Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

marry at all.”

Nicholas watched as she looked then at Beatrice, Eleanor, and Lady Charlotte. All of them seemed to share a secret smile.

The crowd shifted almost noiselessly. Two women sat on the floor, plopping grapes in their mouths, as if this were a fabulous Greek play and they were the audience.

Nicholas hugged his true love close. “I’d like to ask Poppy to marry me, Lord Derby. With your permission.”

Lord Derby looked thoughtfully at him.

“Please, Papa. I love him.”

Nicholas could sense Lord Derby was troubled. After a tentative moment—after the earl had shared a good, long silent moment with his daughter and then with Nicholas—his mouth curved up.

“You have my permission, young man,” he said.

Nicholas grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

Poppy threw her arms about her father’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you—you and Mama both,” she whispered. “I swear it almost feels as if she’s stepped out of the painting and is standing next to me right now.”

And then she went to Nicholas.

Their eyes locked, and he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be. She was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her, all because her expression was more tender and fierce and loving than he’d ever seen it before.

He held tight to both her hands.

“Poppy?” Her father’s voice was thin. “Are you sure marriage to Drummond is what you want?”

“More than anything,” she said, her voice carrying strong and true throughout the room.

“Life will be one great adventure with your daughter, sir,” Nicholas told Lord Derby.

“I know exactly what you mean, son.” Lord Derby chuckled, then looked at his child. “I believe you’ve chosen the right man, my dear, and actually”—he looked back at his Parliament friends—“it’s time for me to retire. I’ll have grandchildren to get to know.”

“But what about Prinny’s next blunder?” cried one of his colleagues.

“And reforming the demmed corn laws,” shouted another.

“Shut up,” Lord Derby replied, his eyes back on Poppy.

She smiled up at him, then looked at Nicholas.

And he saw the whole world in her eyes.

EPILOGUE

“I can’t believe we’re married,” Poppy said, looking down at Nicholas. She was bursting with love for him. And desire for him. All the time. Which made it terribly hard to remember to put her clothes on.

He laughed up at her. “You’d better be glad we are married. Minx.” He caressed her arms, sending a warm surge of happiness through her. “You’re enjoying the marriage bed, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” She loved the new sensation of having him inside her. And she especially loved making him groan with pleasure. He was a marvel, her man—and she was absolutely addicted to him.

She stretched her hands above her head and felt like a cat with a bowl of cream. “We’ve done this well into the dozens of times.”

“Yes, this,” he said with an adorably crooked smile. “I love this. And we’ve only been married—”

“Seven days and—”

“Eight hours,” Nicholas finished for her. “It’s even more remarkable when you consider two of those days we spent careening north in a mail coach.”

“And I loved every minute of it,” she assured him.

“Did you?” His eyes lit up like a boy’s.

“Of course.” She smiled and ran a finger along his jaw, remembering how avid he’d been to hold the blunderbuss and how disappointed he’d been when he hadn’t had to fend off any highwaymen.

Now that he wasn’t in the Service, he had to find adventure somewhere, and he’d always wanted to ride on the mail coach.

“But darling”—the word was new and splendiferous to her—“is it possible to stay in bed too long? I mean, could we become ill?”

“The only effect I can think of occurring from loving your wife over and over is—and it’s not an illness—is the lady becoming with child.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. “Thank God that’s all.”

She really had been worried. Except for a daily walk to the beach, they’d hardly been out of bed since they’d arrived at Seaward Hall, three days after marrying at St. Paul’s in London. Papa, Aunt Charlotte—and all of Poppy and Nicholas’s friends—had waved them off.

They’d had the castle to themselves. The servants had welcomed Poppy as if she were their duchess, even though she wouldn’t be for years. But she would be mistress of the house in the meantime—Lady Maxwell, wife to Lord Maxwell, who was heir to the Duke of Drummond.

Groop was still Groop. Even though he was also Uncle Tradd, the proper duke. The Service was his life, and he would remain in London, behind the scenes as always.

Poppy looked out the window at the cliffs, the long stretch of shoreline with that massive rock jutting from it, the one where Nicholas used to play, and the expansive, ever-restless sea. “It’s certainly a lovely view,” she murmured.

“Yes?”

“And the castle is majestic.” She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and smiled. “If in a bit of disrepair.”

He grinned. “Ah, well. The massive dowry you’ve brought me will help with restoring it. Although”—he sat up on an elbow—“I told your father to hold off. I have plans for this place. And I’m clever enough to restore it in limited fashion on my own. Groop—”

“You mean Uncle Tradd—”

Nicholas sighed. “I will never call him Uncle Tradd.”

“Yes, you will.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, but you will. He’s coming to stay for two weeks next month.”

“What?”

“You’re no longer in the Service, so he is now Uncle Tradd.”

She ignored the dark look he threw her.

“Let’s get back to the subject,” he said dryly. “I was saying that Groop, or Uncle Tradd, as I shall call him simply to make you happy, gave me the M.R. for all my years of service. I’m going to invest in some new farm equipment and sheep. Lumley has loads of them to get us started.”

“Excellent idea,” she said. “I’m sure you won’t need Papa’s money. Especially as we have the Viking treasure to call our own.”

Nicholas made a face. “Very funny.”

She clapped her hands. “I’ve been dying to tell you! I was waiting for the right moment. A moment when we wouldn’t be naked, and we’d be serious-minded. But so far that hasn’t happened, so I might as well choose now.”

He sat up, his elbows locked behind him, his pupils large and dark. “What is this? One of your jokes?”

He was so handsome sometimes, she couldn’t look at him without wanting to kiss him. So she did.

“Absolutely not,” she said a moment later.