Page 134 of The Wallflower Takes All

He thought of his office, respectable but ordinary. His father’s old desk with the ink stain and the arrears Lady Viva might never pay. The respectable but far from grand house he and Father lived in.

“Not enough.”

Poppy’s eyes flashed. “I did not ask you to decide that.”

“No. You asked what I offer.”

“I asked because I wanted you to say something true.”

The words undid him. Something broke loose inside his chest, old restraint giving way under a pressure that had been building since the moment he saw her standing in a chaotic hall with egg on the carpet and laughter held too tightly in her mouth.

“You want truth?” he said, his voice growing hoarse.

She swiveled to face him again and her eyes flashed. “Yes.”

“I want you.”

Her breath caught.

The room seemed to narrow around them. The flowers, the tea tray, the waiting cakes, Lord Caldermere’s expected call—everything faded beneath the stark honesty he could no longer contain.

“I want you with a selfishness I do not recognize in myself,” he said. “I want to be the man who gives you a home. I want to be the person you look for when the room grows too loud. I want to stand beside you when Lady Viva invites another impossible guest, when Freddie steals something, when creditors knock, when some fool sends another scented note, when Mr. Loxley prepares to die after supper and recovers before cake.”

Her eyes brightened with tears.

He continued because stopping now would be another lie.

“I want the letters, the unpaid bills, the false counts, the poets, the ridiculous dog. I want all of it because all of it is attached to you, and I cannot seem to want you without wanting the life you have carried.”

Poppy crossed the distance between them. She grabbed his hand. “Then choose me.”

The words struck with the force of a verdict. Before he could answer, Jenkins appeared in the doorway. The butler’s composure was intact, though something in his face had gone tight with worry.

“Forgive me, miss.”

Poppy turned at once. The charged air between her and Gabriel vanished beneath swift concern. “What is it?”

“I cannot locate Lady Montague.”

Gabriel’s attention sharpened at once.

Poppy crossed to the door. “What do you mean, you cannot locate her?”

“She was in her chamber after breakfast. Her maid says she complained of a megrim and asked not to be disturbed.”

“Mama never asks not to be disturbed.”

“No, miss.”

Jenkins held out the scented letter. Freddie trotted beside him, sniffing at it with renewed suspicion.

“A similar note arrived earlier,” Jenkins said. “Her ladyship read it and went upstairs.”

Poppy took the paper.

“You said it was from Bellarosa?” Gabriel asked.

“That was my understanding,” Jenkins replied. “The scent is unmistakable.”