While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(41)

And truthfully, she wanted to go.

She was worried about the duke. She cared. She wanted to be at his side. A voice whispered through her: Wouldn’t it also be nice to spend Christmas with these kind ladies away from Town? It wouldn’t be just Poppy and Bryony anymore. They would be part of a family. At least for a little while. She couldn’t deny it would be a treat for both of them. For a short time, she could forget all about her responsibilities.

She could forget about Struan Mackenzie and her unconscionable behavior with him.

Her face heated and it wasn’t from the overly warm room. No, it was with the memory of Mackenzie and the liberties she’d permitted him. The delightful sensation of his mouth and hands on her. The memory of her wanton response to him.

She sucked in a sharp breath. It wouldn’t hurt to remove herself from Town for a bit and any chance encounters with him. Indeed not. Perhaps that would be the wisest, safest course of action.

She shot a quick glance at her sister, whose eager gaze fixed on her, pleading and conveying her most fervent wishes.

Poppy sucked in a breath. “Yes, thank you for your most kind invitation,” she heard herself saying. “We would love to join you for the holidays.”





Chapter 15




The coach was crowded with the five females and it quickly became apparent that five was too many. Clara and Bryony were incessant chatterboxes. Seated to the left of Poppy, their animated discussions spilled over into their actions. It wasn’t long before Poppy was pressed up against the carriage wall, jostled from the movements of their bodies.

When they stopped to lunch at a village en route to Autenberry Manor, Poppy practically tripped down the steps in her eagerness to be free of the coach. The duchess was right. Bryony and Clara had become fast friends.

“I need a cool compress.” Lady Enid pressed fingertips to her temples. Clearly Poppy was not the only one overcome from the girls’ constant babbling. She grimaced. Enid should try sitting beside them. She’d need more than a cool compress.

“Don’t sound like such an old lady,” the dowager admonished. “You’re still young. You should be giggling with the girls.”

“I’m not that young,” Enid said as they were escorted into a private dining room where they took their seats and ordered drinks and food.

“I don’t think Enid has ever giggled,” Clara snickered.

Outside the wind howled, and Poppy watched small flakes of snow churning in the air through the large mullioned window. Winter had arrived in earnest. They would have snow by Christmas.

“Wait until you taste Cook’s mint jelly and roasted lamb,” Clara was telling Bryony. “It’s divine. She prepares it every Christmas eve.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Bryony exclaimed. She met Poppy’s gaze. Flags of color marked her cheeks, partly from the cold, partly from her excitement. She was happy and the sight made Poppy’s chest swell a little. It had been a long time since Bryony looked truly happy. “Does it not sound wonderful, Poppy?”

“Indeed it does.” She opened her mouth to comment further, but her gaze was snared by the gentleman who suddenly entered the room. The innkeeper escorted him to a smaller table near the crackling fireplace.

Everything inside her seized hard. She couldn’t breathe. No. No. No.

Struan Mackenzie in the flesh. Every hard inch of him. His moss green eyes prowled the room and landed on her.

What was he doing here?

“Struan!” the dowager exclaimed, although there was no actual surprise in her voice. At least not to the degree that Poppy felt at seeing the duke’s half brother stroll into the room. She motioned him over with an elegant wave of her hand. “How nice that we’ve bumped into each other. I’m so glad you accepted our invitation to join us for Christmas.”

She had invited the blasted Scotsman, too? Her stomach plummeted. He would be spending the holiday with them at Autenberry Manor?

Suddenly the delight she had been feeling at leaving Town behind and spending the holidays in the country vanished. Mackenzie would be there for every moment of it. Watching her with those pirate’s eyes. Scowling at her. His big body swallowing up all the air in every room and drawing her attention in a manner entirely inappropriate—especially considering she was to marry another man.

How would she bear it? Surely the others would notice. Her sister, the duchess, Lady Enid . . .

Dear heavens. Her lungs felt suddenly too tight. Air impossible to inhale. Just being in the room with him was disconcerting her.

Her gaze strayed to the large mullioned window as though contemplating escaping through it.

Struan Mackenzie approached, his boots scraping the floor as he stopped and bowed slightly at the waist, nodding to each of them. She forced her gaze back up to him.

“Ladies.” Did she imagine that his gaze lingered on her? “Good to see you all again.”

Bryony leaned into her where they shared a bench seat, her bright eyes traveling over Mackenzie, missing nothing. “It’s him,” she whispered indiscreetly.

Poppy rolled her eyes and did not bother answering her.

The dowager motioned to the table. “It’s growing frigid out there. They recommend the stew. It sounded quite reviving. I imagine it will warm you right up.”

“He’s Scottish,” Enid chimed in. “I am certain he is accustomed to far colder climes than this.”