Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

CHAPTER 12

Nicholas took the gawking in stride when he drove Poppy along Rotten Row in Hyde Park the next afternoon. She was a pretty socialite renowned for rebuffing suitors, and since their engagement, he knew rumors were flying fast about him, the little-known Drummond line, and the mysterious, long-ago disappearance of his uncle. Together they were a London sensation, especially in his glossy black phaeton with yellow-trimmed wheels and a pair of matched grays.

Before he knew it, Poppy had taken the reins right from his hands. Her gaze as she maneuvered between other vehicles was shrewd and intelligent. She cast her eyes briefly his way and gifted him with a rather bewitching grin. “I do like to drive.”

“What a surprise,” he said mildly.

He wanted to relieve her of her clothing right then and there, but he wasn’t particularly astounded. He was a man, after all, with a man’s usual lustful thoughts, and she was a beautiful female extremely responsive to his attentions—when she forgot she disliked him.

Her driving so expertly was another reason to be sexually attracted to her. Helpless females bored him to tears.

She leaned closer. “Do you think we’re fooling everyone?” she whispered in his ear.

“Of course,” he replied. “Just look at them.”

Everywhere, people stood turned to stone as they passed. And their eyes were filled with hope and softness and indulgence.

Let that darling couple enjoy themselves, their looks seemed to say. He’s even letting her take the reins.

As if he’d had a choice.

From behind them, he heard the yapping of many small dogs. The next moment, Princess Natasha’s brougham appeared alongside his phaeton, and Poppy pulled up on the reins.

Natasha was sultry and magnificent, dressed in the first stare of fashion, and her dogs were clean, fluffy, and spirited—except for the sullen one-eyed one, Boris, which showed him his teeth—but Nicholas felt nothing but annoyance at seeing the Russian beauty.

He’d hoped she’d moved on from their liaison. But the way she looked at him gave him the distinct impression she hadn’t.

“Lady Poppy, Drummond,” the princess called out to them in a tone demanding attention.

He inclined his head. “Good afternoon, Princess.”

“It’s a marvelous afternoon. That is”—she arched one brow and stared at him—“it is now.”

A cringeworthy remark if there ever was one, he thought, and prayed Poppy didn’t sense the undertone of sensual invitation in the princess’s voice.

Poppy gazed around the park, then back at Natasha, and smiled. “Yes, since the sun has come out in the last few minutes, it is a marvelous afternoon, Princess. I’m glad you’re enjoying your day.”

Hmmm. Nicholas’s fiancée was either a true innocent or as wily as Natasha and pretending to misunderstand her. He felt distinctly protective of Poppy either way. No doubt he was swayed in part by the fact that her delectable bosom was almost spilling out of her gown, although Natasha’s was, too, come to think of it.

Yet he felt nothing but indifference for her charms.

The princess sucked in her cheeks and shot Poppy a displeased look. “I suppose I am enjoying myself, although when you spurned my invitation to go shopping today, Boris was most disappointed and refused to eat his morning partridge. However, I informed him it was best for newly betrothed couples to parade themselves before society as soon as possible, ere ill rumors spread about their lack of compatibility.”

Poppy’s brow puckered for only a moment. “How kind of you to keep Boris apprised.”

“Yes, and it was an insightful observation, Princess,” Nicholas added coolly. “Poppy shall indeed be very busy with nuptial preparations over the length of your stay in London.”

Stay away, was what he meant, of course.

Natasha obviously understood. Her eyebrows gathered over her nose, and she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything else, Nicholas took the reins from Poppy’s hands.

“Good day, Princess,” he said, and urged the horses forward.

“Yes, good-bye, Princess,” Poppy called back to her. “Oh, and I’ve decided I would like to go shopping with you, after all. I’ll be in tooouch!”

They passed her and her collection of dogs in mere seconds. Nicholas was grateful his horses were prime goers.

“Drummond,” Poppy remonstrated with him when the yapping had faded. “How could you?”

“Here, take them back,” he said, and handed her the reins.

She immediately accepted them. “Not that. I’m talking about the princess. You cut her off as she was about to speak.”

“I didn’t notice,” he lied. “Feel free to maneuver where you wish. There’s a flashy clump of flowers over there you might enjoy. As pink as a drunkard’s eyes.”

But Poppy ignored the clump and drove on. “You told her I’ll be too involved in wedding details to see her.”

“You shall be busy.” He sighed inwardly.

“Not too busy for her. Not anymore, at any rate.”

“You mean, you won’t be too busy for him.” He took the reins back without asking, feeling a sudden pique. “We both know it’s Sergei’s attention you desire.”

“So? You should seek his attention, too. Natasha’s, as well.”

“I don’t give a diamond-studded shoe buckle about Russian royalty.” He felt rather bitter about being passed over for Operation Pink Lady.

“But Mr. Groop says you must pay attention to them,” Poppy said. “He said so in the note Kettle and I found in your cane.”

Nicholas pulled the horses to an immediate stop. “What did you say?” Truly, he couldn’t have heard her correctly.

“I said Mr. Groop. And it was really quite an easy code to decipher, especially if you’re familiar with Hamlet’s first soliloquy—”

“Not—another—word.” He gripped her hand to make the seriousness of his intentions clear.

“But—”

“Poppy. I mean what I say. If you speak again, I shall kiss you senseless in front of Lady Jersey, who’s approaching to our left.”

“Go ahead.” She tossed her head.

He sighed. “I was threatening you. If I kiss you senseless in front of Lady Jersey, you’ll never make it into Almack’s again.”

“The lemonade is blasted weak,” she asserted. “I don’t think I should miss it.”

He took a deep breath. “You won’t say another word to me until we may speak in private.”

She looked down her nose at him. “All right. But I’m not accustomed to people threatening me, staring down my bodice, baldly confessing they’re after my money, and having secrets. I find the whole situation quite reprehensible.” She leaned closer. “And in the oddest way … invigorating.”

He threw her a look. “Invigorating, did you say?”

The damned lust was rising in him like sap.

The chit was driving him mad.

Mad.

And not just in an annoyed sort of way. It was spring. The sun was shining. She was flushed and sweet-smelling, and there was a quiet little shady spot nearby that no one ever seemed to bother with. He’d always wanted to use it for kissing a delectable girl.

A delectable, brazen girl with a brilliant mind was even better. Those codes took him all night to solve.

“I’m taking you home now,” he said in neutral tones, to mask the covetous sensations burning through him.

She looked at him as if she were a bound-and-shackled prisoner—a bound-and-shackled prisoner with very kissable lips—but fortunately she said not a word.

Truth be told, Nicholas found threats and secrets invigorating, too, and if he understood the situation correctly, Operation Pink Lady—OPL—was now his.

His.

And the MR that went with it. Thank God, when it rained, it poured. A substantial monetary reward certainly couldn’t hurt matters, even if he were marrying an heiress.

But he was also alarmed. How in bloody hell had Poppy found out about Groop? How much did she know?

And how would he keep her out of his business?

He turned the horses toward the east. She’d no idea what she’d stepped into, did she?

He stole a glance at her.

Apparently not.

The “tortured captive” look was gone. She had a self-satisfied “I’ve-got-a-secret” look. She should never play card games for money, he thought. And she most certainly would never make it in the Service. She wore too many emotions right there on her flimsy, puffed-up sleeve.

A shabby steed bearing a portly young man in an ill-fitting, stained coat pulled alongside the curricle just before they were to leave the park. Nicholas was disappointed to see that it was Frank.

He prayed for patience. “Yes, little brother?”

Frank ignored him and leaned close to Poppy. “I wouldn’t marry my brother if I were you. He’s only marrying you because the estate needs money. You’re filthy rich, so you’ll suit.” He chuckled. “Not to mention I’ll cost you a fortune. I’m an inveterate gambler, you know.”

She stared at him for a cool few seconds, long enough that his horse grew restless and a pucker of uncertainty marred Frank’s brow.

“You’re not fooling me for a minute,” she told him. “You’re terribly excited I’m marrying your brother because you hope I’ll be the big sister you never had. Well, you’re right. I’ll not tolerate your gambling for a minute. I’ll box your ears if you misuse my fortune.”

“Is that all?” Frank laughed.

“You’ve obviously never had a sister.” She arched her brow at him. “We’re capable of more. So much more.”

Frank wheeled about on his horse and scowled at Nicholas. “You think you’ve got the best of me, aligning yourself with this Lady Poppy person, don’t you?” He tried to laugh, but it was a poor imitation. “Well, think again.”

He tore off on his horse.

They watched him wreak havoc among a party of picnickers, galloping over their blanket.

“My goodness,” said Poppy. “What a brother.”

“You’re almost as provoking as he is.” Nicholas shook his head and picked up the reins. He was amused by her just a tad, even though the amusement wasn’t nearly as strong as the desire he had to peek down her bodice again.

She cast him an arch glance. “You’re not my father, nor my employer. I do what I want when I want—”

“With whom you want. I know. You spinsters are quite a handful.”

When they rode out of the park into the busy streets of London, he wondered how in hell he was ever going to explain her to Groop.