I quite like having you close. You have no defenses right now, making it impossible for you to lie.”

“You’re more of a gentleman than that.”

“Oh, Poppy, you don’t know me at all.”

“That’s not so. I know you quite well—”

“You’ve made me into someone I never was. Your impression of me is sweet, and flattering, but absurdly false. I am no gentleman, and am anything but chivalrous.”

“I’d like to return to my chair now.”

“Why? Isn’t this what you always wanted? Haven’t you wondered what it would be like to be Sophie, engaged to me?”

Poppy stiffened. She couldn’t move, or blink, or speak. She couldn’t do anything but sit frozen while shame suffused her heart. He knew? Dear God, did he really know? All these years she’d thought she’d been so good at hiding her feelings, hiding her attraction, and yet apparently she hadn’t hidden anything well at all.

But then she forced the thought back, not willing to go there, not willing to be stripped emotionally bare before him. “How much whiskey did you drink?” she flashed, praying he hadn’t heard the wobble in her voice.

“The one glass. I’m not drunk.” He leaned back against his leather seat, infuriatingly relaxed. “And you can play it cool, and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, but we both know the truth. I’m not trying to shame you—”

“It certainly feels like it, and I don’t appreciate it. I was supposed to be going on holiday in the morning. I haven’t had a proper vacation in years and this should have been the start to a vacation and instead you have me trapped on your plane, listening to your insults.”

“It’s not an insult.”

“For you to imply that I’ve been dying for you to kiss me, yes, that’s an insult because until five hours ago you were marrying my best friend.”

“I never said Sophie knew. You were remarkably good at concealing your feelings when she was around.”

“I don’t have feelings for you!”

His expression of amused disbelief made her want to throw up.

“Can we agree on soft spot?” he suggested with the same insufferable smile.

Poppy shuddered. She averted her face, trying to hide behind her shoulder. “I miss the old you, the nice you. Can you please bring Randall Grant back?”

“Randall Grant is dead.”

Her head jerked up and her gaze met his.

He nodded, expression almost sympathetic. “Yes, dead, because he never existed. I am Dal Grant, and have always been Dal. You made me into this Randall who was good and kind and considerate, but that’s not me. It never has been.”

“Fine. You’re Dal Grant. Congratulations.” She yanked on her hand, struggling to free herself, struggling with a new, feverish desperation. “Now, let me go.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because we need to finish establishing a few things—”

“I think we’ve established quite a lot already. You’re Dal, not Randall. You’re not a nice man and you never have been. You think I betrayed you—”

“I know you betrayed me.”

“And you want me to betray Sophie.”

“But you don’t want to do that.”

“Of course I don’t. And I won’t.”

“Because she was your champion. She protected you from the time you were just a charity case at Haskell’s—”

“Stop, just stop.”

“I understand more than you think I do.