Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

CHAPTER 36

Nicholas was miserable. And all because of a woman.

Not Natasha. She was merely a pest—a very bad pest who had wrangled her way too far into his life. Somehow he’d escape her.

But he saw no way to evade the inevitably wretched depression he would soon be floundering in … all because a certain bossy, emerald-eyed miss would no doubt despise him when she heard the news.

He could see the headline in the papers now: “Duke Fathers Russian Princess’s Baby Out of Wedlock.”

It was absurd. But that was exactly the situation he found himself in.

If Poppy had any regard for him, surely she would lose it after word got out. Somewhere deep inside him, he couldn’t bear that thought. But he knew what to do—what he’d always done when unwanted feelings attempted to surface: bury them under layers of busy-ness. Accomplishments.

Attention to duty.

After the debacle at the Howells’, he went straight to Groop, who practically lived at his office. Nicholas must admit he was glad the old fellow was still there, candles burning at his desk. He could use a bit of paternal advice.

Groop wore a closed half-smile. “So you’re looking for a way out. Even though you might be the father.”

“I’m not the father.” He was almost certain of it. “She could be making the whole thing up, as far as I know.”

“You’ll simply have to go along with it.”

“You mean marry her?”

“You could be of use to us in St. Petersburg. It could mean a promotion.”

Nicholas scoffed. “Not possible.”

“It’s either marry her, or devise a means to get out of it after you retrieve the painting. We can’t afford to upset the twins so much that they pack their bags and leave England with the portrait before the ball.”

“Are you sure we can’t go in any earlier than the ball to get it?”

“No. That night affords us the least risk. Large crowds and many distractions suit this sort of operation. Which reminds me, we’ll have to call a high-level meeting to ensure Lord Derby stays away that evening. He could raise a public stink and interfere with our plans. You’ve abandoned his daughter, after all.”

Nicholas raked a hand through his hair. “Can we not tell Lord Derby and Lady Poppy the new betrothal is a sham? That it won’t stand much longer because I won’t allow it?”

“They have no need to know. We can’t afford to let any word get back to the princess.”

“But … but Lady Poppy will think I’m a scoundrel!”

“Well, aren’t you?” It was the closest Groop had ever come to looking amused.

Nicholas flinched. He had been a dissolute fool. “It’s too late, isn’t it? To shed my wastrel reputation.”

Groop almost scoffed. “You know what that would require.”

“Yes, either dying or keeping my breeches on. A year ago I wouldn’t have been able to tell you which one was worse. But now—”

“Now you’ve matured. It happens to the best of us, Your Grace. And since you’re in quite a quandary, I’d say yes. It is too late.”

So it was settled. Nicholas’s engagement with Natasha was on. No more trying to get out of it, at least until after the painting was safely in his hands.

And by then, Poppy—at least her tender feelings for him—would be long gone.

“Don’t go yet, Your Grace.”

Nicholas paused at the door, sensing bad news by the way Groop hesitated before he spoke.

“It seems rather a shame,” the spymaster said, “but the higher-ups have recently decided to destroy the painting after they get their look at it. They claim we can’t very well have a portrait stay in circulation with a picture of a mole on it. Our modus operandi must be protected.”

Nicholas’s heart sank. “No,” he whispered.

She’d never forgive him.

Ever.

It was the final nail in the coffin of his plan to make her his wife. Even he wasn’t willing to marry someone who hated him. Up until now, he’d had hope. He’d made progress with her—true progress, from total unacceptance of him to the point that they’d become friends—but now … now all those efforts might as well never have occurred.

“It can’t be helped.” Groop was implacable. “You have to seize the portrait on behalf of the Service and resign yourself to never seeing it again. Duty above all, Your Grace. And Lady Poppy has no need to know. You’re the one charged with destroying the painting after our analysis is complete. The MR is contingent upon this action. Dispose of it completely in a timely, untraceable manner which calls—”

“No suspicion upon me or the Service.” Nicholas hardened his heart. “I know the drill.”

Duty first.

Duty first.

He swallowed back the myriad emotions clamoring within him. Sometimes it paid in unexpected ways to work for the Service.

And sometimes it was a living hell.