As Mr. Maxime continued to engage, Poppy felt something in the pit of her gut shift. Perhaps her initial instinct had been correct after-all. Maybe he really was a rake, and it would seem not the particularly interesting kind. Like Mr. Lestrange. What a disappointment, and so handsome too. Like so many gentlemen before him however, it would seem Maxime was more eager to hear himself speak than he was to form any meaningful connection and the way his expression seemed to glaze over as she spoke and then morph into something almost predatory alerted Poppy to the danger ahead. On the one hand, the brunette knew it would be easy to engage in a tete-a-tete with the gentleman, spinning witticisms back and forth as he became more and more tiresome; on the other, Poppy knew it would be in her best interest to simply excuse herself politely and turn away from him altogether. Unable to bring herself to do either, really, the brunette simply hummed in the man’s direction, her tone not impolite but a little less keen than before.
“No. Thank you sir,” she replied easily instead. “I have no interest in hiding in the shadows like some misguided urchin.” Then, demurring in the way she’d been taught, Poppy curtseyed politely and dipped her head to the gentleman. “If you’ll excuse me. I believe mama is calling.”
© Fox