While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(42)

Clara motioned to the space at the end of the table, directly beside Poppy. “Join us, Struan. Plenty of room.”

Poppy stiffened. There was not plenty of room. A child’s body could fit in that scant space, perhaps. Not a body the size of his. Still that did not stop him from sinking down on the bench beside her—his thigh pressing against hers.

“Yes!” the duchess added in her gushing tenor. “We are so looking forward to becoming better acquainted. It’s thrilling that our family had suddenly grown in size. In Spain, my family was quite large. I’ve missed that dearly.” She gestured dramatically to Poppy. “Once Marcus awakes and you are married, we shall work on expanding our number ever more, yes?” She smiled blindingly at Poppy.

Poppy managed a single nod, achingly aware of Mackenzie’s stare on the side of her face. The crawl of his gaze felt like a beam of heat on her skin. His thigh against her practically burned.

She scooted as close as possible to her sister, but his great, muscled thigh seemed to follow her, pressing alongside her skirts. Unfortunately, the wool of her dress wasn’t as thick as she would have liked. She felt the heat of that leg distinctly bleeding into her. She shivered.

“Chilled, Miss Fairchurch? You are trembling.”

“A bit, yes. It’s far colder here than in Town.” A plausible explanation.

Conversation flowed around them. For that she was grateful. She acted interested, contributing very little and taking great interest in her stew when it arrived, which was as warming as the proprietor promised. A fact that only made her feel more flushed and uncomfortable as she sat beside Mackenzie.

When everyone finished eating and rose to their feet to resume the journey, Lady Enid groaned. “I am not looking forward to returning to that cramped carriage for the remainder of the journey.”

Poppy blinked and resisted pointing out that she was the one squished on the seat with Bryony and Lady Clara.

“Crowded are you?” Mr. Mackenzie inquired.

“Extremely.” The dowager duchess sighed and then perked up. “I’ve an idea. Why don’t one of you ride the rest of the journey with Struan so that we have more room?”

Her mouth dried as the duchess scanned all of them. Clara and Bryony clung to each other as though the idea of being separated terrified them. The dowager duchess laughed at the picture they made. The proprietor appeared to help the dowager slip on her cloak. “Have no fear,” she assured. “I wouldn’t dream of separating you two, nor would I punish Struan by sticking him with you both.”

Don’t look at me. Don’t suggest me.

Her gaze stopped on Poppy. “Poppy,” she proclaimed.

Poppy winced. She had been afraid she was going to be called out. It was just her misfortune to be stuck with the one man she had vowed to avoid.

“Why don’t you join Mr. Mackenzie for the remainder of the ride?” Even though she posed it as a question it did not feel as such.

“Uh—”

“Excellent idea.” Lady Enid nodded. “We shall have more space now.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Bryony seconded as though her opinion held any weight.

“That would be fine,” Mackenzie’s deep voice intoned, his gaze falling unerringly on her, but there wasn’t a flicker of reaction on his face. “My carriage has plenty of space.”

Poppy avoided looking at him. She feigned great fascination with everyone save him.

“We shall follow directly and see you all there soon,” Struan rumbled in that gravelly burr of his.

Poppy knotted her hands together in front of her in an attempt to quell their shaking. This couldn’t be happening.

The dowager duchess nodded. “Very good. Tell your driver to mind the bends in the road as we near the manor. If the weather worsens he needs to be especially careful.” As they stepped outside, she tugged on her fur gloves and squinted up at the snow falling gently from the overcast sky.

“I’ll do that,” Mr. Mackenzie agreed, his hand very properly coming to rest on the small of her back.

The ladies waved cheerfully at them as they made their way to the waiting carriage. “See you soon!” Bryony called.

Poppy watched helplessly as her sister trotted alongside the Dowager Duchess of Autenberry and her daughters. She swallowed thickly as Mackenzie’s hand at her back increased its pressure, turning in the direction of his carriage.

“This way.” His free hand gestured to the carriage sitting on the other side of the yard. This one was even more magnificent than the dowager’s carriage. Poppy knew that he was a gentleman of some means, but it had not occurred to her that he might be wealthier than Autenberry. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t the duke’s pocketbook that attracted her. The man’s character and inner qualities drew her.

None of which Struan Mackenzie possessed.

But Struan’s good looks were certainly equal to the duke’s. Some might even favor Mackenzie’s looks. If one preferred the rakish Viking effect. Not Poppy, of course. She inhaled through her nose. No. Not at all. Not in the least.

Her face and throat suddenly burned. She pressed the back of her gloved fingers against her flushed cheek as she strode through the cold.

To be certain, the Duke of Autenberry had never pressed her against a wall and wrapped her legs about him. He had never touched her throat. Never kissed her. Never bit her neck. Never said bold or shocking or rude things. No, that was reserved for Struan Mackenzie alone. She frowned. All reasons he should repel her. He should.