Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

in a Service operation.

The worst of it was she couldn’t speak of any of it with Eleanor and Beatrice or her father or Aunt Charlotte. She was dying to—but Nicholas had told her at the top of St. Paul’s that she couldn’t tell her friends and family about any Service activities.

How she longed to tell them!

She so wanted them to see the painting, too, but if Nicholas retrieved it from the Lievens’ ball, when would they ever see it? And what would happen to the painting? Over whose mantel would it eventually reside?

When they returned to the rout, Poppy decided she must leave her two best friends there and go home with the stableboy. Otherwise, she would simply burst with all the emotions and thoughts jostling for space inside her, and confess all. That wouldn’t make Nicholas, Groop, or the Service happy.

“You’re not going home with the stableboy,” Nicholas told her. “Your fiancé”—he emphasized the word—“shall escort you both in my carriage. The boy can ride with the coachman, and you’ll tell me about your evening—an evening, by the way, which you saw fit not to inform me about.”

She was so agitated, she allowed his censure to flow right by without becoming embarrassed at being caught out. “True,” she said, “but that was for your own good.”

“Why was it for my own good?”

“Because I was involved in a Service activity. You yourself said I should tell no one.”

Nicholas helped her into the carriage and followed her inside. “I didn’t mean not tell me. We’re working together. What the bloody hell were you doing besides telling Sergei to forget his romantic aspirations toward you?”

Poppy thought about how much more she’d been doing and inhaled a deep breath. “I suppose the girls told you he invited me to a masked dinner. He even sent me this gown.”

The details seemed fairly unimportant at the moment.

“Yes, they told me,” Nicholas said, his mouth a thin, dangerous line. “Let me make one thing clear … you can’t disappear like that again. Now that you’re involved with me, you must be more careful about being alone.” He took her by the shoulders. “Groop told me someone might be trying to break us up. Who knows what lengths they’ll go to? When one is a Service employee, enemies abound, and sometimes you’re not sure who they are.”

She bit her lip. “Oh, dear. With that in mind, then, what I have to tell you is so important and secret, we’ll have to drop the stableboy off and go back to the top of St. Paul’s.”

“Very well.” Nicholas was wearing his serious Service expression, which she found extremely attractive. “But I’ve another safe place we can go to that’s much closer and won’t involve traipsing up five hundred thirty steps.”

Which was how they wound up at a small but plain sturdy sailing craft tied to a dock on the Thames.

“It’s mine,” said Nicholas, “but I don’t get to use it often.” He helped her aboard. “This will take a few minutes. Sit tight in the cockpit and enjoy seeing London at night from the river. We’re lucky we have a light wind and a big moon tonight, perfect for a sail.”

So she sat and watched him untie the rope holding them to the dock and hoist the sail. Then in a silence broken only by the occasional luff of the sail and the sounds of London in the background, he steered the boat to the middle of the Thames and took another few minutes to anchor it.

“Let’s go below,” he said eventually.

He opened the hatch and beckoned her down. She climbed down the ladder, well aware of his warm hand at her waist. Once below, she looked around at the cozy interior of the craft and sighed. “As safe places go, this is perfect.”

“Thanks. I think so, too.” Nicholas left the hatch open so the moonlight could stream in. “Take a seat, please, and tell me what happened.”

She sat on a cushioned berth, and he joined her.

The gentle rocking of the boat was just what she needed to soothe her agitated nerves. Nicholas didn’t say a word. He waited patiently, which she appreciated.

“I saw the Pink Lady painting,” she said eventually.

“You did?” She sensed excitement in his tone, even though, as usual, he was controlled. “I thought it was at the Lievens’.”

“Not yet. Of course, it could be that Sergei brought it back to his apartments for a showing tonight. That’s why I went. He issued me a special invitation to see it.”

“Well? What did you discover?”

Poppy looked directly into his eyes, which were black pools in the darkness of night. “My mother was in the painting,” she said. “She’s the Pink Lady.”

Nicholas gave a short laugh. “You’re joking.”

“No.” She inhaled a deep breath.

“Are you sure it’s your mother in the painting?”

“Yes. I admit I thought perhaps I was seeing things. But it was Mama. And that gown she wore … it’s still in a press in a spare room at home.” She pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment and couldn’t help blinking back a tear. “I was so happy to see her again. With Papa.”

It was an image seared onto her memory forever.

Nicholas squeezed her hand. “It must have been a shock for you, as well.”

She nodded. “Yes, it was. But it was also a gift. A huge one.”

“I can see that it would be.” His voice was gentle.

She gave a little sniff. “Right now I don’t want to think about why my parents are in a painting sought after by the Service. It’s too upsetting.” She sat up, the words bursting to be said. “Right now, I want you, Nicholas.”

“Come here,” he said.

She flung herself into his arms and he held her tight. But the hug quickly turned into a kiss. He was warmer than toast, his masculine form more finely sculpted than any thoroughbred stallion’s. And he was handsomer than any man she’d ever known.

She had to admit that encircled in Nicholas’s arms, she didn’t feel confused and upset. She felt safe and happy.

He stopped kissing her for a moment and looked grievously worried.

“Why did you stop?” she asked him, her lower belly heavy and warm, her breasts aching to be touched.

“Because we need to be careful. This is a very tempting situation. We could do anything we want. Which means—”

“We could do whatever we want with whom we want when we want,” she said breathlessly. “We could … disrobe.”

“Exactly.” He shook his head. “Wait a minute. What did you say?”

All right, she shouldn’t have said it, but it was Nicholas and he’d never tell. “We could—”

“Never mind,” he said, his mouth curved in amusement. “I heard.”

She bit her lip and stared at him.

“Poppy.” He took her by the shoulders. “We can’t do that.”

“But you must admit, we could.”

He sighed. “Don’t you understand how women become with child?”

Of course she did. She’d seen dogs mating on the street. And she’d once seen a bull and a cow.

“Yes,” she said. “But we’ve no fear of that happening.”

He gave a short laugh. “To the contrary. A man and a woman naked together can easily make a baby.”

“Not if we don’t get into one of those strange positions. They should be easy enough to avoid, shouldn’t they?” She laughed, thinking of that poor cow. “I’d feel awfully silly.”

Nicholas narrowed his eyes at her. “Despite what we did in your father’s library, you’re still unversed in the art of lovemaking, and you’re never making it more obvious than now.”

“I only want to see you”—she smiled shyly—“in your natural form. And maybe kiss you naked, as well.” She reached out and ran her hand over his shirt. “You said no one would catch us. And I promise not to tell if you don’t.”