A Spinster’s Guide to Danger and Dukes (Ladies Most Scandalous Book 3)

Mary was just putting the finishing touches on Poppy’s hair when a brisk knock sounded on the door. Frowning, Poppy rose from the dressing table and was surprised when the maid opened the door to reveal Langham looking almost criminally handsome in evening wear.

His blond hair glinted gold in the candlelight, and when he saw her, his blue eyes darkened for just the fraction of a second—so quickly she almost thought she’d imagined it.

Stepping into the room, he surveyed her from head to toe. Her gown tonight was another of his sisters’, a pink creation that should have looked insipid, but the way it hugged her bosom and revealed her shoulders saved it from any hint of girlishness. She felt a flush building within her from her center to her cheeks, and the look in Langham’s gaze reminded her of their kiss in the tower earlier that day.

When Langham took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, Poppy felt her breath quicken. And from the way his eyes met hers, he was well aware of the effect he was having on her.

“I know it’s a cliché to say you look beautiful,” he said, his voice stroking down her spine like a caress, “but words fail me at the moment, darling.”

The endearment pricked the bubble of her enthrallment as no amount of self-lecturing would have done. It was a reminder that he was practiced in the ways of seduction and that whatever this was between them, it was very likely little more than a moment’s diversion to him. And she could not afford to let herself fall under his spell. She might have enjoyed that kiss, but whatever this was between them, it wasn’t real.

“Thank you, truly,” she said, pulling her hand back. “But you must know how improper it is for you to be here.”

A glance told her that Mary, whose loyalty was to the master of the house, of course, had discreetly disappeared into the dressing room. So much for chaperonage.

“Since when have you been concerned with the proprieties, Poppy?” he asked with a crooked smile that was more winning than she was comfortable with. “Not that I plan on taking advantage of the situation, no matter how tempting it may be to stand alone with you in this bedchamber with you looking like Venus incarnate.”

She shook her head at his words. “It is one thing to be alone with you when I am trying to help my sister. It is quite another to be closed up with you in a bedchamber.”

“Surely it is unexceptionable for a fiancé to visit his betrothed in order to give her a gift,” he said, not looking repentant in the least.

And for the first time she noticed the velvet box he held in his hand. “Why are you giving me a gift?” she demanded, unable to keep the butterflies in her stomach at bay despite her harsh tone. Her physical reaction to this man was going to get her into trouble. She knew it, but somehow she was powerless to control it.

Langham gave a long-suffering sort of sigh. “Because, my suspicious little Poppy, as I have reminded you before, I am the Duke of Langham, and there are standards to be maintained.”

Opening the box, he held it out to show her the ring inside.

Given that he was a duke, Poppy had been expecting something showy, even a little vulgar, if she were honest with herself. But the sapphire nestled between two smaller diamonds, in an understated gold setting, was nothing like that. It was, she thought with a pang of wistfulness, just what she’d have chosen for herself if given the chance.

He must have misread her silence as she stared at the ring, because he said in an almost sheepish tone, “I thought it would suit you, but there are dozens more in the family collection if you’d like to choose your own. I will take you to pick something out tomorrow.”

Then, as if reminding them both, he added, “It’s only temporary. And we must make a good showing for the family, if nothing else. I can’t have my sisters or the dowager suspecting this betrothal is false before the house party ends. It would defeat the whole purpose of our ruse.”

She gave herself a mental shake and said, “Of course. It was clever on your part to consider it. Thank you.” Taking the box from him, she removed the ring from its cushion and slipped it over the third finger of her left hand. It fit perfectly.

They both looked down at her hand for the space of a breath—as if sensing something momentous about the occasion but neither one wanting to remark on it.

Finally, Langham took the box from her and slipped it back in his pocket. But when he withdrew his hand, he extracted a folded slip of paper, which he offered to her.

Frowning, Poppy took it from him. “What’s this?”

“The list we found in Lovell’s chambers,” Langham explained, locking his hands behind his back. “Perhaps you’ll find some time later this evening to unravel it.”

“I thought we were going to decipher it together,” she said, confused, since he’d seemed so keen to work out the garbled words earlier in the day. “What’s changed your mind?”

He gave her a half smile that revealed his dimple. “I realized that of the pair of us, you are by far the cleverer. If you run into problems, I will attempt to help, of course, but otherwise I leave it in your capable hands.”

Though he’d only moments ago given her a family heirloom, albeit temporarily, Poppy felt somehow that the page in her hand was of greater value.

“Thank you.” She stepped away to slip the list in her reticule, which was lying on a bureau near the door.

When she turned back to the duke, he was looking at her with a puzzled expression. “For what? Acknowledging that you are a person of intelligence?”

“You say that as if any man would do so,” she said dryly, “but I can assure you that is not the case.”

“My dear Miss Delamere,” Langham said. “I should hope that I am not just any man. Because I have known from the moment we met that you are not just any woman.”

And never taking his eyes from hers, he lifted her hand to his lips. Poppy felt the gaze as surely as if he’d run a finger down her spine.

Heavens.

“Now,” he said, tucking her hand into his arm. “Let’s go down to dinner.”

*  *  *

Dinner was a lively affair, and when the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, Poppy was swept along to the drawing room by Charlotte on one side and Genia on the other.

“I see my brother has finally done his duty and given you the Chatham sapphire,” said Charlotte with an approving nod toward Poppy’s hand. “I thought I would have to do the thing myself.”

“Well, really, Char,” chided Genia, as the three entered the chamber where the dowager had already taken a seat near the fire with her two dearest friends flanking her. “It’s only been a little over a day since they arrived. You must give Josh time to get his bearings. He’s never been in love before, after all.”

“Oh, no, I think you must—” Poppy said, trying to pull away from the sisters, but they clung to her like limpets. “That is to say, we have never—”

“No need to dissemble with us, Poppy,” said Charlotte, patting her on the arm as they pulled her toward the settee. “We have worked it all out for ourselves.”

“I can understand why you wouldn’t wish for word to get about,” Genia added from her other side. “The way the gossip papers breathlessly recount his every affair is indeed daunting. But, in truth, he’s no more rakish than any other peer. And less than many, I’d wager.”

Since she, herself, had been an avid consumer of those gossip columns detailing Langham’s romantic exploits, Poppy winced in shame. She was just as guilty as anyone in the ton of reducing him to an object for amusement.

“Just be sure to ignore whatever attempts they make to drive a wedge between you,” Charlotte said firmly. “They simply wish to sell papers. And, unfortunately, the demise of a love match is the sort of story that interests far too many who buy Fleet Street’s rags.”

“That’s enough of that, Charlotte,” said Genia, putting an arm around Poppy’s shoulders. “You’ll have the poor girl terrified of seeing Langham’s name in print.”

“Oh, I think our Poppy is made of sterner stuff than that,” said Charlotte with a twinkle in her eyes. “She’d need to be to get mixed up with this family.”

Poppy might have offered her own opinion on the matter, but it was clear that the sisters didn’t need her input, so she opted to simply be amused by their rapid-fire conversation.

“We aren’t as bad as all that,” Genia protested. “Though I must admit that I am terribly glad to have her among our number. Or soon to be among our number, that is.”

“As am I,” Charlotte agreed.

Then, turning to Poppy, she said, “You cannot imagine how many times we have speculated over what sort of wife Langham would choose. Having the head of the family marry someone who doesn’t fit in can truly dampen the spirits of everyone. But I am convinced you will fit right in. Even Grandmama seems to like you, which, I don’t mind telling you, is unthinkable.”

Now that she’d been included in the conversation, Poppy found herself wishing she had not. The kind words of Langham’s sisters—especially in the face of her dishonesty—was too much to endure.

She had to get out of the drawing room before she burst into tears—or worse, since it would mean breaking her word to Langham, who had stood by her without fail, confessing all.

Standing abruptly, she said to Charlotte and Genia, “I’m feeling a little overwarm. I’m going to step out onto the terrace for a moment.” Before the sisters could argue, Poppy brushed past them and through the throng of ladies who were crowding toward the tea table.

Someone—the servants, no doubt—had opened the French doors and lit torches that illuminated the gardens beyond. Lifting her skirts, Poppy hurried down the steps of the terrace toward the winding path that led to the lake.

It had been too long since she’d been outdoors in the country at night. Her time in London had involved its share of late nights working at the newspaper, but because of the pervasive smoke and fog from coal fires, it had been impossible to tell night from day at times. Certainly there had never been a chance to see the stars as she could now.

She breathed in the fresh, crisp air, lightly scented with the fragrance of the roses climbing the wall at the far edge of the garden. The darkness beyond gradually became less opaque as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and she was soon able to make out the shapes of trees, and even caught the glint of the moon on the lake when it emerged from behind a cloud.

It is so beautiful here, she thought, clutching her arms about herself. She looked up at the stars and wondered if Violet was out here somewhere, looking at those same stars.

“Here you are.” The relieved voice came from behind her, and Poppy nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Langham said, softly. “I did call out, but you seemed miles away.”

She turned to look at him and saw that he was standing with his hands behind his back. She almost wished he would put his arms around her. She could use a bit of human warmth at the moment. And he was the only other person in the world who would understand the reasons why she was feeling so downcast.

“Just thinking,” she said, and despite her misgivings, she reached out for his hand. It was a risk, maybe, but she was tired of hiding so much of her true self. For this one moment, she needed to feel something real.

He looked at her extended hand for a moment, and she feared he’d reject her. But then, without speaking or even glancing up at her, he took it.

Unwilling to imbue the moment with any more significance than it deserved, Poppy simply enjoyed the strength and warmth of his grip, and they both looked out toward the lake and, on the other side, the temple folly, which was visible now that the moon had fully escaped the curtain of the clouds.

“About what are you thinking?” he asked after a bit of companionable silence. “If I may be so rude as to ask, that is. I know you’ll tell me to go to the devil if you don’t wish to tell me.”

“When have I ever told you to go to the devil?” she asked with a suppressed laugh.

“Poppy,” he said chidingly. “You may not have said it in so many words, but from the moment we met you’ve been telling me. I’m amazed I haven’t simply vanished in a cloud of brimstone smoke from one of your withering looks at this point.”

“Perhaps I haven’t always been as deferential as your title deserves,” she admitted in a dry voice. “But neither of us has been all sweetness and light.”

“No, we haven’t,” he agreed with a laugh. “But I think it’s been a long time since we’ve been at loggerheads in the same way we were when we first met. I’d even venture to say we’re friends of a sort now.”

He turned to her and looked down at their joined hands. The sapphire and diamonds on her ring finger glinted in the moonlight.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, pulling her into his arms and staring into her eyes—his own blue ones nearly black in the dim light.

Though she’d only just been wishing he’d take her in his arms, the reality of it—in the full moonlight, with the scent of roses surrounding them—was headier than she’d imagined it would be.

“Do friends do this?” she asked lightly, lifting her hand to his shoulder. From this angle, she could see a patch of whiskers his valet must have missed when shaving him before dinner, and the sight endeared him to her as no polished façade could have done. He was, despite his elevated title and great wealth, simply a man. The warmth of his body so near hers told her as much.

“Our kind of friends do,” he said in a low voice that made her heart quicken. “We even do other things when we choose to.”

“Like what?” she whispered, hearing the tremble in her voice, but not caring.

“We kiss when we want to,” he said softly. “So, the real question, Poppy, is do we want to?”

“I do,” she said, going up on her toes.

She had nearly touched her lips to his when he must have seen something behind her because he lifted his chin and stared off into the distance.

“What is it?” she asked, turning in his arms to follow his gaze.

There, on the other side of the lake, she saw a gleam of light bobbing in the darkness near the temple folly. Almost as if someone was carrying a torch.

Her breath caught. What if it was Violet? She’d need some kind of shelter if she were still in the area, and the folly would offer that.

Before she could think better of it, Poppy hiked up her skirts and rushed down the path toward the lake.