He didn’t miss the vivid flush on her face, although he didn’t know exactly what to make of it. The lingering mortification of it, maybe – never mind that of the two of them, he was the one with supposed cause to regret his actions. She had behaved appropriately. (Well, mostly.) “Oh, I’ve evolved from soon-to-be debutantes this year,” he countered with fake carelessness, in a low conspiratorial tone of confidence. “If I take any liberties, it’ll be with an actual debutante, thank you.” His tone was breezy, as if it were a joke – but there was a twist of something inside at saying it, like he knew he was playing with fire. One the one hand, maybe he wanted to make her jealous (would she even be jealous?), to seem interested in finding a young lady with fewer scruples than she had tonight; on the other, he wasn’t the only one who had grown up this year, and if he had his eye on any debutante here, it was...
Poppy was fanning herself now, and had flipped open her fan so suddenly that he blinked, suspicious. Rather interesting and peculiar exchanges didn’t say much – and had she been blushing? Had someone else been making her blush? (If his blood was boiling inside, Kris tried to keep his cool on the outside.)
“Is that so?” He asked, with an eyebrow raised. “Well, better enjoy it while you can,” Kris said, of Poppy’s mention of Parisian chic, some oddly relaxed air in the place. “But I can’t see 1893 society being any different, so I doubt it’ll last. I think he’s looking at you –” he added abruptly, of some curly-haired idiot across the room, narrowing his eyes. Not that people weren’t allowed to look at Poppy, but there was something uncomfortably wistful and ardent and imploring in that expression that rubbed him the wrong way. Hoping she didn’t notice this ploy, he shifted in front of Poppy better as if to block her from anyone else’s view.
Poppy was fanning herself now, and had flipped open her fan so suddenly that he blinked, suspicious. Rather interesting and peculiar exchanges didn’t say much – and had she been blushing? Had someone else been making her blush? (If his blood was boiling inside, Kris tried to keep his cool on the outside.)
“Is that so?” He asked, with an eyebrow raised. “Well, better enjoy it while you can,” Kris said, of Poppy’s mention of Parisian chic, some oddly relaxed air in the place. “But I can’t see 1893 society being any different, so I doubt it’ll last. I think he’s looking at you –” he added abruptly, of some curly-haired idiot across the room, narrowing his eyes. Not that people weren’t allowed to look at Poppy, but there was something uncomfortably wistful and ardent and imploring in that expression that rubbed him the wrong way. Hoping she didn’t notice this ploy, he shifted in front of Poppy better as if to block her from anyone else’s view.
