Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways #3)(73)

“You must be exhausted,” Amelia remarked, putting a gentle hand to Poppy’s cheek. “I think you need a nap more than little Rye.”

Poppy shook her head. “Later. I must try to settle some things first, because I think Harry may arrive by nightfall. Of course, he may not, but—”

“He will,” came a voice from the doorway, and Poppy looked up to behold her former companion. “Miss Marks,” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

A brilliant smile broke out on Miss Marks’s face, and she came to Poppy swiftly, catching her in a warm embrace. Poppy could tell that she had been outside. Instead of her usual pristine soap-and-starch smell, she carried the scents of earth and flowers and summer heat. “Nothing’s the same without you here,” Miss Marks said. “It’s so much quieter.”

Poppy laughed.

Drawing back, Miss Marks added hastily, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Yes, I know.” Still smiling, Poppy viewed her quizzically. “How pretty you look. Your hair . . .” Instead of being scraped back and tightly pinned, the thick, fine locks flowed around her back and shoulders. And the nondescript shade of brown had been lightened to brilliant pale gold. “Is that your natural color?”

A blush swept over Miss Marks’s face. “I’m going to darken it again as soon as possible.”

“Must you?” Poppy asked, perplexed. “It’s so lovely this way.”

Amelia spoke from the settee. “I wouldn’t advise applying any chemicals for a while, Catherine. Your hair may be too fragile.”

“You may be right,” Miss Marks said with a frown, self-consciously reaching up to finger the light, glinting strands.

Poppy looked askance at them both, having never heard Amelia call the companion by her first name before.

“May I sit with you both?” Miss Marks asked Poppy gently. “I want very much to hear what has transpired since the wedding. And—” There was a quick, oddly nervous pause. “I have some things to tell you, that I believe are relevant to your situation.”

“Please do,” Poppy said. Throwing a quick glance at Amelia, she saw that her older sister was already aware of what Miss Marks intended to tell her.

They sat together, the sisters on the settee and Catherine Marks on a nearby chair.

A long, supple shape streaked through the doorway and paused. It was Dodger, who caught sight of Poppy, did a few hops of joy, and raced to her.

“Dodger,” Poppy exclaimed, almost happy to see the ferret. He loped to her, regarded her with bright eyes and chirped happily as she petted him. After a moment, he left her lap and stole toward Miss Marks.

The companion glanced at him sternly. “Don’t come near me, you loathsome weasel.”

Undeterred, he stopped by her feet and executed a slow roll, showing her his belly. It was a source of amusement to the Hathaways that Dodger adored Miss Marks, no matter that she despised him. “Go away,” she told him, but the lovestruck ferret continued his efforts to entice her.

Sighing, she reached down and removed one of her shoes, a sturdy black leather affair that laced up to the ankle. “It’s the only way to keep him quiet,” she said dourly.

Immediately, the ferret’s chatter ceased, and he buried his head inside the shoe.

Suppressing a grin, Amelia turned her attention to Poppy. “Did you have a row with Harry?” she asked gently.

“Not really. Well, it began as one, but—” Poppy felt a wash of heat over her face. “Ever since the wedding we’ve done nothing more than circle around each other. And then last evening it seemed that we would finally—” The words seemed to bottle up in her throat, and she had to force them out in a jumble. “I’m so afraid it will always be this way, this push and pull . . . I think he cares for me, but he doesn’t want me to care for him. It’s as if he both wants and fears affection. And that leaves me in an impossible position.” She let out a shaky, mirthless laugh and looked at her sister with a helpless grimace, as if to ask what can be done with such a man?

Instead of replying, Amelia turned her gaze to Miss Marks.

The companion appeared vulnerable, uneasy, turmoil churning beneath the veneer of composure. “Poppy. I may be able to shed some light on the situation. On what makes Harry so unreachable.”

Startled by the familiar way she had referred to Harry, Poppy stared at her without blinking. “You have some knowledge of my husband, Miss Marks?”

“Please call me Catherine. I would like very much for you to consider me as a friend.” The fair-haired woman drew in a tense breath. “I was acquainted with him in the past.”

“What?” Poppy asked faintly.

“I should have told you before. I’m sorry. It’s not something I can speak of easily.”

Poppy was silent with amazement. It wasn’t often that someone she had known for a long time was suddenly revealed in a new and surprising way. A connection between Miss Marks and Harry? That was profoundly unnerving, especially since both of them had kept it secret. She suffered a chill of confusion as an awful thought occurred to her. “Oh, God. Were you and Harry—”

“No. Nothing like that. But it’s a complicated story, and I’m not certain how to . . . well, let me start by telling you what I know about Harry.”