While the Duke Was Sleeping

  He waited several minutes, inhaling the sweet aroma of flora, letting her proceed far ahead of him and giving himself time to compose. At last he moved, striding from the conservatory and toward the study, eager for a drink. Or four.

  He entered the room lined with bookcases and poured himself a brandy. He was on his second when the door to the study opened.

  Lord Strickland’s voice rolled across the air behind him. “He wants to see you.”

  Struan paused only a moment before downing the rest of his drink. “I imagine he does.” Turning, he departed the study and made his way upstairs to the duke’s chamber.

  She eased into the chamber she had occupied so often over the last week, her slippered feet falling softly on the thick Aubusson carpet.

  After she fled the conservatory and Struan last night, she had gone to bed without seeing the Duke of Autenberry. No one visited with him the previous evening save Lord Strickland and the physician. The physician agreed it was wise not to overwhelm him just yet.

  She could only hazard a guess that he knew now of her charade. He couldn’t have been awake this long and not learned that he had a fiancée. Aside of an evening spent with Lord Strickland, the dowager had spent nearly an hour with him before breakfast. There was no way he could be unaware of her existence.

  Poppy gazed across the great length of space to the bed, verifying he was awake. She didn’t want to disturb him if he slept.

  Her pulse thudded in hard beats. The coward in her begged for her to turn, grab her sister and run. Leave this place without ever facing the duke. But she couldn’t do that. She owed him an explanation. Hopefully, he would bear no grudge. She had saved his life, after all. That must count for something.

  He was not asleep.

  “Miss Fairchurch.” He smiled at the sight of her, sitting up a little higher and waving her forward. “Lovely to see you. Come inside.”

  She inched deeper into his chamber, immediately feeling at ease in the face of his welcoming manner.

  “You look much better.” She could not disguise the relief from her voice as she rounded the bed. He looked the picture of health with his dressing robe parted at the front, revealing a vee of broad chest faintly sprinkled with hair. He might not be as muscled as his brother, but he was nonetheless a well-formed man. “There’s color in your cheeks again.”

  “All thanks to you,” he returned with that smile she had forgotten. Sweet and tender as though she and he alone knew a secret. He had that gift, the ability to make others comfortable. That’s what had drawn her to him in the beginning.

  But then she met Struan, and nothing was comfortable anymore.

  Indeed, Struan did not make her feel comfortable. He made her feel like she was on fire from the inside out.

  He made her feel necessary.

  When he looked at her she felt as though she was the center of his universe. When he touched her she felt like she was everything to him—the difference between life and death.

  Pushing thoughts of Struan away, she stopped at the foot of the bed. She and the duke stared at each other for an awkward moment, the duke seeing her, perhaps truly, for the first time and she seeing him with fresh eyes.

  This was the man she thought she loved, whom she had built so many fantasies around. It had been a girl’s whimsy. She didn’t know him. She never had.

  She knew Mackenzie. Struan. She knew how his mind worked. She knew how important family was to him for the very reason that he didn’t have any left. She knew how important this family—the dowager, Enid, Clara—had come to mean to him.

  He was kind and generous even if he didn’t want people to know that about him. He never forgot where he came from or all he had suffered and he was compassionate to others.

  And there was the way his mere gaze could light her afire.

  She knew how he tasted. How he felt . . . the sounds he made when—

  She gave herself a swift mental kick, killing such disturbing thoughts.

  “I owe you an apology,” she began.

  “You do?” He blinked. “For what? Saving my life?”

  She inclined her head, feeling all kinds of awkward. “For coming here under false pretenses. For permitting your family to believe we are . . . closer than we, in truth, are.” Good heavens. She couldn’t even bring herself to put the awfulness of her deed into words before him. She sucked in a breath. “I’m fully prepared to explain everything and apologize to your family. Hopefully, they won’t hate me too much.”

  He looked at her kindly. “I doubt anyone can hate you.”

  Struan’s face flashed before her. He would hate her when he discovered that she had been lying to him this entire time.

  The moment had come and passed for her to admit the truth. Lying in his arms, when there had been nothing between them, she had her chance and she let it slip between her fingers.

  “You’d be surprised.” Again, she thought of Struan and how he would view her when this was all over and done.

  He shook his head. “Impossible. It appears everyone has fallen in love with you while I lay like a slug in this bed.”

  Not everyone. She wasn’t the only one who had an opportunity to make a confession. Struan had said nothing of love any of the times they had been together, but there had been those moments together in the conservatory last night. He had claimed that he knew her, that he understood her. She could have shown him who she really was. She should have tried to explain then.

  “Your family is very kind and generous. It’s no more than that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. My sisters can be tricky creatures, and yet they adore you.”

  “Sisters often are tricky,” she agreed, thinking of her own. Bryony would never forgive her once everything came to light. She was planning on a future as a sister-in-law to a duke. She would not enjoy returning to their humble life.

  He continued, “Strickland is in your pocket, as well. He’s a hard man to win over, but he is a staunch admirer of yours.”

  A blush heated her face. “Lord Strickland is a gentleman.”

  “A gentleman enamored of you, and trust me. He’s a hard man to impress. In fact, you’ve won him over so much that he thinks that I should in truth wed you.”

  She laughed.

  Marcus stared back at her soberly, his expression not cracking with humor, and her laughter faded. “Oh. I thought you were jesting.”

  “He brings up a valid point. My entire family adores you, and I cannot remain a bachelor forever. I’ve heirs to produce, after all.”

  She stared at him a long moment, certain she had walked into some dream where dukes proposed to shopgirls who had lied to them—about them. “That is hardly reason enough to enter into matrimony,” she whispered.

  “People marry for far less.”

  She winced. “I was hoping for more.”

  “Ah, you’re a romantic. That’s fine and well. I don’t mind that. It means you have a tender heart.”

  He didn’t mind it? But she did. She wanted more.

  She wanted Struan.

  “Come now, Poppy, let’s make my family the happiest people in the world this Christmas.”

  She opened her mouth, knowing she should jump on such an offer. Any sane woman would. For Bryony, she should. Still, it was very confusing why he should want to marry her. “I don’t know if I can—”

  “Is it because of Mackenzie?” he asked, a sudden hardness entering his voice.

  She froze. What did he know of her relationship with Mackenzie?

  He continued, “Strickland told me, of course. The man has been showering you with his questionable attentions, sniffing about you like the randy mutt he is. I questioned him myself, of course.”

  Her head snapped up at that. “You talked to Struan?”

  “Struan,” he echoed, his lip curling with distaste. “Yes, I spoke to him. You know better than to trust him, I hope.” His gaze turned flinty. “Any overtures he’s made have been done clearly to thwart m
e. They are not genuine. He is not a gentleman. I’m most alarmed that he had been under my roof all this time.”

  She laced her fingers together, uncertain how to respond.

  “I hope you have not fallen prey to him,” he added. “I know he can be persuasive. He is quite the rogue and has ruined many a chit since his arrival in Town.”

  She bristled, wanting to defend Struan. She did not like the image of Struan with other women even if he was free to pursue whomever he chose. “He’s only ever conducted himself honorably with me, which is more than I can say for myself.”

  The words did not feel like a lie. He’d only ever been honest with her. She was the one who had lied.

  The duke waved a hand, clearly pardoning her behavior.

  “I would hope that he had the decency to conduct himself honorably with you—he did not confirm or deny on that score when I pressed him.”

  No, he wouldn’t. She could well envision him holding himself silent on that matter.

  The duke continued, “I wouldn’t put it past him to pursue what is mine as I was bound helplessly to this bed.” His hands fisted at his sides, and suddenly she understood that this wasn’t about her for the duke. It was about this war he waged with his half brother.

  “I’m not yours,” she mumbled, casting her gaze down.

  “But you could be.”

  Her gaze snapped back to his handsome face. Something gleamed in his eyes. It was the hot need to claim, to possess. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I told you.” He shrugged. “My family loves you.”

  “But you don’t,” she returned.

  Again, the shrug. “I wasn’t expecting love in my marriage.”

  “There’s something else motivating you.” She scrutinized him, for once not feeling self-conscious. “It’s because of your brother.”

  He snorted. “He’s the last person I care about making happy.”

  “Precisely,” she returned. “That’s why you’ll marry me. You think it will hurt him and you want that.”

  “So you don’t deny, then, that he cares for you?” Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Very good. That will be one perk.” His stare refocused on her. “But what of the perks for you? I know your situation. I know of your sister. A young girl with no prospects. No money. No male to look out for her. The world can be a frightening place for such a girl. Especially in London.”

  Her throat thickened and her eyes burned. He was right. She should not dismiss his offer. In fairness, she could not.

  Still, she hesitated. She couldn’t help thinking about Struan . . . about what this would do to him. She didn’t imagine he loved her. He wanted her, she knew, but love had never been uttered between them.

  “He’s gone,” the duke declared.

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Mackenzie.” He pursed his lips as though he had difficulty saying the word. “He’s gone. He left early this morning.”

  Struan was gone?

  “I see.” And she did see. It was crystalline clear for her. Struan wanted her. He had her. Now he was gone.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” She squared her shoulders to face him. “I’d be honored to wed you.” No more would she let herself worry about what this would do to Struan. She had to look out for Bryony. For herself.

  Later, she would worry about what this would do to her.

  Chapter 26

  That evening the duke himself joined them for dinner. His color was high as well as his spirits. The dining room was beautiful, decked out in holly and garland and ribbons. Candlelight glistened throughout the vaulted-ceiling room. All the ladies were resplendent in bright silks, Poppy included. The dowager insisted she wear one of Enid’s gowns, a confection of gold silk trimmed in jet beads.

  Autenberry was most attentive, occasionally brushing his hand against hers resting on the table’s surface, listening when she spoke. As though what she had to say mattered. As though he truly cared for her.

  His stepmother beamed. Lord Strickland looked on like a proud papa who had brought them together—and, in a way, she supposed he had. Everyone was overcome with joy and good cheer. The duke was alive. Engaged to marry Poppy. It was a happy yuletide. All was right.

  She had landed a duke. Her sister would never go without again. It was almost enough. Almost.

  Blast. It was enough. She pushed the petulant thought from her head. This was all she had ever wanted and more. Belonging. Her charming duke. An instant family. Everything she had dreamed to the letter.

  Only now she realized that getting what you want wasn’t all she thought it would be. Sometimes other things exist. Better things. One couldn’t dream it because they didn’t know it.

  “As soon as Christmas ends, it’s back to Town,” the dowager was saying. “We’ll have to meet with Madame Stefana about your wedding gown.” She bounced in her seat, her breasts jiggling dangerously in the daring cut of her bodice. “And, oh, the church! St. Paul’s must be booked at once. Do you think we have enough time to plan a spring wedding? Perhaps it should be in the fall?” She blinked her lush dark eyes and stared back and forth between Poppy and Autenberry expectantly.

  Her head spun. She brought her fingers up to massage her temples. A dull headache had started to throb there. To be fair, her head had been throbbing ever since she left the duke’s bedchamber this morning. Ever since it became clear she would be marrying him.

  Ever since it became clear that Struan was gone.

  Poppy’s gaze drifted and locked on her sister. For once, Bryony didn’t seem quite so focused on Clara. She stared at Poppy with a slightly cocked head as if mystified.

  She quickly looked away, glancing down at her plate, afraid her sister would see something in her expression that revealed just how unhappy she was.

  “Poppy?” the dowager pressed. “Did you not hear me? I was suggesting you honeymoon in the Mediterranean. You can visit with my family there. They will make certain you see everything you should see . . . and give you the desired space. They will understand the needs of newlyweds.”

  Lady Clara grimaced, clearly not relishing the idea of her brother’s needs. To be fair, Poppy had to fight her own grimace.

  She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She tried to form words, but nothing happened. She felt like she was drowning. Sinking through fathomless water and unable to breathe.

  “Poppy?” Bryony’s pretty face scrunched in concern. “Are you well?”

  “Of course she is,” the duke assured, skirting the food around on his plate with a fork, presumably looking for the perfect bite.

  Perplexed, she watched him. Was he indifferent or simply did not care about the state of her heart and mind?

  Her gaze lifted, colliding with Bryony’s again. Her sister looked at her in concern, her lips mouthing, “What is wrong?”

  What is wrong?

  Everything.

  Her gaze slid to where the duke sat at the head of the table, handsome as ever. She could not stomach the idea of being his wife, no matter how much she tried to deny it. No matter how much she tried to talk herself into doing this.

  “I can’t,” she uttered. No matter how much it could benefit her sister, she could not.

  “I beg your pardon?” the dowager asked, sipping from her glass.

  “I can’t . . .”

  “What did you say?” Lady Enid asked. “We can’t hear you.”

  “Poppy?” Bryony frowned at her from across the table.

  She couldn’t bear it anymore. She flung her napkin down on the table. There came a time when enough was enough. The madness had to stop. It was time for her to be honest. With herself and everyone else.

  She pushed up to her feet. “I’m sorry.” She looked at the duke. “I can’t marry you.”

  He reached for her hand, frowning and appearing suddenly alert. “What is wrong, Poppy? You agreed this morning—”

  “No.” She shook her head and slid her hand free.

  The dowag
er stood and rushed to her side. “What do you mean? Is it because of me? Am I overwhelming you with wedding plans? I can stop.”

  “She does tend to be overbearing,” Lady Enid interjected dryly, stabbing at a bit of potato on her plate and bringing it to her mouth to chew.

  The dowager nodded in dogged agreement. “I do.”

  “No. No, it’s not that. I’m sorry all of this has become so complicated. I’m not His Grace’s fiancée. I never was. He never proposed to me. Well, not until this morning, that is.”

  “What?” The dowager duchess swung to glare at her stepson as though he were somehow responsible for this matter. “Of course he proposed to you before today.”

  “No! He didn’t . . . he wouldn’t have. I made it all up. I’m a mere shopgirl. Your stepson and I have never been romantically involved. I work in Barclay’s flower shop. That is the only way he knows me. As the shopgirl that sells him flowers. I saved his life that day, but that’s all. That’s the only bit of truth that I’ve said to you, and I’m so very sorry for deceiving you.”

  Everyone gaped. Lady Enid glared, actually looking unfriendly. Lord Strickland shook his head, looking disappointed. Presumably with her.

  As for Bryony, Poppy couldn’t meet her gaze. She wasn’t prepared for the hatred she knew she would find there. She would be lucky if her sister even accompanied her home. She wouldn’t want to leave this place, but she wouldn’t have a choice. The Autenberry clan would hardly want to keep Bryony considering what Poppy had done.

  “I’m sorry. Truly. You’ve all been so kind to me. You treated me as one of your own and I’ll always be grateful to you for that.” She shook her head and sucked back a sob. She inched away from the table, pausing at the dining room threshold, her grand skirts swishing with a whisper on the air. “I’ll pack now.”

  She fled, glad to escape. She felt only relief in that moment. That confrontation wasn’t as hard as she feared. Staying, living a farce, that would have been immensely more difficult.

  “Poppy! Wait.”

  Stopping, she turned to face the duke striding toward her. She braced herself, squaring her shoulders. His handsome face was locked in a scowl.