Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

Her face was flushed. His hands were sweating.

She sank back into her chair, and there was the sound of one pair of hands clapping. He glanced around and saw that it was Lady Charlotte, who was grinning ear to ear. And then the others clapped, too.

Nicholas looked around the table. Sergei’s enthusiasm was obviously feigned, as was Natasha’s, but everyone else’s was genuine.

He felt drained somehow—confused—and was glad to find his seat.

He and Poppy avoided looking at each other for the rest of the meal, but he was very aware of her presence. The meal ended with fruit, nuts, and cheese, as well as a delicious Russian dessert and a spirited discussion about the latest play at Drury Lane from almost everyone but Natasha.

“Didn’t you and Drummond see that play?” Lord Derby asked Poppy.

God, that was the night they’d gone to the top of St. Paul’s.

Poppy smiled. “Yes, indeed.”

Nicholas kept his fingers crossed.

“What did you think of it, Lady Poppy?” Lord Wyatt seemed anxious to hear her opinion.

Poppy touched the edge of her bodice and cleared her throat. “It was delightful.”

Count Lieven drew in his chin. “Even with that sad ending? And the murder scene?”

Poppy gave a little laugh. “Oh, those.” She waved a hand. “The rest was a lark, and the ending was apropos, so I consider it delightful to have a sad ending if it works. Don’t you agree?”

Nicholas restrained a grin. He looked at Eleanor and Beatrice and saw they appeared very confused by Poppy’s answer, too. But then in the next instant, Beatrice flung her elbow out when she raised her wine glass and knocked Sergei’s arm, which shoved the apple he’d raised to his lips against his teeth.

“Ow,” he exclaimed, staring at her. Then he rubbed his gums.

“Oh, dear,” Beatrice murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Sergei puckered his brow. “All right.”

He picked up the apple again, and then from the other side, Eleanor knocked an entire glass of wine into his lap.

“What the devil?” He stood, his brows lowered and his face reddening. “You two are dangerous.”

A footman rushed over with a serving cloth. Sergei vigorously wiped himself down, threw the cloth back at the footman, and in a great sulk, sat back down.

“I’m so sorry,” Eleanor said to him, her hand to her gaping mouth.

Funny, her eyes didn’t look sorry. Nicholas cast a glance at Beatrice and then Poppy. Neither of them looked sorry, either. In fact, Poppy had her wine glass to her lips, but he could detect the barest twinkle in her eye.

She was in on this somehow.

The minx.

In the midst of the tension, Kettle came in with a message for Lord Derby and Lord Wyatt. They’d been called away to another important late-night meeting.

“We shall all depart,” Sergei declared. “Everyone, rise. Sitting in wet breeches is not comfortable, and if I must depart—”

“So shall everyone else,” finished Natasha with a toss of her head.

Sergei directed a dark look at Eleanor and Beatrice, both of whom murmured their apologies once more.

At the door, Lord Wyatt thanked Poppy for a delightful evening, made a gracious bow, and said he’d go ahead to the meeting and see Lord Derby there shortly. The Cambridge contingent were also perfectly proper in their thanks.

Behind them, Count Lieven said, “I hope we do this again.”

“We shall also have you for tea very soon,” the countess assured Poppy. “Can you come?”

“Your duke, too,” added the count with a chuckle.

“I’d be thrilled,” said Poppy, smiling a real smile for the first time in an hour. She looked up at Nicholas with a genuine gleam of satisfaction in her eye.

She’d done well, very well, to have received such an invitation.

But he merely nodded graciously at the Lievens. “I look forward to it. Thank you very much.”

Natasha had become even more sullen than usual since he’d kissed Poppy. Now she kept her thanks to a minimum and swept by Nicholas without a word.

Good.

He needn’t put up with her flirtations anymore. He’d been invited to the Lievens’ home, and the twins dared not take that portrait when they knew the Lievens were so looking forward to showing it off.

Sergei, on the other hand, apparently had forgotten his momentary pique and fervently raised Poppy’s hand to his mouth to kiss it. “Next time I insist on being here before everyone else arrives,” he said, “to sample the most delicious morsels first.”

Nicholas clenched his jaw.

Delicious morsels.

He knew what delicious morsels Sergei was talking about. He was staring at them—Poppy’s breasts, which were exposed to perfection in her gown, just enough creamy white skin to get a man wanting to see the rest.

Deuce take it, the prince deserved a beating, and if Nicholas weren’t surrounded by lovely people with delicate sensibilities, he’d have pounded him right then and there.

When every last guest was gone, except for him—and he wasn’t really a guest, he was practically a member of the family, wasn’t he?—Poppy shut the front door and turned to her father and Lady Charlotte.

“I hope you enjoyed yourselves,” she said, her brow furrowed with concern.

Her aunt hugged her. “Of course I did. You were a splendid hostess. Although Princess Natasha is a churlish sort.” She turned to Nicholas. “She appeared quite fond of you, Drummond.”

Was he supposed to answer that somehow?

His cravat felt suddenly tight. “Did she?” was all he replied. “I hadn’t noticed.”

His answer apparently satisfied because no one pursued the subject.

“Papa.” Poppy tugged on Lord Derby’s arm like a little girl. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“The meal was serviceable,” he granted, vaguely patting her arm, “although you know I prefer English dishes.” He hesitated. “I need no reminders of our time in Russia, daughter. They pain me.”

Poppy visibly deflated. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they caused you hurt, Papa.”

He cleared his throat. “Don’t waste time worrying about me.”

“Of course I worry about you! Did—did you not enjoy seeing your friends?” she stumbled on. “And meeting that lovely widow?”

His lips thinned. “I don’t need to meet any widows, but as for my friends, yes, it was good to see them. Thank you for arranging it. Perhaps we can do that again. Someday.”

“Really?” Nicholas saw a tiny glimmer of hope in Poppy’s eyes.

“Yes, really,” her father said, his voice softening just a tad. “I know you mean well, so no regrets about tonight.”

He chucked her chin, and Poppy nodded, a small, genuine smile on her lips.

Lord Derby then turned to Nicholas. “I’m off to that meeting with Wyatt now. Kettle will see you out, or you may stay a few moments if you’d like. There’s brandy in the library. Poppy can show you my new atlas.”

Nicholas inclined his head. “Thank you, sir.”

The privileges of the betrothed. He must be in good standing with Lord Derby. Must have been that political talk they’d had the other night. It could be, too, that Lord Derby realized his daughter wasn’t the sort of young lady that made a man’s life … easier.

“I think I shall head upstairs with Aunt Charlotte.” Poppy yawned behind her hand. “I’m rather tired. Sorry, Drummond.”

“Not quite yet, daughter,” Lord Derby chided her. “You’ve given three hours tonight to your Russian guests— let your English betrothed have five minutes.”

Nicholas was tempted to smirk, but he knew it would only rile Poppy.

Lady Charlotte kissed his cheek. “Who needs Russian princes with you around?” she whispered in his