Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

midnight.

What should she do? Could she leave and come back again? How could she explain that to Sergei?

Oh, bother, she was a terrible liar. He’d never believe her if she said she had to go home to get a draught for a headache and that she would return.

The truth, of course, was that she wouldn’t return.

“To the dining room,” he said, and held out his arm to her.

Numbly, she laid her hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead her there, down that gloomy hall again.

The dining room was cramped. She’d never be able to hang back and hope not to be noticed. When Sergei seated her on a corner of the table, in the chair to his right, she was elbow to elbow with the fellow who’d been looking for his dagger. Across from her was the wild-haired woman who’d commented on her eyes. And Sergei himself was so close at the top of the table, his knee touched hers.

She wished she’d told Nicholas where she’d been going. At least Eleanor and Beatrice knew. And the stableboy. Perhaps he’d knock on the door after forty minutes and rescue her. But she doubted it. He’d be too afraid to knock. He’d wait for her for hours if he had to.

Poppy’s chest tightened, but then she reminded herself that Eleanor and Beatrice would tell Nicholas where she’d gone, sooner rather than later. Although knowing them, she was sure they would do their very best— ironically, on her behalf—to keep Nicholas ignorant of her whereabouts as long as possible.

She was stuck. She’d simply have to see what happened … and vow never to be so foolish again as to trust someone she barely knew, someone who’d shown her very clearly in recent days that he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was.

Sergei’s foot brushed against her slipper once. And then he trod on her toes so hard she winced.

Was he trying to get her attention? To flirt?

“I find a have a new appetite, and it’s for Spinsters,” he’d told her at Lady Caldwell’s.

And a thing for naked ladies with parasols.

She’d been foolish to come. But it was too late. She cleared her throat, looked down at her plate, afraid to meet his eyes, and had a momentary pang of intense regret. She’d forgotten her pin, the one she usually kept in her sleeve in case of emergencies. She’d like nothing better than to stick that pin in his hand if he played with her foot again.

But she couldn’t. She’d have to use wilier tactics to escape his attentions. And while she sipped a glass of ratafia, she tried to imagine what those tactics would be.

* * *

“No, Natasha.” Nicholas was firm when he pushed her hands off his chest. He saw Lady Eleanor on the far side of the room chatting with some women. Poppy was nowhere near.

Perhaps that meant she was with Beatrice instead.

Natasha sulked. “But why do you stay away? I don’t care that you’re to marry. Come back to me.”

He shook his head. “As I’ve already told you, it was a mistake. You’ve plenty of admirers, so you won’t be alone.”

He left her abruptly. It was the only way. She was entirely too possessive, and he regretted ever spending time with her, much less getting into bed with her.

Let it be a lesson, he told himself. You can only gamble so often before you lose.

His gambling days were over, at least with women. And he was glad of it. It was an unanticipated benefit of marrying Poppy that he’d never considered.

But where was his fiancée?

It had been a good twenty minutes since he’d seen her. He battled his way through the crowds to find Beatrice and looked for Poppy along the way. No luck. Ten minutes later, he found Beatrice, laughing and talking with several admiring gentlemen on the next floor.

“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” she yelled in his ear. “I just saw Poppy, and she left. I think she was looking for you. Or maybe Eleanor.”

“She’s not with Lady Eleanor,” he yelled back.

“Perhaps now she is.” Beatrice grinned at him and shrugged her shoulders.

They both knew how it went. It was a rout. Leave someone and it might be the next day before you found them.

Heaving a sigh, he got back into the crowd and searched again.

He didn’t feel concerned until he’d found Eleanor again and she’d said she hadn’t seen Poppy in some time.

“Wait. How long?” His instincts told him something was off.

Eleanor’s eyes widened only slightly. “Um, ten minutes, no more. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. Probably with Beatrice.”

He cocked his head. “Lady Eleanor, are you not telling me something?”

Her mouth dropped open, but from behind him, a large gong sounded, effectively blocking any further conversation.

“Here ye, here ye!” cried a drunken fellow at the top of the room. Nicholas recognized him as an old school friend. “It’s time for toasts, and the first one shall be in honor of two marvelous people, who are—amazingly enough, considering the lady’s record of spurning suitors—betrothed to be married. Where are you, Drummond?”

Oh, good Lord.

Nicholas felt all the embarrassment of someone who had unwittingly become the center of attention. He raised his hand in the air. “Here,” he called in restrained tones.

The drunken toastmaster nodded. “Very good. Now where’s Lady Poppy?”

Blast. Nicholas had no idea.

“Drummond? Your lady love?” called the toastmaster.

“She’s here … somewhere,” Nicholas said, knowing full well how pathetic that sounded. He was at the rout to show the world he was settling down, preparing to become a dull married man—and yet, his future wife was nowhere near.

Not only that, the flirty Russian princess somehow found her way to him again. “If she doesn’t show soon, some of us will take it to mean he’s free,” she cooed to the crowd.

Everyone roared with laughter.

The toastmaster raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure Lady Poppy hasn’t changed her mind about you, Drummond?”

Damn it, Poppy’s voice hadn’t rung out from any corner. Where was she?

The crowd laughed even harder.

And suddenly, he knew. Poppy wasn’t even at the rout. He felt it in his gut. And Eleanor knew. The way she’d stumbled over her words and gotten flustered … probably Beatrice knew, as well.

Where had Poppy gone?

“What say you, Your Grace? Are you sure you still have a fiancée?” called the toastmaster.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Nicholas replied testily, but no one could hear him.

They were still laughing.

CHAPTER 27

Her forty minutes inside Sergei’s apartment were almost up. Poppy had to do something. But what? They were only on their third course, stuffed eel, which she despised, and there was no end in sight.

A lady had few acceptable reasons to leave the table. The only one she could think of was illness.

“Dear heavens,” she said in a whisper, and put the back of her hand to her brow.