Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

* * *

With Papa gone and the servants plainly lingering, Poppy knew Drummond had no choice but to go himself. She rose from her seat, and he took her hand. Leaning over it, he left a lingering kiss on her knuckles.

If only he would leave a kiss elsewhere on my body, she had the unwelcome thought.

“It’s been a challenge meeting your father,” he said, “and a huge pleasure. I shall come round tomorrow afternoon to take you up in my curricle. We shall circle Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. Remember, you’ll be a proper fiancée. For one month.”

He patted his pocket—the one with the stocking in it—then smiled.

The rat. She’d find a way to wipe the smug look off his face. Soon.

“Very well,” she said.

The corner of his mouth tilted up. He’d won this round, and they both knew it.

His mouth was dangerously close to hers, but he looked over his shoulder at Kettle, who handed him his cape, gloves, and hat.

“On your way, Your Grace,” the butler warned him.

Drummond put the hat on his head. “No need to worry, Kettle,” he said with a grin, his eyes on Poppy. “I’ve no time to give her a proper kiss good night this evening anyway. I’ve a card game to get to—and I’m fifteen minutes late.”

“A card game?” Poppy couldn’t help saying in disbelief. She was furious her curiosity about what constituted a proper kiss would not be satisfied because of a card game.

He was already at the bottom of the steps, and he’d donned his cape and gloves. When he looked up at her, her heart pounded in an entirely unacceptable manner. A lady couldn’t help thinking very bad thoughts about him. He didn’t have to wear his hair so long, nor did he require that swagger. Or the obvious attention he paid to maintaining a superb physique.

“Good night, Drummond,” she said primly.

“Good night, Poppy.” He chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking again.” And then he went walking merrily down the street.

“You don’t,” she cried after him.

He spun around, his cape swirling about his thighs. “Oh, but I do.”

“Really?” She found she couldn’t breathe.

“Really,” he said, his square jaw lowered, his dark brow arched, and his eyes full of—

She didn’t know, but it drove her mad with longing.

“Shut the door,” he called to her as if she were a child.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She was furious, but she did shut the door. Slowly.

He stood watching her the whole time. When the door was finally closed, she leaned her forehead against it, still furious but feeling rather weak in the knees again.

She knocked her head against the wooden panel. What was wrong with her? She didn’t like the Duke of Drummond. He was smug, bossy, and rude.

Rather like her, actually.

“My lady,” Kettle interrupted her thoughts.

She’d forgotten he was there. She pivoted her forehead slightly and peeked at him. “Yes, Kettle?”

“I forgot to give the duke his cane.” He held it up.

“Oh.” She stood up straight and sighed. “I suppose he can get it next time.” She was about to walk upstairs to think about kissing him while she brushed her hair when she was struck by a thought. “Wait a moment, Kettle. He didn’t come in with a cane. I was peeking around the door of the drawing room when he arrived. Are you sure it’s his?”

Kettle pulled in his chin. “You’re right, miss. Fancy my not being able to recall. But it must be his. It was sitting here in the corner by the door. And his name is carved on the side.”

Sure enough, the name Nicholas Staunton was carved down its length. “How odd,” she said. “I wonder who put it there?”

Kettle looked almost abashed. “I was away from the door for a few moments, um, delivering a message to the kitchen. I’ve no idea.”

He had a crush on Cook, Poppy knew, but she never minded when he deserted his post to woo her.

“It’s quite intricate, the carving, isn’t it?” She ran a hand across the fine wood of the cane. It was a gorgeous thing. “Why would such a fascinating cane be left at my house? And with the duke’s name on it? Could it be a prank?”

“But it’s not amusing,” Kettle said, staring at the cane in his hand.

“No, it’s not,” said Poppy. “It’s merely baffling.” She drew in a breath. “Perhaps his valet slipped it in the door. It might be the duke’s favorite cane and he left it at home by accident. It could be the valet expected you to hand it to him upon his departure.”

“Yes. Someone could have opened the door and left it for him while—while I wasn’t minding my station.” Kettle’s face went red again.

And before Poppy could assure the butler that she didn’t mind his being human and abandoning his post for love, the bottom of the cane popped open.

“Bloody hell,” Kettle said, then put a hand over his mouth. “A gadget cane! I’m sorry, my lady, but I’ve never seen one open from the bottom like that. I knew this duke was a most unusual sort of duke. He exudes danger. And mystery.”

“From every pore?” Poppy asked, although it was really a rhetorical question. They both already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Kettle said anyway. “From every pore.” And shook the cane.

A tightly rolled piece of paper fell out.

She exchanged a wide-eyed look with the butler, then eagerly, they both bent to pick up the scrap.

Poppy got to it first. “Thank you, darling Kettle,” she cried as she bounded up the stairs. “I don’t think the valet left this cane, after all. I believe someone else did—and expected the duke to find this message. Perhaps this will tell me why he needs a wife.”

“And whether he murdered his uncle!” Kettle called up to her.

Yes, and that, too.

CHAPTER 12

Nicholas took the gawking in stride when he drove Poppy along Rotten Row in Hyde Park the next afternoon. She was a pretty socialite renowned for rebuffing suitors, and since their engagement, he knew rumors were flying fast about him, the little-known Drummond line, and the mysterious, long-ago disappearance of his uncle. Together they were a London sensation, especially in his glossy black phaeton with yellow-trimmed wheels and a pair of matched grays.

Before he knew it, Poppy had taken the reins right from his hands. Her gaze as she maneuvered between other vehicles was shrewd and intelligent. She cast her eyes briefly his way and gifted him with a rather bewitching grin. “I do like to drive.”

“What a surprise,” he said mildly.

He wanted to relieve her of her clothing right then and there, but he wasn’t particularly astounded. He was a man, after all, with a man’s usual lustful thoughts, and she was a beautiful female extremely responsive to his attentions—when she forgot she disliked him.

Her driving so expertly was another reason to be sexually attracted to her. Helpless females bored him to tears.

She leaned closer. “Do you think we’re fooling everyone?” she whispered in his ear.

“Of course,” he replied. “Just look at them.”