Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

“Oh, dear,” she murmured, “my maid and I were in a discussion with Lord Derby’s cook.”

“About his missing uncle?” Poppy asked.

“Or the octopus?” Nicholas asked, throwing Poppy a look that made her feel as if she were the cause of all this gossip about him, when really—

Oh, dear. She was, wasn’t she? Of course, she’d never told her suitors about the octopus, but she’d encouraged Cook to spin her tales. And Poppy had repeated them to Aunt Charlotte and her friends, and now—

Now Cook was telling all of London—and some country folk like Mrs. Travers, too. It seemed everyone was in a tizzy over the duke’s supposedly wicked and daring exploits.

Mrs. Travers bit her lip. “We heard about both the octopus and the uncle. But mum’s the word.”

She turned an invisible key in her mouth.

“That’s good of you,” Nicholas told her. “But I’m curious. What exactly did Cook say about my missing uncle?”

Mrs. Travers looked to her maid. “You tell him.”

The maid couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “He was a thin boy with beady eyes. But them beady eyes led him right to Viking gold. It was buried in the sand before your estate facing the sea. But someone in your family killed him for it, poor lad.”

She rubbed her nose as if her pronouncement were nothing particularly shocking.

“So you’re all cursed,” she concluded.

“It seems that way,” Drummond said with great cheer. “Off we go, now, ladies. I hear a carriage out front.”

Boris licked Nicholas’s face and began to whine.

Poppy looked out the window. “It’s the Russian twins.”

“I’ve got to ride with the dog,” Mrs. Travers said.

“Then you shall ride with the princess,” said Nicholas. “Because she won’t part from him.”

Mrs. Travers clapped her hand over her heart again. “My, how a day can change in a moment! Who ever thought Lily Travers would be riding in a carriage with a Russian princess!”

Yes, and who ever thought Lady Poppy Smith-Barnes, daughter of the Earl of Derby, would be following a one-eyed dog to Surrey?

CHAPTER 18

Nicholas tried not to be disappointed that Poppy rode with Mrs. Travers, her maid, and Natasha. It made sense, of course.

He rode with Sergei.

Another carriage followed behind with a few Russian servants, Poppy’s maid, and a number of trunks.

It was the longest ride to Surrey Nicholas had ever taken. The prince talked ceaselessly of his bachelor life in Russia—the women, the wine, the spectacular parties—as if Nicholas hadn’t had his own share of wild bachelor moments. And then he rattled on about his interest in cockfighting, a sport Nicholas had never enjoyed. Sergei also boasted about the number of bears he’d shot—nine—and described in minute detail how one goes about skinning one.

Nicholas listened with barely suppressed annoyance. He preferred shooting quail, but it wasn’t the lack of mutual interests that caused him to wish himself elsewhere. It was the prince’s smug manner that he found so off- putting.

The world, it seemed, revolved around Sergei.

“I’m missing a very good card game right now,” the prince said with a bit of temper, and mentioned a well- established London gambling hell where he was quickly becoming a regular player. “Too bad we’re traipsing off to Surrey.”

Nicholas shrugged. “It seemed the best solution at the time, and the ladies appear excited at the thought of spending time away from Town for a few days. You could have stayed behind, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose I could have.” The prince shrugged his shoulders and yawned. “But it will be nice to spend time with Lady Poppy.”

He was either stupid or extremely vain.

Nicholas gave a short laugh. “Was that really the best thing to say to her fiancé?”

Sergei finally seemed to notice him. “Lady Poppy and I are old friends. Surely you know that.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” Nicholas said coolly. “She told me you’re old friends. But at the present moment, she’s engaged to me. Or had you forgotten?”

The prince arched a brow. “I don’t like your manner, Drummond. You’re cocky. I even detect a threat in your tone. Against a Russian prince? That’s not very diplomatic of you.”

Nicholas shrugged. “If you’ve harmless intentions, you needn’t fear any threats.”

Sergei made a sulky face. “You take things too seriously, Duke. I’m only a guest in your country seeking to enjoy himself, and one way is by associating with people with whom I’m already acquainted. Surely you would grant a visiting aristocrat that much.”

“Do enjoy yourself, Sergei.” Nicholas intentionally used his first name. “Just be careful where.” He leaned back and pulled out a cheroot. “Care for one?”

Like a spoiled child, Sergei pretended not to hear him. He stared out the window, a steely look of indifference on his face.

But Nicholas knew better. The prince wasn’t used to being crossed in any way. In fact, Nicholas’s negative impression of him had only deepened after this latest conversation. Sergei was self-absorbed, not particularly bright, nor noble in character.

Nicholas wondered that Poppy had ever had a tendre for him, but she’d been only fifteen when she’d met him in St. Petersburg. The prince was handsome—charming, even, when he tried to be. But nothing deeper than that.

Obviously, for a girl in the throes of first love, it had been enough.

* * *

When they arrived at their destination in Surrey, Poppy found Lord and Lady Caldwell were nothing but smiles and warm hospitality. After a lovely tea in the drawing room, she repaired to her room, washed her face, and allowed her maid to fix her hair. But then she dismissed the girl to enjoy herself, putting away her own clothes and storing her bag at the foot of her bed.

It was time to do what Aunt Charlotte had suggested.

Explore.

The manor house was three stories high and Elizabethan in style, so she had plenty of wings to roam about, her objective being nothing more than to satisfy her curiosity about new places.

It was a wonderful thing to be a Spinster.

After a brief chat with the housekeeper, she found herself in the portrait gallery.

“There I am,” someone whispered over her shoulder.

She jumped. “Drummond! You scared me!”

He laughed out loud, a hearty laugh that she’d never heard before. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. You were so absorbed in looking for someone. Who?”

“I don’t know. The housekeeper told me I’d recognize a familiar face on the left-hand side.”

“She must mean me,” he said, and pointed to a portrait of a small boy with a twinkle in his eye and a charming half-smile. One of his childish hands lay on top of the head of an adoring dog. The other held a lush, pink rose.

“That is you.” Poppy instantly recognized the restrained mischief in the boy’s stance and expression.

He was adorable. And sweet.

Now she cast a discreet glance at the man he’d become. The boy had grown up to become sinfully