Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways #3)(78)

Miss Marks’s brows lowered. “That’s not the definition of noblesse oblige.”

“It’s my definition,” Leo said, seeming to enjoy her annoyance.

“Kev,” Win said calmly, stepping forward, “I would like to talk to you about something.”

Merripen, attentive as always to his wife, gave her a frowning glance. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No,” Win said equably. At his continued hesitation, she said, “I’m expecting.”

Merripen blinked. “Expecting what?”

“A baby.”

They all watched as Merripen’s face turned ashen. “But how . . .” he asked dazedly, nearly staggering as he headed to Win.

“How?” Leo repeated. “Merripen, don’t you remember that special talk we had before your wedding night?” He grinned as Merripen gave him a warning glance. Bending to Win’s ear, Leo murmured, “Well done. But what are you going to tell him when he discovers it was only a ploy?”

“It’s not a ploy,” Win said cheerfully.

Leo’s smile vanished, and he clapped a hand to his forehead. “Christ,” he muttered. “Where’s my brandy?” And he disappeared into the house.

“I’m sure he meant to say ‘congratulations,’ ” Beatrix remarked brightly, following the group as they all went inside.

Cam and Harry were left alone.

“I should probably explain,” Cam said to Harry, looking somewhat apologetic. “Win used to be an invalid, and although she’s recovered, Merripen is still afraid that childbirth may be difficult for her.” He paused. “We all are,” he admitted. “But Win is determined to have children—and God help anyone who tries to say no to a Hathaway.”

Harry shook his head in bemusement. “Your family—”

“I know,” Cam said. “You’ll get used to us eventually.” A pause, and then he asked in a matter-of-fact tone, “Do you want to take up the fight again, or shall we dispense with the rest of it and go have a brandy with Ramsay?”

One thing was clear to Harry: His in-laws were not normal people.

One of the loveliest aspects of Hampshire summers was that even when the days were sun drenched and warm, most evenings were cool enough for a fire. Alone in the caretaker’s house, Poppy snuggled by the small, crackling hearth and read a book by lamplight. She read the same page repeatedly, unable to concentrate as she waited for Harry. She had seen his carriage pass the cottage on the way to Ramsay House, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they sent him to her. “You won’t see him,” Cam had told her, “until I’ve decided that his temper has cooled sufficiently.”

“He would never hurt me, Cam.”

“All the same, little sister, I intend to have a few words with him.”

She wore a dressing gown borrowed from Win, a ruffled pale pink garment with a white lace inset at the top. The bodice was very low, exposing her cle**age, and since Win was more slender, the garment was a bit too snug, nearly causing her br**sts to spill over the lace. Knowing that Harry liked her hair down, she had brushed it and left it loose, a feathery, fiery curtain.

There was a sound from outside, a hard strike against the door. Poppy looked up sharply, her heartbeat quickening, her stomach turning over in a lazy somersault. She set the book aside and went to the door, turning the key in the lock, pulling at the knob.

She found herself standing face-to-face with her husband, who was one step below the stoop.

This was a new version of Harry, exhausted and rumpled and brutish, a day beyond a shave. Somehow the masculine dishevelment suited him, giving his handsomeness a raw, unvarnished appeal. He looked as if he were contemplating at least a dozen ways to punish her for having escaped him. His gaze raised gooseflesh all over her.

With a deep, arid breath, she stood back to let Harry in. Carefully, she closed the door.

The silence was pressing, the air charged with emotions she couldn’t even name. A pulse drummed in the backs of her knees, the insides of her elbows, and the pit of her belly as Harry’s gaze raked over her. “If you ever try to leave me again,” he said with quiet menace, “the consequences will be worse than you could imagine.” And he went on to say something to the effect that there were rules she would have to obey, and there were things he would not tolerate, and if she needed to be taught a lesson, he would be damned happy to oblige.

Despite his blistering tone, Poppy felt a wave of tenderness. He looked so hard faced and alone. So in need of comfort.

Before she gave herself a chance to reconsider, she went forward in two strides, removing all distance between them. Taking his stiff jaw in her hands, she stood on her toes and brought herself against him, and silenced him with her mouth.

She felt the shock of that tender contact jolt all through Harry. His breath slammed in his throat, and he seized her upper arms, pushing her back just far enough to stare at her incredulously. She felt how strong he was, able to break her in two if he chose. He was motionless, riveted by whatever he saw in her expression.

Eager and intent, Poppy strained upward to put her mouth to his again. He allowed it for just a moment, then pushed her back. A swallow rippled visibly down his throat. If the first kiss had startled him into silence, the second had utterly disarmed him.