited both families, and the respective family fortunes, and Sophie insisted she was good with it. She’d told Poppy more than once that she hadn’t ever expected to marry for love, and wasn’t particularly troubled by the lack of romance since she liked Dal, and Dal liked her, and they complemented each other well.
A lump filled her throat because Poppy didn’t just like Randall, she truly cared for him. Deeply cared. The kind of feelings that put butterflies in her stomach and made her chest tighten with tenderness. “It’s not my place,” she choked. “I wasn’t your bride!”
“But you were part of today’s circus. You took part in the charade.”
“It wasn’t a charade!”
“Then where is Sophie?”
* * *
His question hung there between them, heavy and suffocating, and Dal knew Poppy was miserable; her brown eyes were full of shadows and sorrow, and usually he hated seeing her unhappy. Usually he wanted to lift her when she struggled but not today. Today she deserved to suffer.
He’d trusted her. He’d trusted her even more than Sophie, and he’d planned on spending the rest of his life with Sophie.
Dal shook his head, still trying to grasp it all.
If Sophie had been so unhappy marrying him, why didn’t she just break the engagement before it got to this point?
It was not as if he didn’t have other options. Women threw themselves at him daily. Women were constantly letting him know that they found