Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways #3)(76)

“To err is human,” Amelia said, “to forgive, absolutely galling. But yes, I think it’s a good idea.”

“The problem is, that Harry—the one who took care of me that day—doesn’t surface nearly often enough. He keeps himself ridiculously busy, and he meddles with everyone and everything in that blasted hotel to avoid having to think about anything personal. If I could get him away from the Rutledge, to some quiet, peaceful place, and just . . .”

“Keep him in bed for a week?” Amelia suggested, her eyes twinkling.

Glancing at her sister in surprise, Poppy flushed and tried to stifle a laugh.

“It might do wonders for your marriage,” Amelia continued. “It’s lovely to talk to your husband after you’ve been to bed together. They just lie there feeling grateful and say yes to everything.”

“I wonder if I could convince Harry to stay here with me for a few days,” Poppy mused. “Is the gamekeeper’s cottage in the woods still empty?”

“Yes, but the caretaker’s house is much nicer, and at a more convenient distance from the house.”

“I wish . . .” Poppy hesitated. “But it would be impossible. Harry would never agree to stay away from the hotel so long.”

“Make it a condition of your returning to London with him,” Amelia suggested. “Seduce him. For heaven’s sake, Poppy, it’s not that difficult.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Poppy protested.

“Yes, you do. Seduction is merely encouraging a man to do something he already wants to do.”

Poppy gave her a bemused glance. “I don’t understand why you’re giving me this advice now, when you were so against the marriage in the first place.”

“Well, now that you’re married, there’s not much anyone can do except try to make the best of it.” A thoughtful pause. “Sometimes when you’re making the best of a situation, it turns out far better than you could have hoped for.”

“Only you,” Poppy said, “could make seducing a man sound like the most pragmatic option.”

Amelia grinned and reached for another tart. “What I mean to suggest is, why don’t you try making a headlong dash at him? Try to make a real go of it. Show him what kind of marriage you want.”

“Charge at him,” Poppy murmured, “like a rabbit at a cat.”

Amelia gave her a perplexed glance. “Hmmm?”

Poppy smiled. “Something Beatrix advised me to do early on. Perhaps she’s wiser than the rest of us.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Lifting her free hand, Amelia pushed aside the edge of a white lace curtain, sunlight falling over her shining sable hair, gilding her fine features. A laugh escaped her. “I see her now, coming back from her ramble in the wood. She’ll be thrilled to discover that you and Leo are here. And it appears she’s carrying something in her apron. Lord, it could be anything. Lovely, wild girl . . . Catherine has done wonders with her, but you know she’ll never be more than half tame.”

Amelia said this without worry or censure, merely accepting Beatrix for what she was, trusting that fate would be kind. Undoubtedly that was Cam’s influence. He’d always had the good sense to give the Hathaways as much freedom as possible, making room for their eccentricities where someone else might have crushed them. The Ramsay estate was their safe harbor, their haven, where the rest of the world dared not intrude.

And Harry would be there soon.

Chapter Twenty-one

Harry’s journey to Hampshire had been long, dull, and uncomfortable, with no companionship except his own smoldering thoughts. He had tried to rest, but as a man who found sleep difficult in even the best of circumstances, trying to doze in a jolting carriage in the daytime was impossible. He had occupied himself with making up extravagant threats to bully his wife into obedience. Then he had fantasized about what he would do to Poppy in her chastised state, until those thoughts had made him aroused and aggravated.

Damn her, he would not be left.

Harry had never been given to introspection, finding the territory of his own heart too treacherous and tricky to examine. But it was impossible to forget the earlier time in his life, when every bit of softness and pleasure and hope had disappeared, and he’d had to fend for himself. Survival had meant never allowing himself to need another person again.

Harry tried to divert his thoughts by staring at the passing scenery, the summer sky still light as the hour approached nine. Of all the places in England he had visited, he had not yet gone to Hampshire. They were traveling south of the Downs, toward the thick wood and fertile grasslands near the New Forest and Southampton. The prosperous market town of Stony Cross was located in one of the most picturesque regions of England. But the town and its environs possessed something more than mere scenic appeal—a mystical quality, something difficult to put his finger on. It seemed they were traveling to a place out of time, the ancient woods harboring creatures that could only exist in myth. As evening deepened, mist collected in the valley and crept across the roads in an otherworldly haze.

The carriage turned onto the private road of the Ramsay estate, past two sets of open gates and a caretaker’s house made of blue gray stone. The main house was a composite of architectural styles that shouldn’t have looked right together but somehow did.