you get that?”
“I have my connections.”
“What?”
“Don’t bother firing your scullery maid. She’s probably in Portsmouth by now. I gave her a ticket on a packet to America.”
She tried to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist. “And don’t you try to run away, either. When I find you—and I will—we’ll marry that day. Or perhaps we’ll simply live in sin at Seaward Hall, my family’s estate, until the special license comes through.”
Her lips thinned and she yanked her wrist back. “You’re a beast.”
He put the stocking back in his pocket and patted it. “Seaward Hall is lovely this time of year. The freezing winds off the North Sea in the spring aren’t nearly as bad as the polar ones in the winter. And there’s a dungeon.”
She shuddered. “All right. I’ll act truly engaged to you for a month—whatever that involves.”
“Don’t look so despondent. Men want women who are unavailable. I assure you, Sergei will find you more desirable than ever now that you’re engaged. Not that you have a future with him.”
“So you think. It’s either with him or no one. I’d rather live alone than marry a man I don’t love.”
“I admire your stubbornness. To an extent.” He yawned. “I’m the same way. But there does come a point when it’s best to see the forest for the trees. And that time is now .”
CHAPTER 8
Poppy felt her heart thumping fast against her chest when the Duke of Drummond slung an arm about her waist. “Exactly what are you doing?” she demanded to know.
“Kissing my fiancée,” he murmured, and lowered his mouth to hers.
She refused to think the kiss might be on a par with the sweet, yearning kiss Sergei had given her in St. Petersburg six years ago, even though it was definitely doing something to her insides, something shocking.
“You can’t do that,” she insisted, yet she couldn’t help but continue kissing him. “I never said yes to our betrothal. I pinched your arm. That was meant to be a distinct no .”
“But we’re betrothed anyway.” His mouth, warm and teasing, nuzzled her neck.
She was furious. His lips were doing outrageous things to her. And he smelled like a man, all woodsy and lineny and something indefinable that made her want to put her hands to his shirt and rip both left and right at the same time.
Drummond laughed, and twirled one of her curls about his finger. “So … you won’t call my driver to your rescue?”
“No, you ridiculous man,” she said. “I can handle you myself.”
His eyes gleamed. “I believe you can,” he said, and kissed the column of her neck, lingering on her pulse point. Then he pulled her onto his lap in one deft swoop of his arms.
Oddly enough, she felt cozy. Comfortable. Aroused .
Confound him.
“Perhaps I’ll scream,” she said.
“Don’t bother.” He kissed her ear.
She lifted her head. “What happened to your brother? Or was it your uncle?”
He stunned her by taking one of her fingers in his mouth and sucking on it. Good God, it felt impossibly rapturous, and she felt a sharp, sudden urge to—
She didn’t know. But he had better stop sucking.
Now .
She pulled her finger out, quite rudely, she thought, but he didn’t seem to care. He went right to rubbing her bottom with the flat of his hand.
It was shocking of him.
And she didn’t want him to stop.
“My brother—blast his hide—is still here in London,” the duke murmured, still rubbing away at her bottom, “but my uncle disappeared. He was only thirteen when he ran away. We think he became a sailor and was lost at sea.”
She let him kiss her again. Perhaps he wasn’t the wicked duke of Cook’s tales, after all. Perhaps he was even an amiable, kind, patient man. As harmless as a—
She blinked. He was none of those things. He was like a cobra in a basket, waiting to strike. A vampire who wanted to suck blood out of her neck. A Venus fly-trap—and she was the fly.
“Wait a moment.” She sat up a
“I have my connections.”
“What?”
“Don’t bother firing your scullery maid. She’s probably in Portsmouth by now. I gave her a ticket on a packet to America.”
She tried to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist. “And don’t you try to run away, either. When I find you—and I will—we’ll marry that day. Or perhaps we’ll simply live in sin at Seaward Hall, my family’s estate, until the special license comes through.”
Her lips thinned and she yanked her wrist back. “You’re a beast.”
He put the stocking back in his pocket and patted it. “Seaward Hall is lovely this time of year. The freezing winds off the North Sea in the spring aren’t nearly as bad as the polar ones in the winter. And there’s a dungeon.”
She shuddered. “All right. I’ll act truly engaged to you for a month—whatever that involves.”
“Don’t look so despondent. Men want women who are unavailable. I assure you, Sergei will find you more desirable than ever now that you’re engaged. Not that you have a future with him.”
“So you think. It’s either with him or no one. I’d rather live alone than marry a man I don’t love.”
“I admire your stubbornness. To an extent.” He yawned. “I’m the same way. But there does come a point when it’s best to see the forest for the trees. And that time is now .”
CHAPTER 8
Poppy felt her heart thumping fast against her chest when the Duke of Drummond slung an arm about her waist. “Exactly what are you doing?” she demanded to know.
“Kissing my fiancée,” he murmured, and lowered his mouth to hers.
She refused to think the kiss might be on a par with the sweet, yearning kiss Sergei had given her in St. Petersburg six years ago, even though it was definitely doing something to her insides, something shocking.
“You can’t do that,” she insisted, yet she couldn’t help but continue kissing him. “I never said yes to our betrothal. I pinched your arm. That was meant to be a distinct no .”
“But we’re betrothed anyway.” His mouth, warm and teasing, nuzzled her neck.
She was furious. His lips were doing outrageous things to her. And he smelled like a man, all woodsy and lineny and something indefinable that made her want to put her hands to his shirt and rip both left and right at the same time.
Drummond laughed, and twirled one of her curls about his finger. “So … you won’t call my driver to your rescue?”
“No, you ridiculous man,” she said. “I can handle you myself.”
His eyes gleamed. “I believe you can,” he said, and kissed the column of her neck, lingering on her pulse point. Then he pulled her onto his lap in one deft swoop of his arms.
Oddly enough, she felt cozy. Comfortable. Aroused .
Confound him.
“Perhaps I’ll scream,” she said.
“Don’t bother.” He kissed her ear.
She lifted her head. “What happened to your brother? Or was it your uncle?”
He stunned her by taking one of her fingers in his mouth and sucking on it. Good God, it felt impossibly rapturous, and she felt a sharp, sudden urge to—
She didn’t know. But he had better stop sucking.
Now .
She pulled her finger out, quite rudely, she thought, but he didn’t seem to care. He went right to rubbing her bottom with the flat of his hand.
It was shocking of him.
And she didn’t want him to stop.
“My brother—blast his hide—is still here in London,” the duke murmured, still rubbing away at her bottom, “but my uncle disappeared. He was only thirteen when he ran away. We think he became a sailor and was lost at sea.”
She let him kiss her again. Perhaps he wasn’t the wicked duke of Cook’s tales, after all. Perhaps he was even an amiable, kind, patient man. As harmless as a—
She blinked. He was none of those things. He was like a cobra in a basket, waiting to strike. A vampire who wanted to suck blood out of her neck. A Venus fly-trap—and she was the fly.
“Wait a moment.” She sat up a
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