Page 92 of The Wallflower Takes All

“I should not have obliged you.”

Poppy plunked her hands on her hips. “You cannot kiss me twice?—”

“More than twice,” he said before he could stop himself.

Poppy’s nostrils flared. “You cannot kiss me more than twice, then hide behind propriety while implying it was nothing more than a simple mistake.”

His mouth tightened. “That is not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

For a moment, he said nothing.

The wind stirred the trees above them. Freddie had abandoned his objections and begun sniffing the grass with fierce investigative purpose. Somewhere across the water, a child laughed.

Gabriel looked at Poppy with the grim air of having reached the end of every sensible argument. At last, he said, “I have behaved badly.”

Poppy blinked. “Have you?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you behaved rather well.”

He ignored her jest and paced away from her. “The truth is I have developed a regard for you that is no longer appropriate to my position.” He delivered the words stoically, with the grim solemnity usually reserved for the greatest sin imaginable.

The fragile happiness inside her stilled.

His words were careful, but she saw the cost of them in his face. Every syllable seemed drawn through restraint.

“I have attempted to persuade myself otherwise,” he continued. “I told myself my concern was professional. That I wished only to assist you until Lord Montague’s arrival because leaving your affairs unsettled would be irresponsible. That attending Lady Pembroke’s dinner was necessary because Lady Montague required protection from men such as Count Bellarosa. That offering to drive you in the park was for…” He paused, visibly dissatisfied with himself. “I have not yet devised a respectable explanation for that.”

Poppy could not help it. “Fresh air?”

His gaze warmed despite himself. “An unconvincing argument.”

“I thought so.”

“But the truth is plain enough now.” His expression sobered. “My feelings have become involved.”

The words should have delighted her. And they did. But they also frightened her, because he spoke them like a man announcing a disaster requiring immediate containment.

Poppy’s fingers closed more tightly around Freddie’s ribbon. “And that is terrible?”

“It is a risk.”

“To whom?”

“To you.”

She stared at him.

He continued before she could object. “You are in a vulnerable position. You have five days before Lord Montague arrives. You require a titled husband capable of offering you and Lady Montague security. I am your solicitor. I know the particulars of your household affairs. I know precisely how urgent your circumstances are. For me to continue acting for you while allowing this…” His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before lifting again. “While allowing my feelings to influence my judgment would be indefensible.”

Poppy’s first impulse was indignation. Her second was admiration, which was inconvenient. He was not rejecting her because he did not want her. Every strained line of him made that impossible to believe.

He was trying to protect her. From him. The notion was noble, aggravating, and not entirely acceptable. “So what do you mean to do?” she asked.

He straightened his coat. “Remove myself from the matter.”