Kieran Kramer - Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

She hoped that would be a good thing. She longed to put the embarrassment of her broken engagement behind her, as well as the humiliating scene in front of Sergei and Natasha.

But unfortunately, with only a quiet maid and somber manservant to keep her company, her thoughts went constantly back to her time in London, to all the wonderful moments she’d had with Nicholas. And she realized in an appalling moment of clarity—

She realized it would be no small task getting over the wicked Duke of Drummond.

Emphasis on wicked .

She’d known because of the way her body had reacted when they’d locked eyes at his thrilled comment and they’d had a flash of connection—despite everything that had gone wrong.

Much had, of course. He’d had an intimate history with the princess, one that Poppy had known nothing about. He’d fathered her baby.

But there was nothing Poppy could do but put the scoundrel behind her and move on, more a Spinster than ever before … because now she had a broken heart.

She was only miles from the village in Kent when a large carriage passed her own. It was painted with an impressive shield that immediately told her Sergei must be inside it.

Her own carriage rolled to a stop, and she braced herself.

What could Sergei want?

She sighed and wished him gone already.

He came striding up and opened her carriage door. “Lady Poppy,” he said, “please alight.” He held out his hand. “I’ve something of great importance to ask you.”

She shook her head. “Your Highness, I already told you—”

He chuckled. “It’s not what you think. I insist. Please step down.”

So with an importuning glance at her maid and manservant (hopefully, they would come to her aid if she needed them), she descended.

Sergei escorted her to a nearby tree stump. “Please,” he said. “Sit.”

Which she did with a great deal of trepidation.

He placed a lingering kiss on her hand. “You are as beautiful as ever. Perhaps more beautiful than you were last time I saw you.”

Goodness. He was certainly laying it on thick. And it had been less than one day since their awkward meeting at her house. She found it hard to believe she’d looked beautiful then. She imagined her eyes had been popping out of her head at all the wretched goings-on, and her face must have been beet red, as well.

He got down on one knee. “Lady Poppy, I come to bestow upon you the magnificent honor of being my bride. I see it is the only way I can have you.”

Good God.

She had to restrain a giggle. He was the most conceited man she’d ever met. Once again, she wondered how she’d ever thought he was the only man who could ever tempt her to drop her membership in the Spinsters Club.

This was the moment she’d hoped for, the one that she’d thought would make her life perfect.

He was a Russian prince. Some might tell her she should instantly say yes. But the old pat excuse went running through her head …

Thank you, but I must decline. I love the Duke of Drummond.

Only this time, her explanation wasn’t some made-up story based on Cook’s outlandish tales. This time, her reason was genuine. Even in her misery, she recognized the irony of her situation, that the lie that had conveniently extricated her from so many unwanted betrothals now inflicted pain on her in its truth.

Sergei sniffed, a long, drawn-out sniff. “I can promise we’ll see very little of my eccentric sister and her husband. They’ll stay in England. We’ll make our home in Russia. I will enjoy making many babies with you, but you will pretend to be a Spinster every Saturday evening, no? It will be our game.”

And then his perfectly sculpted mouth stretched in a lecherous grin.

She slid off the stump. “Your Highness, thank you, but no, thank you. I really must be on my way.”

He grabbed her arm. “But Lady Poppy. I am a Russian prince!”

“Yes.” She smiled at him. “But you are a pompous Russian prince. You hum in the most awful manner when you should be quiet. You asked me to be your mistress and parade about naked with a parasol, and then you invited me to a terrifying party where all your guests got drunk and I was treated like a prisoner by your footman. Now you have the temerity to come after me on the road, as if I’ll fall at your feet and be grateful for your attentions. Spare me. I don’t want them.”

He angled his head. “You don’t?”

She exhaled a breath. “I’m in love with someone else.”

“Who?” He wore a babyish pout.

“The man marrying your sister. The Duke of Drummond, my former fiancé.”

Sergei scoffed. “He is but a duke.”

“I know,” she said, patting his arm. “But as you are selfish and vain, this should make you feel better—I can’t have him. So I shall continue being a Spinster. Probably forever.”

The prince kissed her hand. “If I can’t have you, I like knowing you’ll be a Spinster forever.”

“Ohhhh!” she cried, and stalked off.

“But Poppy! I love you!” he called after her.

“Not as much as you love yourself!” she cried over her shoulder, and clambered back into her carriage.

“Please leave right away,” she told the driver, her heart beating hard with fury and satisfaction.

The driver did just that, although it took some expert maneuvering to get around the prince’s coach-and-four. It was another hour to the cottage, long enough to muse on how much she’d changed since she’d met Nicholas. She was braver. More adventurous. And she certainly didn’t suffer fools lightly.

And now she was lonelier than she’d ever been in her life.

Aunt Charlotte was surprised to see her, of course, and then terribly concerned when Poppy relayed the entire story about Nicholas and Natasha. She also told her about Sergei’s rather indecent proposal of marriage.

Her aunt listened, and at the tawdry tale’s conclusion, patted her hand. “You came to the right place. We’ll be secluded here. I’ll make you tea and cakes and—”

“No Bath buns, please.” Poppy was adamant on that point.

They’d remind her too much of Nicholas and that walk they’d taken trying to lure the gander back to his pond, as well as the impromptu “Bath bun” Nicholas had given her afterward.

Too many things reminded her of him.

Late that afternoon Aunt Charlotte quietly netted a bag while Poppy attempted to immerse herself in Clarissa . She was failing miserably, so when a knock sounded at their door, she was happy for the diversion.

A moment later, a manservant came to the sitting room. “Lord Eversly to see you, ladies. Shall I allow him in?”

“Certainly,” said Aunt Charlotte.

Poppy was a bit stunned.

Lord Eversly, carrying two large bouquets of flowers, strode into their small sitting room, exuding good cheer.

Poppy laid her book aside on a low table and stood. “Lord Eversly. This is a surprise.”

He smiled warmly, which was a balm to her sad heart. “I hope a good surprise.” He handed her a bouquet full of red roses.

“Thank you,” she said, entirely flummoxed.

“My pleasure,” he said, and handed the other bouquet, filled with daisies and other charming flowers, to Aunt Charlotte.

Aunt Charlotte beamed. “We’re thrilled to see you, Eversly. Welcome to the countryside of Kent.”

Thrilled .

Of course, Poppy had to think of Nicholas at that moment.

Lord Eversly bowed low over Aunt Charlotte’s hand. “Such a pleasure to see you, my good lady. Your brother sends his compliments.”

Poppy froze. Lord Eversly had gone to see her father?

There was an awkward silence.

“Tea?” she asked him.