Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right (15 page)

Natasha moved farther down the hall, no doubt drawn by a threesome of fashionable young ladies talking animatedly beneath a painting of a handsome shepherd.

In front of a beautiful scene of a field in Tuscany, Poppy looked from beneath her lashes at Nicholas in the most seductive yet intelligent way. He could barely comprehend how that could be, yet somehow she managed it.

“Natasha’s obviously charmed by you.” His betrothed had a womanly way of turning her head just so when she was conversing.

“It’s all part of being a duke,” he said, ignoring the fact that he was drawing up a mental list of things he liked about Poppy. “Rather a bore. What about Natasha’s transparent machinations to throw you and Sergei together?”

Poppy shrugged. “I have no doubt it’s to get herself alone with you.”

“I agree,” he replied, “but she must think you’ll be receptive to her lead.”

Poppy had the grace to blush. “It’s in your best interest I go along, Your Grace. A happy prince and princess is our goal, so don’t fault me for falling into line.”

He chuckled. “I don’t—it’s the willingness with which you do so that amuses me. Sergei’s not nearly your equal, you know.”

She opened her mouth to say something—indignant, no doubt, judging from the straight line her delicate brows made over her eyes—but Natasha strode back to them and gave a cursory glance at the painting of the Tuscan fields. “Your English painters are all well and good.” She sighed. “But where are the Russians? Levitsky Argunov?”

“Farther down the hall,” Nicholas replied. “Shall we head in that direction and stop along the way as it suits us?”

Several gasps in their direction came from the threesome of fashionable young ladies ahead, and no wonder. Sergei had arrived, shining and regal, a smug smile on his lips. He fixed his regal gaze on Poppy alone.

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she bit her lip when the prince bowed low over her hand. Then she cast a quick, nervous glance at Nicholas, as if she regretted teasing him about Natasha.

He arched a brow. Perhaps it would be his turn to laugh now.

*   *   *

Yes, Poppy was anxious to see Sergei again, eager to erase the unfavorable impression he’d left her with at Lady Gastly’s literary salon, but she could hardly be thrilled her latest test of him would take place in front of the Duke of Drummond.

She wanted the old prince back—the one she’d known in Russia and had caught a charming glimpse of at the Grangerford ball.

God forbid the prince disappoint her
. It would be mortifying if Drummond scorned her taste in men. She didn’t like looking the fool in front of him—he already rankled her so.

“We’ve not missed you, brother,” Natasha said airily. “As a matter of fact, you may walk with Lady Poppy. The duke and I are attending to the corgis.”

“And it’s been a
joy,
” Drummond said seriously, looking between the prince and princess.

Poppy almost giggled.
Did the man have no shame?

He gave her a dampening look, entirely false, of course—the bounder was as amused by his comment as she was—and took off with the princess and her pram full of panting dogs.

With a bit of relief, Poppy turned to Sergei. “Your Highness, have you seen the bust of Shakespeare? I’m dying to view it myself. It’s a few rooms down.”

“It will be my pleasure to escort you,” Sergei said, wrapping her arm in his. “Of course, you like
Twelfth Night
best of all the Bard’s plays. It is
my
favorite, and so it shall be yours.”

“No it won’t,” she said, bristling just a tad. It was early days yet in her assessment of him. “I do like
Twelfth Night,
but I prefer
Macbeth
.”

“Oh, but it’s important to like the same things, no?” he said with a charming grin. “To be compatible.”

She blushed. So he
was
thinking about her in those terms. And then she remembered how different she and Drummond were. She bit her lip. “Well,
friends
can like different things. That’s what makes life interesting.”

She never felt bored around Drummond.

Sergei gave a short bark of laughter. “Friends?” He leaned closer. “We are more than friends,” he whispered. “I have decreed it so.”

She cast a nervous glance at the duke. “Remember, I’m engaged,” she whispered back, “to the Duke of Drummond.”

Finally, she was speaking the truth when she made that claim.

Sergei waved a careless hand. “He is a mere duke. I am a Russian prince. Princes take precedence over dukes.”

“But Sergei, the Duke of Drummond is—”

Flirting with a Russian princess,
a little imp in her head reminded her,
straight ahead
.

“Who cares about the Duke of Drummond?” Sergei stopped and gave her that smoldering, half-lidded look again. “When may I come to your room?”

Her room?

She couldn’t help it. She chuckled. Of course, he’d meant her
drawing
room. English wasn’t his first language, so he was bound to make embarrassing mistakes now and then.

“Any time.” She patted his arm, feeling vaguely protective of him. “Preferably in the early afternoon. Just say the word.”

He gave her a slow grin. “You prefer day to night?”

“Yes. I must say I’m quite fond of the, um, daytime.”

Good Lord, she hadn’t remembered having such odd conversations with him in St. Petersburg. Perhaps he hadn’t spoken English in quite a while.

“You bold girl. What shall you wear?” His voice had a suddenly rough edge to it.

“A—a walking gown, I suppose.”

“Splendid.” He gave her another heated smile. “I like to take my time.”

“That’s refreshing.” She forced herself to smile back even though his comments were becoming increasingly confusing. “Most men are in such a rush.”

Her father every night at dinner, for one. And every man who’d ever come to tea in her drawing room, excepting the Marquess of Stanbury and Lord Tweed, the garrulous suitors who’d droned on so long that she’d had to replace the teapot twice.

The prince looked toward Drummond and his sister, as if he were afraid they’d hear him. “Wear your bonnet, too,” he urged her. “Something with feathers. And your parasol. I love a woman who can use a parasol to her advantage.”

She had a sudden fear—an illogical, sordid fear that she couldn’t name, but it certainly did her no credit.

“Sergei”—she paused—“you
did
mean my drawing room, did you not?”

His eyes cooled a bit. “Why, did you think I meant elsewhere?”

She blinked. He couldn’t, wouldn’t dare to—

No, she was thinking in an entirely inappropriate direction.

“Of course not,” she said primly.

“Prince, Lady Poppy!”
It was Drummond, striding toward them. “Did you not see? Boris has escaped.”

“Your blasted duke annoys me,” Sergei muttered, “and I despise that dog. I hope he goes looking for it and gets lost himself.”

“Where did he go?” Poppy asked Drummond, ignoring Sergei’s extremely rude remarks.

“I’m not sure.” Irritation made Drummond’s gray eyes narrow. “He ran down the corridor. Natasha’s having a fit of the vapors and is sitting on a chair in the salon straight ahead and to the left. Prince Sergei, please take her home, and Lady Poppy, you come with me.” He grabbed her hand.

She felt a great rush of relief. And she also felt a lurch of warmth near her heart at the feel of his firm, masculine grip.

“We’ll return Boris to the princess as soon as we find him,” the duke called back to the prince.

Poppy was glad her stilted conversation with Sergei was over. And she felt pleasure, unexpected pleasure, that she and Drummond would be alone for a while—without the whining princess’s company, either.

Even if the price they must pay for the respite was finding a petulant dog.

CHAPTER 17

Nicholas’s mild irritation at being at the beck and call of the princess turned into full-blown resentment. The one-eyed dog was nowhere to be found, despite the fact that he and Poppy had searched through various rooms at the museum for a good half hour.

“The princess says he loves people and will make a beeline for a crowd,” he said.

“Then we should try again by the Elgin Marbles,” Poppy suggested.

“We’ve already done so twice.”

“How about the Rosetta Stone?”

“All right. Once more.”

They turned to the right to the chamber housing the famed stone when Poppy pointed straight ahead. “There he is!”

The squat dog was doing his best to get down a long series of steps to the first floor. They both rushed to him, and Nicholas picked him up. Boris’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and he stared defiantly at Poppy with his one eye.

“Your adventure is over, my canine friend,” Nicholas muttered.

Poppy stroked Boris’s head. “I wonder where he’s been hiding?”

Her slender fingers caressing the beast’s head, the sweet nothings she murmured, somehow grabbed Nicholas’s attention and held it. He was jealous, he realized. Jealous of a dog.

For God’s sake, what was he thinking? He didn’t need sweet caresses anywhere but where it counted—and even then, it didn’t have to be sweet, did it?

A caress was enough.

Not even a caress. A quick swipe or two with a hand would do.

He pulled Boris away, leaving Poppy’s hand dangling in midair.

Just because.

“The dog needs no more touching.” Nicholas felt a terrible mood coming upon him, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Why are you glowering at me?” she asked, her hands on her hips. “What have I done?”

He was saved from answering by the approach of a small woman with a broad face and a frilly cap, who was striding toward them, her hands clenched in fists.

“Blast his furry hide, there he is!” She was followed by a meek maidservant. “That evil dog swallowed the round pearl-and-ruby pendant off my necklace. I picked him up and said, ‘Oh, you dear, dear thing,’ and next thing I knew, he’d bitten it right off!”

She held up a broken gold chain.

Poppy’s eyes were wide. “Um, I’m so sorry, madam. And I’m sure we’ll be able to get the pendant—ahem—after it’s gone through him.”

The woman pursed her lips. “I can’t wait that long. I’m visiting from Surrey, and I must get home. My name is Mrs. Travers. I might be a small lady, but I’m quite important in my village, I’ll have you know.”

“Please give me your address, madam, and we’ll be sure to return the pendant,” Nicholas said. “Hopefully within one day. Two at the most.”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Travers said suspiciously. “What if you decide to keep it? Give me that dog—then I’ll know I’ll get my piece back. When I do, I’ll send you a note and you can come get him.”

“We can’t very well do that. He’s not even our dog,” said Poppy. “And we’re not thieves. We’re not interested in your … pilfered pendant.”

Mrs. Travers gasped. “You should be.
Your
dog ate it!”

“I’m sorry,” said Poppy, her face turning pink. “I simply meant we don’t want it.”

The woman pursed her lips. “Give me that dog, or I’ll—I’ll call a constable!”

Nicholas laid a hand on her arm. “Madam, the dog belongs to a Russian princess—”

“I don’t care who the dog belongs to.” Mrs. Travers burst into tears. “Who ever heard of letting a dog into a museum? He attacked me, the brute! I shall press charges for that, as well.”

Poppy tugged on Nicholas’s sleeve. “We have to give her the dog,” she whispered above Mrs. Travers’s ear-piercing wails.

“No, we can’t,” he said. “Natasha would have a fit.”

And blast that Mrs. Travers for shrieking.

“I know,” Poppy said, “but we’ll get him back in a few days, won’t we?”

Nicholas stared at Boris, who merely panted and rolled his one eye. “He’s diabolical. I can see him running away at the first opportunity.” He turned to Mrs. Travers. “Stop your caterwauling, madam. I’ll put you up in fine quarters here in London if you’ll stay a day or two.”

Her wails ceased abruptly into hiccups and then died away completely, thank God.

“Absolutely not,” she said with firm resolve. “I must get back. My maid, as well. And if you have a decent bone in your body, you’ll let me take that dog. Consider him on loan.”

“Give us but a moment,” Nicholas said to her, then turned to Poppy. “She has a point,” he said low, Boris still panting contentedly in his arms. “None of this is her fault, and she should be allowed to return home rather than stay here. We’ll have to let her take the dog, but he can’t go alone. I’ll go, as well. If Natasha knows a familiar face is with the brute, she’ll be all right. We can’t upset the Russian twins, remember?”

Poppy sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But how can
I
go? I’ll need a chaperone.”