The Other Miss Bridgerton

But then he realized that it wasn’t terrifying at all, that he thought it should be terrifying, but in reality it was . . .

Rather nice.

His family had always viewed him as something of a jokester, and he supposed he had done little to convince them otherwise. He had been sent down from Eton on multiple occasions—never for academic failings, though. He had been far too restless a boy to earn top marks, that was true, but he’d acquitted himself tolerably well in his studies.

His transgressions had always been of the behavioral variety. A prank intended for a friend that somehow ended on the doorstep of a tutor. A prank intended for a tutor that somehow ended on the doorstep of the head of school. Inappropriate laughter in the dining hall. Inappropriate laughter in church. Inappropriate laughter, frankly, just about everywhere.

So if his family saw him as silly, or at the very least unserious, he supposed they had cause.

But that wasn’t all he was. He did important things. Important things that no one knew about, but that couldn’t be helped.

It didn’t bother him.

Well, it didn’t bother him much.

He looked across the table at Poppy, marveling that all of this had flashed through his mind in under a second.

“Do you think you know me ?” she asked.

“I do.” He didn’t even need to think about it.

She let out a snort. “That’s preposterous.”

“I know you like puzzles,” he said.

“Everyone likes—”

“No they don’t,” he cut in. “Not like you and me.”

His vehemence seemed to surprise her.

“I also know,” he said, “that if you set yourself a task, you cannot rest until you have completed it.” At her nonplussed expression he added, “Again, not everyone is that way. Even among those of us who like puzzles.”

“You’re the same,” she said, a touch defensively.

“I’m aware.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Her chin rose a notch. “Nor me.”

He couldn’t help but be amused by her attitude. “I’m not accusing you of something nefarious. To my mind, it’s a compliment.”

“Oh.” She blushed a little, and it was really rather entertaining the way she seemed to fidget within herself, as if she couldn’t quite absorb the praise. “What else do you think you know about me?” she asked.

He felt himself smile. “Fishing for compliments?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I have no reason to expect that your answers will be uniformly flattering.”

“Very well.” He thought for a moment. “I know that you don’t like to hide your intelligence.”

“When have you ever known me to do so?”

“Precisely,” he said. “But you haven’t had to. I know enough of society to know that you’re under far different strictures in London than on the Infinity .”

“I should say I’m under no strictures,” she said pertly, “except for the one that confines me to one cabin.”

“Says the lady dining in a Lisbon café.”

“Touché,” she admitted, and he thought she might be biting back a smile.

He leaned toward her, just a bit. “I know that you can’t speak French, that you don’t get seasick, and that you miss your brother Roger with all your heart.”

She looked up, her eyes somber.

“I know that you adored him even though he tortured you as all good older brothers do, and I know that he loved you back far more fiercely than you ever knew.”

“You can’t know that,” she whispered.

“Of course I can.” He tipped his head, quirked a brow. “I’m a brother too.”

Her lips parted, but she seemed not to know what to say.

“I know you’re loyal,” he said.

“How could you know that?”

He shrugged. “I just do.”

“But you—”

“—have spent much of the last week in your company. I do not need to witness a display of loyalty to know that it is a characteristic you possess.”

She blinked several times, her lashes sweeping up and down over unfocused eyes. She seemed to be staring at a spot on the far wall, but it was clear that everything she saw was inside her own head. Finally, just when he was about to give her a verbal nudge, she straightened and brought her gaze to his.

“I know about you,” she said.

He did not point out that she had just said that she didn’t know him at all. He was far too curious to hear what she had to say.

But before he could ask, Senhor Farias arrived at the table with a plate of cod fritters.

“Bolinhos de bacalhau! ” he announced. “But you must wait. They are much too hot.”

Poppy peered at them. “Goodness, they are still sizzling.”

Senhor Farias was halfway back to the kitchen, and he didn’t even turn around as he snapped his fingers over his head and called out, “Too hot!”

Poppy grinned, and Andrew knew that he ought to allow their conversation to turn to the glorious meal ahead of them, but she had been about to say something important, and he could not let it go.

“You said you know me,” he reminded her.

“Hmm?” She reached out and gingerly touched a fritter.

“Too hot!” Senhor Farias yelled.

Poppy snapped to attention, her head whipping back and forth as she looked for the tavernkeeper. “How did he see that?” she marveled. “He’s not even here.”

“Poppy.”

“Do you think they’re ready?”

He said it again: “Poppy.”

She finally looked up, smiling pleasantly as she met his gaze.

“Before Senhor Farias arrived with the fritters,” he said. “You said you know me.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. I did.”

He made a rolling motion with his hand, his usual visualization of Well?

“Very well.” She straightened, almost as if she were a schoolteacher, preparing to deliver a lesson. “I know that you are not as hard-edged as you would like others to believe.”

“You think so?”

She gave him an arch look. “Billy told me that you will not permit him to go out and about in Lisbon by himself.”

“He’s a child .”

“Who has left home and is living on a ship ,” she retorted. “Do most boys in his position face similar restrictions?”

“No,” Andrew admitted, “but he doesn’t speak the language. And he’s very small for his age.”

Her smile was lopsided but triumphant. ”And you care about him.”

Andrew tugged at his cravat. It was ridiculous to feel embarrassed by such a thing. He was only protecting a small boy. Everyone should aspire to such behavior.

“You also treat your men very well,” she said.

“That’s just good business. We talked about that.”

She laughed. Right in his face. “Please. You said quite specifically that the main reason to feed one’s men well is not because it is good business, but rather because they are human.”

“You remember that, eh?” he muttered.

“I remember everything.”

This, he did not doubt for a second. But he was oddly uncomfortable with her praise—for this sort of thing, at least. Which was utter bollocks. He was only doing right by his crew. But men were taught to take pride in their strength and power, not in their good works, and he wasn’t quite sure how to simply say thank you.

“I think they’re ready,” he said, nodding toward the fritters.

Poppy, who had been so eager to try them she’d nearly burned her finger, just shrugged.

“You don’t want to eat?” He knew that she did. She was just was trying to make some convoluted, completely unimportant point.

He motioned again to the food on the table. “We’re wasting time.”

“Is that what you think?” she murmured, and her tone was so precisely the same as his had been when he’d uttered the same words a few minutes earlier, it could not have been coincidence. Not from her.