Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

CHAPTER 4

Which one was Lady Poppy?

Nicholas looked around the room and spied her immediately next to the Russian prince, Natasha’s brother. He’d never met Sergei, but Natasha had told him her brother always got what he wanted.

He’d just better damned well not want Poppy.

She was already taken.

“You won’t be able to miss her, of course,” Lord Derby had told him at White’s earlier that evening. “She’s got titian hair, and she’s beautiful, but she won’t look demure. As much as I love her, I’m often baffled at how many suitors have offered for her hand. She’s most unbiddable. Let that serve as a warning to you. Oh, and for years she’s been besotted with that Russian prince, whom we met several years ago in St. Petersburg. She speaks a bit of Russian and will no doubt be attempting to converse with him.”

Sure enough, the girl in the seductive pale blue gown at the prince’s elbow had shimmering red-gold hair and a direct gaze that took no enemies. Nicholas felt a twist of lust in his belly when he caught the wink of a diamond-shaped pendant at her breasts, but he was actually far more intrigued by the shocked expression on her face, which was quickly followed by a determined tug on the prince’s arm.

There was nothing docile about her.

No matter. He’d marry her, ship her off to Seaward Hall, and give her what every woman wanted—babies and the occasional bauble to keep her happy. He’d even bring her to Town once a year to satisfy that yearning every woman seemed to have to socialize.

But then he’d send her back to Seaward Hall again—to write letters, entertain the neighbors, arrange flowers, rear their children, and whatever else it was that women liked to do—while he went back to London and worked for the Service.

Being married wouldn’t have to change his life much at all.

The music started up again, people converged on the dance floor once more, and Nicholas strode down the stairs. He caught Lord Derby’s eye and then moved straightaway toward the copper-haired goddess, ignoring all attempts to snag his attention along the way.

As he approached Lady Poppy, her eyes, a dazzling emerald color, grew larger and larger. Prince Sergei cast a careless glance at him, as if he were nothing more than a fly to be swatted away once he came close enough to be a genuine nuisance.

Nicholas felt an instant dislike for the man.

“Nicky!” A feminine arm reached out from the crowd of dancers and stopped him.

Blast. It was Natasha. He saw the bracelet he’d bought for her dangling from her wrist.

“Do you always ignore royalty?” she asked him peevishly.

He suppressed his impatience and kissed her fingers. “Hello, Your Highness. I’m sorry I missed you.”

“I’m thirsty,” she said, like a small child.

Right. He was meant to get her a drink, but she was surrounded by perfectly respectable gentlemen who’d be willing to get her some lemonade.

“I’m sure Lord Crowley or Sir Benjamin would be happy to oblige.” He moved on, ignoring the princess’s loud sigh.

But his efforts to disentangle himself came too late. Lady Poppy had disappeared.