Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

“Max,” his wife chided him. “Don’t talk ill of our guests.”

“Very well, my love,” said Lord Caldwell. “If you insist, I’ll wait until they depart to debate which one is best to forget—the spoiled royal or the unrelenting jewel-seeker, both of them obsessed with the same dog, albeit for different reasons. I dare say even Boris wishes them to perdition.”

Nicholas couldn’t help but grin. He was glad to know another man was as fed up with some of the company as he was.

When the prince walked up, he attempted to work his charms on both Lady Caldwell and Poppy, lingering overlong, Nicholas thought, when he kissed Poppy’s hand.

“Drummond,” the prince said over his shoulder, “you won’t mind that I take your future bride on a stroll, would you, before I break my fast? It’s a fine morning, and I crave speaking in my own language. She’s the only one here who can carry on a conversation in Russian.”

Right.

Nicholas forced himself to recall he was supposed to be ingratiating himself to the prince, so he attempted a light tone. “That’s a fine idea,” he said. “Where shall we walk?”

“Oh, we won’t need you,” Sergei said. “And I believe I can find my way about the property.”

“Yes, Drummond,” Poppy said firmly. “You’ve no need to stir yourself.”

She had that look in her eye, the one she’d had last night when she’d told him she could take care of herself. She turned to Lady Caldwell. “I could take Prince Sergei to see the gander.”

“I doubt the gander understands Russian,” said Lord Caldwell.

“Max.” Lady Caldwell made a face at him. “What has gotten into you today?”

“Nothing more than the usual,” he said easily, and winked at Nicholas.

He’s got it, Nicholas thought. He knows I despise Sergei, and that Sergei is a rude, obnoxious boor paying overmuch attention to my betrothed.

Lady Caldwell ignored her husband again and smiled at Poppy. “You can tell the prince the gander’s story along the way.” And then she directed them to a small pond at the rear of the property.

“Don’t be gone long!” Nicholas called testily after the retreating couple, and ripped into a Bath bun.

Lord Caldwell chuckled.

“What’s so amusing?” Nicholas asked him crossly while he chewed and swallowed half the bun in one bite.

“What did Erasmus say about women?” asked Lord Caldwell. “Can’t live with them—”

“And can’t live without them,” Nicholas replied, and had the sudden thought that he didn’t care for Erasmus. He stuffed the rest of his Bath bun in his pocket. “I’m going after them.”

“Good for you,” said Lady Caldwell. “That prince is acting awfully possessive. I’m not sure I like his manner.”

“Go, Nicholas,” said Lord Caldwell. “Show him who Poppy’s true love is.”

“Right,” Nicholas said, in a bad mood again. He certainly wasn’t Poppy’s true love.

But he was going to be her husband, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

Poppy was in a substantial quandary, and to solve it, she needed to be alone with Sergei. Which was why she’d insisted on this walk to see the gander without Drummond.

“So,” the prince said, his voice velvety soft. “We are alone. Intrigued, aren’t you?”

“By what?”

“By me.”

She laughed. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “My exploits. My charm. I knew the minute I saw you at the Grangerford ball you could be mine.”

Good God, she’d been so blinded by her own infatuation, she hadn’t seen the obvious—Sergei was a conceited fool.

Now she inhaled a breath. “Oh. Um, about us. You’re right. At the ball, I couldn’t help thinking of you the way I did when I was fifteen. But those lingering romantic feelings I felt were really just memories, ones I thought we could perhaps relive. But we’re both older now, and so much has happened in six years. We’re different people. And now I’m engaged to the duke.”

“We are not friends any longer?”

She winced at how forlorn he sounded. “Of course we’re friends,” she reassured him. “But we’re nothing more. You live far away. I live here. We had a lovely romantic interlude long ago, but we must move on.”

He gazed at her with an intensity that harkened back to her unfortunate interaction with Lord Washburn. But unlike Washburn, at least Sergei was a pleasure to look at. His gorgeous golden locks shone in the sunlight, and his masculine form was surely the envy of any man.

“I can’t move on,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I find I have a new appetite, and it’s for Spinsters.”

“Spinsters?” Her heart began to beat harder.

“Yes. I know about your Spinsters Club, Poppy.”

She drew in a breath. “How did you—”

“Servants will talk.” He chuckled. “All those women who want to marry? They’re dull. You, on the other hand, are forbidden fruit. You’re a Spinster. Saying the word alone drives me mad with desire. Forget about marrying the duke or any other man. I can buy you great baubles. Give you pleasure like you’ve never known. And you may remain a Spinster throughout our wild, passionate interlude, which I hope shall span years.”

She gasped. “So when you said you wanted to come to my room, you really meant—”

He nodded, a lascivious smile on his face.

So Drummond had been right. Sergei did want her because she was unavailable.

“And the parasol? What was I to do with that?” she asked him.

He merely chuckled. “Parasols and naked ladies … the combination is delicious.”

“Listen closely, Sergei, and listen well.” She balled her hands into fists. “I will not be your mistress.”

“You Spinsters have fire,” he whispered.

“No we don’t. At least, not for people we—”

Oh, dear. Drummond was heading their way. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. With her love for Sergei gone, what was standing in the way of her engagement to the duke anymore? She’d spent more time dwelling on his kisses than on the tenets of the Spinsters Club … rules that she’d clung to rotely for so long.

But they were good rules, she reminded herself. Especially the cardinal one: Don’t marry unless you love him and he loves you.

It seemed such a simple requirement. But it wasn’t, was it?

Her relationship with Drummond, she was coming to find out, was like a tangled bundle of yarn. She kept trying to unravel it, smooth out the knots, and understand what she had there, but …

It wasn’t so easy.

“Prince, Lady Poppy.” Already Poppy recognized that stubborn tilt to Drummond’s chin that meant he would brook no interference with his plans.

Sergei sighed. “I told you, Duke—”

“You can navigate the property yourself, I know,” Drummond said, “but I brought the lady a piece of bread to feed the gander.” And he handed Poppy the other half of his Bath bun.

“Thank you.” Poppy forged ahead with two men, each of whom was causing her loads of trouble in his own way, and found the gander by a copse of trees. She tossed him the Bath bun, and it landed on the grass near the dirt track he’d made from his constant, insatiable need to find his mate. With a squawk, he waddled quickly over and demolished it, spewing crumbs everywhere.

Sergei walked closer to the bird. He knelt, aimed an invisible rifle, and fired it. “Ka- pow!” He grinned back at Poppy and pointed a thumb at his chest. “I am master of this domain.”

She forced herself to smile. “I believe Lord Caldwell is, but I—I know what you mean. I think.”

“Stop talking to that pompous ass a moment and listen to me,” Drummond whispered to her.