Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right (38 page)

“My corgis do not herd anything,” she said. “They’re too delicate, and they know nothing of herding.”

“It’s in their blood,” Nicholas said. “They’ll be outside, mucking about. No time for walks in prams.”

“I tell you—” Her voice had a dangerous edge to it.

Nicholas placed a finger over her mouth. “You’re simply gorgeous when you speak of your dogs,” he whispered. “In fact, I wrote you a poem. Shall I recite it?”

“Shut up,” Natasha said through gritted teeth. “I abhor your obsequious manner. You are the Duke of Drummond. You’re cold and haughty, like me.”

He shook his head. “That was a façade, my dear. All a façade. It came crumbling down”—he looked deep into her flat, dark eyes and felt his first bit of acting nerves—“when I, um, met you.”

The princess’s lip curled up in a sneer. “This is a massive joke,” she said. “You’re trying to rid yourself of me. Well, it shall never happen. You are mine.
Forever
.”

And she flounced off.

Blast.

What was he to do now? He had a vision of the future—in it, he was buried up to the neck in corgis.

A bleak weariness settled over him.

“Hello, Duke.”

He turned around.

Poppy.

It was like sunshine had come out and blown away all the gray clouds. She was stunning tonight in a Grecian-style gown that made her look like Artemis, goddess of the hunt. She was also more beautiful—and intimidating—than he’d ever seen her.

He bowed. “Good evening, Lady Poppy.” He realized his tone was cold, but how else was he to act around the only woman in the world who’d made him think twice about staying a dangerous, aloof bachelor?

“Congratulations on your betrothal,” she said. “I wish you many years of happiness with the princess … and her dogs.”

Nicholas merely scowled. He could think of no reply suitable for her ears.

Poppy lifted her chin and moved past him, and he caught a whiff of her familiar, intoxicating scent.

He couldn’t think of her right now. He had to focus on his plan.

On his duty.

The dancing began, and Natasha returned to his side and insisted they participate. He’d never been more glum. Duty couldn’t be this. It couldn’t be dancing with a Russian princess who was glowering at you and stepping on your feet. Could it?

If it was, why was it sitting so heavily on his shoulders? Why could he not embrace it the way he always had before?

At one point, he was paired in a quadrille with Lady Beatrice.

She smiled at him. “Remember what I said, Drummond? If you’re worthy of Poppy, we’ll help you. The best way we can do that is to assure her you’re made of stern stuff and not Natasha’s toy. Prove us right.”

And then she was whisked away.

Natasha’s toy
.

Ha.

He’d prove to the world he wasn’t Natasha’s toy, all right.

The next moment, he was joined in the dance by Lady Eleanor.

“Poppy’s a woman who knows her mind,” she said. “She’s loyal and steadfast and brave. I trust you’ll show her you’re the same.”

And then she was twirled into another man’s arms.

Nicholas wasn’t happy. He didn’t like his integrity questioned. But he must admit that Ladies Eleanor and Beatrice had a point. Tonight was the night he must take charge of his fate and not let it rest in the hands of Natasha or Groop.

He danced with his traitorous fiancée next.

Nicholas cleared his throat. “You’ve used my brother grievously to entrap me.”

Her eyes widened. “How can you believe anything Frank says?”

“And you’re a threat to Lady Poppy. What were you going to do once you put her in that barrel? Kill her?”

“That’s outrageous,” she sputtered.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll play your game tonight, but no more. We’re not engaged nor shall we ever be.”

She opened her mouth to say something more, but then he spun her away … out of his arms.

And if he had anything to do with it, out of his life.

He watched Poppy now talking to someone on the other side of the ballroom. She knew he was to retrieve the painting tonight for the Service. Yet she didn’t appear to be bothered. She’d always wanted to assist him—she’d begged him, as a matter of fact.

He must find out the reason for her nonchalance.

Interrupting her conversation with an elderly widow, he said, “Lady Poppy, might I have a word?”

The elderly widow’s jaw dropped. “But aren’t you
not speaking
to each other?”

“You’re correct,” said Poppy, “but unlike some people I know who simply
talk
about taking risks, I believe in actually taking them”—she cast a challenging look his way—“so I shall speak to him, after all.”

“What was that about?” he asked, dragging her away. “I take risks. All the time.”

“Is that so,” she said coolly, and wouldn’t look at him.

He felt himself getting angry. “Yes, it’s so.”

She shrugged. “You could have fooled me.”

“I’m taking a massive risk this evening,” he said, “and you no longer care?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you wanted to help me take it.”

She put a delicate hand on her hip. “Why should you be concerned what I think? You threw me over, so the way I see it, I’m no longer your fiancée. My life is none of your business.”

“You’re right to be angry about Natasha. But all that happened before I met you.”

Her emerald eyes blazed. “You told me to trust you. I did. I trusted you with my heart. I told you I was a Spinster. That I deserved respect. That I would settle for nothing less than love. Yet love doesn’t interest you, does it, Drummond? You used me, the same way you apparently used Natasha.”

And she strode off.

“Wait a bloody minute,” he called after her. “I didn’t throw you over. I told you I’d marry you.
You
were the one who said you were going to get out of our arrangement, no matter what.”

But she ignored him.

The scamp.

She looked luscious in that gown. He was angry with her and mesmerized by her all at the same time. He wanted her.

Dammit, he didn’t only want her. He
loved
Lady Poppy Smith-Barnes—every annoying, charming, delicious inch of her.

Why had it taken him so long to figure that out?

He caught up with her again. She yanked her arm back and tried to get away, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he looked her up and down, soaking in her beauty, but, even more, her strong spirit. “I’m not going to marry Natasha. I couldn’t possibly have fathered her child. Whatever you hear tonight, don’t believe it.”

“That’s your concern, not mine,” she said stoutly.

The little spitfire. How he craved her good opinion again!

She pushed an index finger on his chest. “Lord Eversly has asked me to marry him.” Her tone was defiant. “And I’m to give him my answer before the first waltz.”

Everything seemed to stop.

“Don’t marry him,” Nicholas said right away. “Remain a spinster—a luscious, fiery Spinster—and wait for a man who’s worthy of you. However long it takes.”

It wasn’t he. Not yet.

But it would be.

He would prove himself worthy.

He had no choice but to trust her to wait and believe he was the only man for her. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he turned and walked away again, and all the while he was thinking of her, not of his duty.

He must think of her. He
would
think of her right now. In fact, he intended to think about her—and eat with her and sleep with her and frolic with her—for the rest of their lives.

Because they’d be together.

Happily married.

His duty to the Service and his obligation to Operation Pink Lady were important, yes. They had their place in the great scheme of things. But he had a higher duty to live the life he was meant to live. And an even greater duty to his heart. He was still going to retrieve the painting, but now he’d do it for Poppy. Forget the MR and to hell with Groop’s orders.

Operation Get Poppy Back was officially under way.

CHAPTER 44

“Nicholas!” Poppy called after him. She could hardly breathe.

He turned around for a split second and they locked eyes.

“I want to remind you of something you once told me.” Her hands trembled, so she grabbed bunches of her gown. “You said taking chances is part of the fun—what makes life exciting. You like surprises, don’t you?”

“Of course.” His mouth curved up. “They keep one on one’s toes.”

“Don’t forget that,” she advised him.

“Don’t
you
forget, either.” He gave her a mock bow and disappeared into the crowd.

“Oh, I won’t!” she yelled, and hopped on her toes to get a last look at him in his normal state of utterly confident complacency.

Because he was going to get quite a surprise. He had no idea how big, but it was huge.

Huge!

She couldn’t wait to tell him the whole thing, but she’d decided to tell him the first part tonight and save the rest for later—if there was a later.

A later that involved disrobing, especially.

She hoped there’d be a later, but how could there be?

He hadn’t asked her to marry him when she’d told him about Eversly’s proposal.

He’d simply told her to wait.

For what?

For
him
?

If so, why hadn’t he asked her to wait for him outright?

She bit the tip of her finger. Perhaps she was supposed to read between the lines. He was a secret agent, after all, and she was a brilliant decoder.

Or
could
it have been her overactive, fanciful imagination attributing all sorts of lovely thoughts to him that simply didn’t exist?

No more fairy tales,
she’d told herself. And here she was indulging in them again.

Natasha came up to her and raked her with a scornful glance. “You told me long ago you’d be here with your future husband. And that you would kiss him in front of all the company. But you certainly look all alone and invisible to me.”

“I don’t think so,” said Poppy, “or you wouldn’t be so concerned about putting me in my place.”

The princess gasped. “I have your so-called future husband. He’s
mine,
and my brother is about to make the official announcement. You might want to leave.”

She gave a simpering little laugh.

“I refuse to give you the satisfaction,” Poppy replied with a toss of her head. “In fact, I plan to be front and center when that announcement is made.”

She turned her back on the princess, only to see Lord Eversly approaching, a hopeful light in his eyes. “Lady Poppy! How good it is to see you.”

She forced herself to smile. “Hello, Eversly.”

He took her elbow and, in the kindest, gentlest manner possible, led her to a corner. “I must know your answer
now
. We’re about to have the first waltz, and of course, I want to dance it with you. And then soon we shall have our own ball to make our betrothal announcement.”

She looked at him, her heart beating hard, and shook her head. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “My answer has to be no. You’re a wonderful man, and I do hope you’ll find a woman who appreciates you. But I’m sorry—I can’t be the one.”

His sweet expression dissolved into disappointment, which tore at her heart.

“It’s still the Duke of Drummond you love, isn’t it?” he whispered.

She nodded. “I know it’s impossible.”

“It’s all right.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I believe in true love, too.”

She took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re so kind.”

And he left her.

She followed him with her eyes and saw several young debutantes eyeing him as if he were a tremendous catch. And then a matron stopped and spoke to him, gesticulating to a pretty miss to come forward. She did just that, giving him a sweet curtsy. He held out his arm and she took it, her face beaming. And as fast as that, Eversly was swept back into the social whirl.

Natasha was right. Poppy was alone, without even Eleanor and Beatrice for company. They’d left the ball and were hiding in the bushes below the terrace leading to the rear gardens, waiting until just the right moment to enter the ball again.

It was all part of her plan to steal the painting back for Papa and herself.

“It’s time,” Sergei said from a small stage near the musicians. “Time for the first waltz and an official announcement.” His eyes roamed around the room and alighted on Nicholas, who looked more cold and intimidating than she’d ever seen him. Natasha clung to his elbow, her dark, scheming eyes alight with triumph. “Come forward, you two.”