dukes.”
“But Sergei, the Duke of Drummond is—”
“Who cares about the Duke of Drummond?” Sergei stopped and gave her that smoldering, half-lidded look again. “When may I come to your room?”
Her room?
She couldn’t help it. She chuckled. Of course, he’d meant her
“Any time.” She patted his arm, feeling vaguely protective of him. “Preferably in the early afternoon. Just say the word.”
He gave her a slow grin. “You prefer day to night?”
“Yes. I must say I’m quite fond of the, um, daytime.”
Good Lord, she hadn’t remembered having such odd conversations with him in St. Petersburg. Perhaps he hadn’t spoken English in quite a while.
“You bold girl. What shall you wear?” His voice had a suddenly rough edge to it.
“A—a walking gown, I suppose.”
“Splendid.” He gave her another heated smile. “I like to take my time.”
“That’s refreshing.” She forced herself to smile back even though his comments were becoming increasingly confusing. “Most men are in such a rush.”
Her father every night at dinner, for one. And every man who’d ever come to tea in her drawing room, excepting the Marquess of Stanbury and Lord Tweed, the garrulous suitors who’d droned on so long that she’d had to replace the teapot twice.
The prince looked toward Drummond and his sister, as if he were afraid they’d hear him. “Wear your bonnet, too,” he urged her. “Something with feathers. And your parasol. I love a woman who can use a parasol to her advantage.”
She had a sudden fear—an illogical, sordid fear that she couldn’t name, but it certainly did her no credit.
“Sergei”—she paused—“you
His eyes cooled a bit. “Why, did you think I meant elsewhere?”
She blinked. He couldn’t, wouldn’t dare to—
No, she was thinking in an entirely inappropriate direction.
“Of course not,” she said primly.
“Your blasted duke annoys me,” Sergei muttered, “and I despise that dog. I hope he goes looking for it and gets lost himself.”
“Where did he go?” Poppy asked Drummond, ignoring Sergei’s extremely rude remarks.
“I’m not sure.” Irritation made Drummond’s gray eyes narrow. “He ran down the corridor. Natasha’s having a fit of the vapors and is sitting on a chair in the salon straight ahead and to the left. Prince Sergei, please take her home, and Lady Poppy, you come with me.” He grabbed her hand.
She felt a great rush of relief. And she also felt a lurch of warmth near her heart at the feel of his firm, masculine grip.
“We’ll return Boris to the princess as soon as we find him,” the duke called back to the prince.
Poppy was glad her stilted conversation with Sergei was over. And she felt pleasure, unexpected pleasure, that she and Drummond would be alone for a while—without the whining princess’s company, either.
Even if the price they must pay for the respite was finding a petulant dog.
CHAPTER 17
Nicholas’s mild irritation at being at the beck and call of the princess turned into full-blown resentment. The one-eyed dog was nowhere to be found, despite the fact that he and Poppy had searched through various rooms at the museum for a good half hour.
“The princess says he loves people and will make a beeline for a crowd,” he said.
“Then we should try again by the Elgin Marbles,” Poppy suggested.
“We’ve already done so twice.”
“How about the Rosetta Stone?”
“All right. Once more.”
They turned to the right to the chamber housing the famed stone when Poppy pointed straight ahead. “There he is!”
The squat dog was doing his best to get down a long series of steps to the first floor. They both rushed to him, and Nicholas picked him up. Boris’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and he stared defiantly at Poppy with his one eye.
“Your adventure is over, my canine friend,” Nicholas muttered.
Poppy stroked Boris’s head. “I wonder where he’s been hiding?”
Her slender fingers caressing the beast’s head, the sweet nothings she murmured, somehow grabbed Nicholas’s attention and held it. He was jealous, he realized. Jealous of a dog.
For God’s sake, what was he thinking? He didn’t need sweet caresses anywhere but where it counted—and even then, it didn’t have to be sweet, did it?
A caress was enough.
Not even a caress. A quick swipe or two with a hand would do.
He pulled Boris away, leaving Poppy’s hand dangling in midair.
Just because.
“The dog needs no more touching.” Nicholas felt a terrible mood coming upon him, and he wasn’t sure why.
“Why are you glowering at me?” she asked, her hands on her hips. “What have I done?”
He was saved from answering by the approach of a small woman with a broad face and a frilly cap, who was striding toward them, her hands clenched in fists.
“Blast his furry hide, there he is!” She was followed by a meek maidservant. “That evil dog swallowed the round pearl-and-ruby pendant off my necklace. I picked him up and said, ‘Oh, you dear, dear thing,’ and next thing I knew, he’d bitten it right off!”
She held up a broken gold chain.
Poppy’s eyes were wide. “Um, I’m so sorry, madam. And I’m sure we’ll be able to get the pendant—ahem— after it’s gone through him.”
The woman pursed her lips. “I can’t wait that long. I’m visiting from Surrey, and I must get home. My name is Mrs. Travers. I might be a small lady, but I’m quite important in my village, I’ll have you know.”
“Please give me your address, madam, and we’ll be sure to return the pendant,” Nicholas said. “Hopefully within one day. Two at the most.”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Travers said suspiciously. “What if you decide to keep it? Give me that dog—then I’ll know I’ll get my piece back. When I do, I’ll send you a note and you can come get him.”
“We can’t very well do that. He’s not even our dog,” said Poppy. “And we’re not thieves. We’re not interested in your … pilfered pendant.”
Mrs. Travers gasped. “You should be.
“I’m sorry,” said Poppy, her face turning pink. “I simply meant we don’t want it.”
The woman pursed her lips. “Give me that dog, or I’ll—I’ll call a constable!”
Nicholas laid a hand on her arm. “Madam, the dog belongs to a Russian princess—”
“I don’t care who the dog belongs to.” Mrs. Travers burst into tears. “Who ever heard of letting a dog into a museum? He attacked me, the brute! I shall press charges for that, as well.”
