Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

“I see.” Her eyes gleamed with shrewd understanding.

“Your job is—”

She drew even closer. “Please don’t make it a sinecure. I want to do something substantive. It would make Papa proud.”

“Very well.” Nicholas liked her enthusiasm, her appealing grin, and her impressive vocabulary. And he must admit, her hand covering his. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘Keep your enemies close?’ ”

She drew back with a happy sigh. “Of course. My secret club says that all the time. ‘Know your foe,’ which I think is a bit strong as most of our suitors are perfectly lovely people. It’s only those rude ones like Lord Washburn who drive us mad.”

“All right, then. While you may not consider Natasha your enemy—and I know you don’t believe Sergei is— you must realize they’re our opponent at the moment, whether they know it or not. Your job is to help keep them happy while I figure out how to get the painting back.”

“I’m thoroughly committed to that idea,” she said breathlessly, which didn’t surprise him, of course. “As for the painting, you’ll retrieve it alone?”

“Yes. I’ve got a map of the interior of the Russian ambassador’s residence. I’ve been inside once—but not far—and am familiar with their usual level of security. I’m assuming it will be stepped up. My task will be to locate the painting before they bring it to the ballroom. Count and Countess Lieven are excellent hosts and no doubt will want to build suspense, so I suspect they’ll save the unveiling until the middle or end of the ball.”

“I can also help steal the painting. I mean, retrieve.”

Gad, she was becoming a little too enthusiastic. “No,” he said firmly, “that’s not a good idea.”

“But—”

“There are no buts. Remind the twins you know the Russian language. Show them around London. Do whatever it takes to keep them content to be here—short of flirting with Sergei outright. Everyone must believe you and I are happily engaged, of course.”

Her face fell. “How on earth will I not flirt with him?”

“You must find a way.” He chuckled. “Think of him as your brother.”

“Brother?” She crossed her arms. “That reminds me. He and Natasha hate each other.”

“I know. We’ll simply have to endure their squabbling—and prevent it if possible. The last thing we want is for them to leave the country in some sort of snit, taking the painting with them before the ball. And you have to understand—here and now, before we begin—that no matter how you’re affected personally, you must do your job, despite what anyone else thinks about you. You must be strong and unwavering. Sometimes working for Groop can make you feel lonely. You won’t be able to explain to your best friends or your family what you’re doing. Occasionally, you might have to make up a bald-faced lie with no warning and be believable as you deliver it. Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

“Of course I am,” she said, a wrinkle on her brow.

“What are you thinking?” Drummond asked her.

“Of Sergei. You make him sound like a petulant child. I spent a week with him when I was fifteen,” she said dreamily, “and he was nothing of the sort. He was very romantic.”

Nicholas restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Exactly what constitutes ‘romantic’ to a fifteen-year-old girl? Chaste kisses? Searing looks?”

She huffed. “If you’d only read the Russian poets, you’d know.”

“Who says I haven’t read the Russian poets?” He arched a brow.

“Have you?”

He’d read them all, although he wouldn’t tell her. Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her so close, their noses almost touched. “I’m the dreaded Duke of Drummond, so it doesn’t follow that I’d be a romantic who reads Russian poetry, does it?”

They stared at each other a moment, their mouths only inches apart. A sudden chill wind blew a strong gust that whistled around the gallery, lifting their hair and tugging at their clothes.

Despite the dropping temperature, Nicholas felt hot, unbridled lust.

“You’re right,” she agreed in a whisper, “it doesn’t follow at all. However, Sergei has read them—in fact, he’s memorized some of those poems and recited them to me—so no doubt he’ll find a wealthy bride whom he also loves.”

Nicholas dropped her hand. The girl was convinced Sergei had godlike qualities.

“You have your assignment,” he said dryly. “And we’ve a façade to maintain. We’re going to test the waters as a betrothed couple at a literary social to be held tomorrow at Lady Gastly’s. I’ve already been to the Howell residence and invited Natasha. Sergei is in his own rented apartment several blocks away. Even though Natasha sulked about how we’d treated her in the park today, she eventually accepted for both of them.”

Poppy gathered her skirt in folds. “I—I’m a bit nervous.”

“Why?”

“I might have been good at making up tales about being engaged to the Duke of Drummond, but I’m not a good liar in general. I’ll stumble. I’ll blurt something out, like, ‘We’re not really engaged.’ At least in the park today, we had a sort of distance from everyone ogling us.”

Nicholas sighed. “If you insist on having fun with me, as you say, you’ll need to trust yourself.”

“Of course.” She appeared rather embarrassed at her show of nerves.

He stood and pulled her up by the hand. “By the way,” he said, “you’ve established a long-running story that we’re marrying for love. So don’t forget to act the part.”

“But—”

“I know you’re bound and determined not to marry me. That’s not the point. You’ve made your bed and you have to lie in it. You’ll have to pretend to be in love with me, whether you like it or not.”

“You’ll have to help carry it off, as well,” she insisted.

Somehow, beneath the gibbous moon and brilliant stars, Nicholas found it was easier to imagine they could.

CHAPTER 15

Poppy sat up in bed the next morning and had a stunning thought: she was doing clandestine work—for the Service. She could hardly believe it.

And she was completely over feeling sorry for her beloved Sergei and his rude sister. Yes, it was unfortunate that the painting wasn’t really theirs. But if Sergei married her, she’d make sure he never missed it.

She climbed out of bed and eyed her reflection in the looking glass.

Love. That’s what she saw. It was written all over her face. Her eyes were bright. Her mouth—well, she simply couldn’t stop grinning.

It was her duty to keep Sergei happy.

Could Fate be any more kind?

All she had left to do was make sure he was as in love with her as she already was with him.

Oh, right—and then she’d have to get out of her engagement with the duke. She kept forgetting about that part. But once she showed Drummond the door—in a polite way, of course—it was all smooth sailing from there on out.

With that hopeful scenario in mind, that afternoon she accompanied Drummond, Sergei, and Natasha to Lady Gastly’s literary salon, the latest social spectacle.

Lady Gastly took her arm as soon as she entered the vast drawing room filled with members of the ton. “I heard about your betrothal to that duke,” she whispered in Poppy’s ear.

Even though she’d ridden over in the carriage with Drummond, their thighs touching, Poppy had been trying very hard to forget about him. Especially because last night when they’d arrived at the bottom of St. Paul’s again, he’d dragged her out into the street and kissed her senseless.