Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

CHAPTER 34

Nicholas was adjusting his cravat in the mirror of his bedchamber, preparing for a night of card playing with Harry, Lumley, and Arrow—Poppy was staying in with her father—when a series of rude knocks came at his door.

He opened it to Frank, who stepped into his quarters and laughed. “I got you now, brother.”

Nicholas shut the door behind him. “How so?”

“I know about you and Natasha. You’ve been sleeping with her.”

“I’m frightened,” Nicholas said in his drollest manner and went back to his mirror. He wasn’t sure what to think, actually. Perhaps he should be concerned.

But he’d never show Frank.

Frank cackled. “My source is impeccable.”

“Oh? Who is it?”

“Natasha.”

“Why would she tell you?”

“She wants to marry you, old boy, and she’s paying me lots of money to help spread the word that she’s having a baby Staunton. Nick, if it’s a boy. Or Nichola, if it’s a girl.”

“What?”

“She sent me to see her diplomatic host while she’s in Town—what’s his name?”

“Lord Howell. He’s to look after her until she leaves England.”

“Right, well, I told the old codger you and the Russian princess carried on while he and his missus were in the country. I gave him a lock of Natasha’s hair that I supposedly found at your apartment, and I demanded payment to keep quiet about the baby.”

He snorted with amusement.

Nicholas threw down his neckcloth. “Why couldn’t Natasha tell Lord and Lady Howell her lies all by herself?”

Frank laughed. “Because then she looks like a conniving widow. This way, she comes across as fairly innocent, lured into bad behavior by an Impossible Bachelor. And just to make sure the Howells don’t believe the princess and I are in on this together, she gave me Boris. I told them I’d stolen the beast and would return him only if they pay me a fine sum of money. Both Lord and Lady Howell would never dream she’d give away her precious dog, even for a moment.”

“So the Howells will speak to her,” Nicholas said. “She’ll be suitably agitated, denying everything, at least in the short run, and begging for her dog back. Which means they’ll believe you really are a blackmailer, brother. They’ll also believe I fathered her child. It’s a clever ruse.”

“But it is true,” said Frank, “at least the part about you sleeping with her.”

“She’s a widow, not a virgin, and I never slept with her. We had a few titillating romps between the sheets, nothing more.”

Frank crossed his arms over his chest and chortled. “Your quibbling doesn’t matter, and you know it. It’s a matter of diplomatic protocol. Lord Howell was assigned to look after Natasha, and he’ll be in massive trouble at Whitehall if it gets out that you had an affair with her, especially if she’s with child. Marriage, on the other hand, is a respectable outcome.”

“Look, Frank. I’m sure I’m not the only man in London who’s found himself in the princess’s bed. A widow taking lovers is hardly unheard of, and I certainly took care that she wouldn’t be with child.”

“How do you know—if you were drugged?”

A small part of Nicholas was alarmed that Frank knew those details of his liaison, but he quickly brushed it off. “A man knows.”

But he must admit, he didn’t know one hundred percent, did he? He’d never been drugged. What if—

No. It couldn’t be.

Nevertheless, he was uneasy. “And why should you care whom I marry anyway, Frank? Isn’t one girl the same as the next to you? Why the preference for the princess over Lady Poppy?”

“Revenge, of course.” Frank scratched his ear, quite as if he were speaking about the weather. “For you always being the good brother and having the title and all the money.”

“How is my marrying Natasha allowing you to get revenge?”

“You lust after that Poppy woman, and I can’t wait to see her throw you over. She’ll call you a scoundrel. An utter disgrace. But even better, you’ll have to live with Natasha—and her dogs—the rest of your life. Sergei’s already out buying a proper dueling pistol with which to kill you if you don’t marry her, and Natasha’s being comforted by the Howells as we speak.”

Nicholas didn’t deign to reply.

Frank turned purple. “You think you’re always going to win, don’t you? Well, not this time.” He slammed the door behind him.

It bounced back open.

“Don’t forget to walk Boris if you know what’s good for you!” Nicholas called after him.

Sure enough, a mere ten minutes later, Lord Howell sent Nicholas a note demanding his presence at his home immediately.

Dear God. He’d have to cancel his card game and find a way out of the mess with Natasha. But how could he do so without making her look like an idiot?

And was it possible that he had fathered a child with her while he was drugged?

He deserved the scare, he realized now. He’d run wild with no stops on his behavior for far too long.

But, no. He couldn’t have fathered Natasha’s child. He wouldn’t let blind panic rule his sense of logic. What man would be able to forget the pleasure involved in making a baby? And how could a man even have a fertile sexual response if he’d been so drugged that the next day he’d had trouble waking up well after the sun had risen?

He was sure, absolutely sure, someone else had fathered Natasha’s baby. Either that, or she wasn’t with child at all.

She’d have to confess, that’s what. He’d get her to see the light.

But when he arrived at the Howell residence, Natasha wouldn’t budge.

“You compromised me,” she said, blubbering in front of Lord and Lady Howell. Her corgis were draped over every sofa arm, and a few were sleeping on the rug. “I’m having your baby.”

Nicholas inhaled a deep breath and instantly regretted it. The smell of dog, which he usually didn’t object to, was rather overwhelming.

“Natasha.” His tone demanded she look at him. Finally, she met his gaze. “Tell the Howells you’re making this up.”

She burst into false tears again and collapsed on the sofa, somehow finding a spot between two of her pets.

“You’re making things worse, Your Grace,” Lady Howell cried. “She’s already feeling poorly, thanks to you and your—”

She fixed her beady eyes on his crotch.

“Bettina,” Lord Howell chastised her.

Lady Howell puffed up like a dandelion. “So? Am I to mince words? This so-called gentleman bedded our Russian charge. And now she’s with child. He must do the right thing this instant and marry her.”

Lord Howell stood. “Of course he shall. Won’t you come up to scratch, Your Grace? You’re from an old and proud line.”

Lady Howell drew in her chin. “But we’d never heard of it, dear, until—”

“It’s an old and proud line, Bettina.” The tips of Lord Howell’s ears were turning bright pink.

“Duke? Will you do the right thing?” Lady Howell’s assertiveness was all but forgotten as she stared at him with wide, worried eyes.

Nicholas felt the weight of his noble family tree bearing down on him. They may never have heard of the Drummond line, but it was old and proud. And he wasn’t a blackguard. “Of course I would do the right thing if—”

“See?” Lord Howell whirled on his wife. “He’ll do it.”

“Lord Howell—” Nicholas objected. “I never said—”

Lord Howell put up his palm. “You’ll do the right thing. And by tomorrow we expect your other engagement shall be called off. We’ll keep Natasha inside till that’s done. Then you’ll take her to Gretna.”

“We’ll put it about that you two were irresistibly in love and ran off together,” said Lady Howell.

Nicholas’s fists curled at his sides as he took in the conniving miss who never seemed to run out of crocodile tears.

“Natasha.” His voice was icy. “When you can think more clearly, you’ll do the right thing and tell your hosts the truth.”

She put a trembling hand to her breast. “I—I don’t know what you mean. Your own brother saw you leaving here the morning the Howells were away. If your own brother would turn you in, how could you not be guilty?”

He was extremely tempted to take his pistol and shoot a vase off the mantel simply because he was livid. But he knew dramatics would get him nowhere. This family was convinced he was to marry Natasha.

He bowed to Lord and Lady Howell. “I will not be returning. The princess will have something important to tell you, so please urge her to confess.”

But nobody said anything. Lord Howell merely stared right through him, Lady Howell patted Natasha on the head, and Natasha’s face contorted and turned red.

“I love you, Niccckky,” she bawled.

The dogs began to bark at her. One of them howled. It was a veritable canine chorus, except for one fat corgi who gave a leisurely scratch to his ear with his hind leg and then sank to the rug and closed his eyes.

He was probably as sick of the whole business as Nicholas was. The worst part about it was—

It was his own fault. He’d refused to grow up when he should have. And now he was paying the price. On that bitter note, he stepped over a particularly shrill yapping corgi and departed without another word.