Page 110 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

It was not what she had wanted to hear.

And because she was weary of being grateful for fragments, she said, “My comfort?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what this is about?”

He went still. “I beg your pardon?”

She should not continue. She knew that. Her pride would be exposed, and his power too great even though he had never used it cruelly. But some truths grew poisonous when swallowed too often.

“You are concerned for my comfort,” she said carefully. “Yet you decided to be formal, distant and careful not to say anything that might require either of us to remember what happened between us.”

His jaw tightened.

She had not imagined that he would try to forget their kiss.

Was it not good enough for him? Was I not good enough?

“Poppy,” he pulled her from her thoughts.

She looked down. “Please do not say any more.”

He drew in a deep breath. “I did not wish to cause you distress.”

“I know.”

The answer seemed to strike him. “Then you understand.”

“No,” she said. “I know you do not wish to hurt me, but that is not the same as understanding why you do.”

His face lost color, or perhaps she only imagined it because she wanted some evidence that her words had reached him.

“I was wrong,” he said.

She lifted her eyes. “Are you regretting that you kissed me?”

His silence answered before he did.

“Yes,” he said flatly.

Poppy felt her heart shatter. His rejection moved through her like cold water.

“I see.”

“No,” he said, and there was strain now beneath the control. “You do not. I was wrong because I had given my word. Because you asked something of me, and I failed to honor it.”

She remembered that promise. She remembered why she had asked it. She remembered the fear that had lived in her then, before she knew him, and the careful way Hector accepted it for the sake of the girls.

But it was different now, and the kiss changed everything as well.

“So, it is only regret,” she said.

He flinched.

“I did not say that.”

“What else is there?”