She stood and looked at herself in the mirror. “If he’s not going to play fair, then I shan’t, either,” she told herself out loud.

If he could be like a vampire or a snake, she’d be like a spider in a web, and she’d wrap him up in a little threaded ball at the soonest opportunity. Or perhaps she’d be more like a governess and torture him with boring lectures so that he’d fall asleep, whereupon she’d write nasty things on his forehead, words like GO AWAY, RUDE MAN.

She strode out of the drawing room to Papa’s library and then to her bedchamber, where she lay on her quilt and searched through a text on agricultural tools, vowing to find the perfect tedious lecture.

But as she was reading about chaff cutters, dibbers, and flails, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 11

When Nicholas knocked on the door at 17 Clifford Street at precisely seven o’clock, he was rather irritated and deflated, having waited all day to see if Groop would contact him to tell him Operation Pink Lady would be his.

He hadn’t. And it wasn’t.

Which was why he was scowling when the door was opened by the butler.

“Good evening, Your Grace. I am Kettle, at your service. Do come in.”

With his protruding ears and round face, he certainly matched his name. No doubt Lady Poppy set him to boil often.

“Thank you, Kettle.” Nicholas handed over his cape, gloves, and hat, a wad of cash tastefully hidden under the brim. “I presume you mean Lord Derby is expecting me. He received my note about security measures?”

“You presume correctly, Your Grace.” Kettle discreetly pocketed the bills. “He made sure Lady Poppy’s bedchamber window is locked, and we’ve a servant guarding every exit from the house. Regrettably, the earl was called away with Lord Wyatt on emergency Parliamentary business and is still not back. He begs you to be patient as he’ll be a trifle late for dinner.”

“I’m happy to wait.” Nicholas had dreamed about Lady Poppy’s snapping emerald eyes and coppery mane. And now he’d see her again. He felt exhilarated at the thought, especially because he already knew she wouldn’t be easy.

Not easy at all.

He wondered if a good night’s sleep and almost a full day to reflect upon the advantages of a connection to him had softened her outrage into something more … tamable.

And almost hoped it hadn’t.

“By the by, Lady Charlotte is out for the evening,” Kettle said. “But Lady Poppy awaits you in the drawing room.” He gave Nicholas a meaningful stare. “I know you’ve been approved by Lord Derby, but Cook has told us all about you and your scandalous exploits, Your Grace. And let me assure you, I shall be on the lookout myself, on Lady Poppy’s behalf. Yes, indeed.”

“Shall you?”

“I most certainly shall.”

“Very good, then.” Nicholas patted the butler on the shoulder, and they walked in comfortable silence to the first door on the left.

He waited for Kettle to announce him and heard Poppy bid that he enter. He braced himself and walked into the room.

She was posed by the pianoforte, her back ramrod straight, looking like a diamond of the first water, a large ruby necklace snuggled between her breasts.

Drummond raised her hand to his mouth, turned it over, and kissed her palm, sending a distinct pattern of gooseflesh racing up her arm.

“I’m sorry to have missed your aunt,” he said. “She seems a lively sort of chaperone.” Lady Charlotte had even winked at him last night, after he’d proposed.

Poppy lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Yes, she’s that way because she’s a Spinster.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“She can do what she wants with whom she wants whenever she wants,” Poppy said.

“Spinsters are to be envied, then.”

She lifted her chin. “I somehow doubt your sincerity.”

“You should, perhaps,” he agreed. “Except when I’m complimenting you. You’re exquisite tonight.”

“Thank you.” She flushed.

There was the sound of a carriage rattling to a stop in front of the house.

Drummond inclined his head. “Is that your father?”

“Yes. He’s often grouchy. Aren’t you afraid?”

“No, of course not,” he said. “We see eye to eye. I’ve told you.”

She bristled. “Don’t remind me. I demand to know something before he arrives. What does IF mean? And MR? And OPL?”

“You are curious, aren’t you?” He gave her what he hoped was an enigmatic smile. “But I won’t tell you. You have no need to know.”

“So? I know many things I’ve no need to know.”

“Well, this will be one less thing. And even if you did need to know, I’d think twice before telling you. Sorry, but my instincts tell me you’re not good at keeping secrets.”

“Your instincts are wrong. Why should you have secrets anyway?”

“Because often the most exciting, most pleasurable things in the world are done in secret.” He pulled her closer and kissed the tender hollow at the base of her neck. Her scent was sweet and seductive.

She arched her neck, then seemed to recall herself. “My goodness.” She gasped and pushed him away. “You are a scoundrel.”

“You think so?”

“Of course.” She gasped again, but he was determined to be completely unmoved by her outrage and shock.

She drew her brows together. “No one should have secrets. And no one should be invisible. Don’t ever think you shall whisk me away to the north and make me a docile, dutiful wife.”

Nicholas laughed. That was exactly what he intended.

“What’s so funny?” she asked him.

But Lord Derby arrived before he could answer.

“Let’s tuck into our dinners right away,” Poppy’s father urged them. “Lord Wyatt is a demanding colleague. He’s called another meeting.” He took a rather hasty gulp of wine.

Nicholas saw Poppy wince.

“Again, Papa?” she asked in a thin voice.

“You know I have duties at Whitehall, my dear, and Wyatt has the country’s best interests at heart.” Lord Derby looked over his spectacles at Nicholas. “So, when will the marriage take place? Sooner is better than later.”

Nicholas slowed the sawing of the piece of beef on his plate. “I’d say after a month we could start having the banns read.” He kept his tone jaunty. “Until then, we’ll have a getting-to-know-you period.”

Poppy appeared to be seething, but she didn’t disagree.

“Excellent idea.” Lord Derby speared a potato. “Poppy will have plenty to tell you.”

“I was actually referring to getting to know you both, sir,” Drummond said immediately. “I know very little of your political beliefs. I’m sorry to say my father never took his seat in Parliament, so if I’m to become up to snuff, I really must become better informed. Unless it’s too much trouble, that is.”

“Not at all.” Lord Derby’s eyes lit up. “Where shall we start?”

“The economy,” Nicholas replied.

Poppy nudged him with an elbow and narrowed her eyes at him.

And no wonder. Nicholas was sure no subject could be larger, or nearer and dearer to Lord Derby’s heart—outside his affection for his daughter, of course—than the state of the English economy.

Sure enough, a quarter of an hour later, Kettle had to appear at the dining room door with Lord Derby’s hat before he seemed to break loose of his political theorizing and return to the present moment.

“The time has flown,” said Lord Derby.

Poppy appeared shocked by his pleasant manner.

“But before I go,” her father went on, “I must make mention of an unsavory topic. According to an impeccable source I heard from today, there is a missing uncle in your family tree, Drummond, an uncle who should have been duke. I’m not quite sure I approve of mysteries. Especially as they relate to titles.”

“So you spoke to Cook, Papa?” Poppy intervened.

“No.” He glared sternly at her. “She dared speak to me when she brought me my coddled eggs this morning. I gather her twin is your cook, Duke.”

“That she is.” Nicholas nodded soberly. “Marvelous with the roast beef, the two of them, I must say. But as for the mystery about my uncle, you’re right, Lord Derby. It exists. But what can one do with an uncle who’s been missing forty years? Other than notice he’s gone—and carry on.”

Lord Derby stared at him for a good ten seconds, then shook his head. “You’re very lucky I admire intelligent men with nerve. We need more of those types in Parliament.” He stood from the table. Drummond rose, too. “I must go. My daughter shall see you out in a few minutes.”

“But Papa!” Poppy’s cheeks pinkened. “We haven’t even served the fruit and cheese.”

Nicholas felt the awkwardness of the moment. He understood her concern. She was probably thinking they should linger over this getting-to-know-you meal. And afterward, Lord Derby should lead him to the library for a brandy and a cheroot and shoo Lady Poppy off to bed because they’d be ensconced in those big brown leather club chairs for hours.

Drummond guessed that Lord Derby viewed his daughter’s engagement like a bill to be passed before Parliament rather than as a milestone in her life—the biggest milestone she’d probably yet encountered.

Unfortunate as the situation was, Nicholas could do nothing but bow and say, “Thank you, sir, for a most enlightening evening.”

Lord Derby merely grunted, then turned to Poppy. “You’ll need a trousseau.”

“Yes, Papa,” she said in a bland tone.

Nicholas assumed most young ladies would look ecstatic at the thought of a trousseau. But Lady Poppy apparently felt no joy.