Page 70 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

His scent lured her. It was a mixture of clean air, wool, and a darker, spicier scent she associated with him alone. The study receded around them until there was only the narrow space between them and the memory of his hand closing around her wrist that afternoon.

Is he going to touch me again?

Her pulse answered treacherously.

Why is my heart beating so fast again?

The duke’s head inclined a fraction. He seemed to listen to her thoughts and the betraying rhythm her body could not hide.

Poppy’s fingers tightened in the folds of her skirt.

“I did not mean,” she began, but the words failed because she did not know which part she could honestly retract.

His expression changed then.

It happened slowly enough for her to see and quickly enough to feel impossible. The hard line of his mouth eased. The tension across his brow loosened, and his frown melted away, leaving behind a softness so unfamiliar that she forgot to defend herself against it.

He was looking at her with a gentleness she had never seen in him before. His gaze settled, adjusted, and held hers. She had the absurd sense that he had discovered something new about her features.

When he finally spoke, his voice was as soft as his expression.

“Your eyes are blue.”

It was not romantic, not exactly, and not surprising either, but Poppy’s heart could not handle it. It pounded heavily within her as if it might jump out and land into his large, warm hands.

“My…eyes?” she asked and frowned a little.

“Yes, I can finally see them.” He continued to stare.

He sounded like a man naming a fact he had been denied and had finally come close enough to know. Poppy could not answer him.

Her eyes were blue, and she knew this. People had told her so all her life with varying degrees of awe. Yet from His Grace, the words entered her differently. He had to stand near enough to see them. Near enough that she could feel the warmth of him, and propriety became a flimsy curtain stirred by breath.

Neither of them moved.

The silence that followed was not empty. It trembled with anticipation and a strange sort of warmth that washed over her. Poppy was aware of every possible motion she did not make, such as stepping back, lowering her gaze, speaking lightly, and making the moment harmless. She did none of them while the duke’s eyes remained on hers, and though their color was like ice, there was nothing cold in them now.

It thrilled her. This tenderness had no shape she knew how to resist. She wondered if he felt the slight and dangerous shifting of the world around them too. The afternoon sun was dipping into the horizon outside, and Poppy felt as though the distance between them dipped too.

At last His Grace drew back. The cold duke returned by degrees, as though summoned out of necessity. His jaw set and his hand adjusted on the cane as he backed away from her.

“You may return to your room,” he said flatly.

The dismissal should have released her, but it did not.

Poppy remained where she was, still caught by the trace of his voice when he had said blue. She knew she ought to curtsy, or answer, or leave with the composure expected of a duchess who had just argued with her husband about children and household order. Instead, she stood before him, foolishly silent, feeling as if some invisible thread had been drawn between them and neither had yet found the courage to cut it.

His gaze shifted slightly, no longer fixed with that unbearable softness. “Poppy.”

This time her name sounded less like a command and more like a warning.

She inhaled. “Good night, Your Grace.”

Her hand found the door handle on the second attempt, which she hoped he did not notice, but she knew, somehow, that he did. She opened the door with more haste than grace and stepped into the corridor. Once the study door closed behind her, she picked up her skirts, took a deep, shuddering breath in, and ran to her chambers as fast as she could and as far away from the tempting duke behind her.

Chapter Sixteen

It had been three days since the duke’s departure. And three days since he saw the color of Poppy’s eyes for the first time. She carried the memory of his nearness, scent, and words with her even as she spent time with the girls. She tried her best to avoid his study throughout the week, but it was seemingly impossible to avoid the memories it held.