Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

CHAPTER 39

Nicholas sent word round to his three best friends, Lord Harry Traemore, Captain Arrow, and Viscount Lumley, to meet him at their club.

“So there’s no hope for you and Lady Poppy?” asked Captain Arrow, who was in Town for a fortnight’s shore leave.

“How could there be?” Nicholas shrugged. “She certainly doesn’t want me anymore. I’m a scoundrel.”

No one disagreed, he noticed.

But Lumley patted his back. “I’d hope for the best, old boy. Perhaps this Russian princess will be just as suited for you as Molly is for Harry. Even if she drugged you.”

“And claims you seduced her,” added Arrow.

“And has too many dogs,” muttered Harry.

Nicholas looked miserably into his tumbler of brandy. “I certainly was no angel.” He drained his glass and stared at his friends. “But she’s not, either. I don’t believe for a minute I fathered her child. I don’t believe there even is a child. She’s mad. And for some reason, she’s chosen me to be her favored suitor. I think it was because I was kind to her dogs. I told her they could become ill from whatever substance she used to drug me.”

“Well, we should make you her unfavorite suitor,” said Lumley with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve loads of practice with that.”

“Good point.” Arrow chuckled. “Although why a handsome devil like you has trouble with women, I’ve no idea, Lumley. What should Nicholas do to have her call it off? Because telling a woman you have another love interest sometimes only makes her dig her claws in harder.”

“You should know,” said Harry, “with your women in every port.”

Arrow threw him a dirty look. “I’d claim you were jealous, but I can’t, can I? You’re happy as a clam with your Molly.”

“You know it,” said Harry, with a wink and a smile.

“Right.” Lumley sat up. “Here’s what you should do, Drummond. Be attentive. Kind. Bring the princess flowers. Tell her you worship the ground she walks on. And then—”

“I need something that works fast. That’s guaranteed.”

“Oh, in that case”—Lumley nodded and pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket—“just show her this.” He handed the sheet to Nicholas and told him what to say.

Nicholas felt a glimmer of hope. “Thanks.” He tucked the paper in his coat. “Leave it to the Impossible Bachelors to help get me out of this mess. I hope it works.”

“It’ll work, old boy,” Lumley assured him.

“After you rid yourself of Natasha, what will you do about Lady Poppy?” asked Arrow.

Nicholas shrugged. “Nothing. She told me she never wants to see me again.”

He couldn’t tell them about the portrait, about how his job required he choose duty over all else. And that Poppy would never forgive him for letting her mother’s portrait be destroyed.

“You don’t love her?” Lumley asked. “She’s a gorgeous thing, and I’m tempted to pursue her if you won’t. She seems the type who’d appreciate a decent fellow like me.”

“Yes, she would,” Nicholas said miserably, then cast Lumley a dark look. “But don’t even think about it.”

Arrow chuckled. “Oh-ho, so you have feelings for her, after all? I assumed you were succumbing to the parson’s mousetrap for money. It’s the only good reason I can think of for any fellow with a brain to get married.” He angled a grin Harry’s way. “Pardon me, Harry. You’re the exception, of course. We know you’re whip-smart and married Molly for love.”

Harry chuckled. “Someday you’ll smarten up, too, lads, never fear. I only hope it’s not too late for Nicholas. One has to fight for the right woman. Not sit about being soft and letting wily Russian princesses take over.”

He directed a careless grin Nicholas’s way, but his gaze was serious.

Nicholas felt the barb.

“I don’t have a right woman,” he said testily. “And I certainly don’t plan to wed Natasha. I intend to stay a bachelor as long as I can.”

How long would that be?

Marriage was a requirement of his job at the Service. And Prinny might soon be breathing down his neck again to make him participate in another Impossible Bachelors wager.

Soon he’d have to find a milk-and-water miss to marry. A boring girl with a bland expression and nothing but duty in her expression when they’d make love in their marital bed.

Duty.

When someone applied the concept to life with him, he certainly didn’t like it.

He didn’t want duty in a marriage. He wanted fun. And spontaneity.

He wanted Poppy.

But it was too late.

He took a large swallow of brandy. The burning sensation in his stomach masked the emptiness he felt inside.

“So you’ll stay a bachelor as long as you can, eh?” Harry appraised him sharply. “Lucky you.”

There was a pause, a brief awkwardness in the air, then Arrow laughed. So did Lumley.

Nicholas decided to take Harry’s remark at face value. “Yes, lucky me,” he said, and everyone—even Harry, the only legshackled man among them—raised their snifters in a toast to his future.