While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(64)

It went without saying that Struan would be leaving soon. His half brother would never tolerate his presence. He would have to say farewell to the family he had come to know and, admittedly, come to care for.

He’d have to say farewell to Poppy.

Whatever he had been doing with the girl would come to an end now. Hard to seduce a female when she was no longer in such easy proximity.

Seduction. It didn’t ring right. The word made what they were doing sound tawdry and dirty. Somewhere along the way their trysts had come to mean more than that to him. She had come to mean more.

With one last glance at the preoccupied family, he slipped from the drawing room. His steps thudded over the parquet floor as he moved across the foyer and down corridors. Somehow he knew where she would go. Ever since they arrived she took many a morning stroll in the conservatory’s orchard. He wound down the stairs to the bottom floor. The corridor that led to the conservatory stretched long and hollow as he walked its length.

When the double doors came into view he spotted the green leaves of the lemon trees pressing against the glass.

He opened the door and stepped inside its balmy warmth. He closed the door softly behind him, cocking his head slightly. He thought he heard a slight snuffle from somewhere deep within the enclosure. He stepped off the pebbled path, his boots sinking into the lush carpet of grass.

He walked through the gloom, through a warren of hedges and trees and shrubs, past flowers of incomprehensible colors. The only reason he could see at all was due to the paltry red light emitting from strategically placed coal-burning grates. It might be winter outside but in here plants and vegetation thrived.

He found her near an orange tree, her back to him. The moon gleamed down through the glass ceiling. It did not feel like winter. In this conservatory, it felt as though they were trapped in their own private bubble of spring.

He watched her in silence for a long moment, the squeeze he had felt in his chest ever since the maid burst into the drawing room coiling ever tighter.

“It must be difficult for you to wait here instead of rushing to see your duke right now.”

She stiffened, her shoulders pulling back. He studied the enticing fall of her hair. It was pinned up at the sides, leaving the rest to fall in artfully arranged waves down the center of her back. His palms itched to touch it and gather the mass up into his hands.

Without turning around, she demanded, “Do you mock me? Please do not. For the life of me, I cannot endure it. Not tonight.”

He flinched at her husky plea. He had bred such distrust in her. “No. I’m not.”

He moved closer, drawn to her as if an invisible thread pulled him in. His boot steps struck the ground silently.

He stopped behind her, leaving space between them. He studied the back of her hair, the loose arrangement of waves. He wanted to touch that hair a final time, lose his fingers in the soft strands.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I know.” Now more than ever he knew.

“Why are you?”

“Isn’t it clear? I’m here because you’re here.” Because he wanted to see her one more time before he left.

“So you’ll still continue this game with me, shall you?”

“And what game is that?”

“Hunting me.”

“No.” He almost smiled. Hunting her. Yes, he couldn’t deny that he had done that. Except it wasn’t a game for him. Perhaps it had started that way, but no longer. “I’m leaving.”

“You won’t stay to see Autenberry?”

Staring at the back of her, a groan of frustration welled up inside him. He swallowed it back. It was easier as long as he didn’t see her face. Her eyes. Her mouth. He could do this. Leave without touching her.

“You and I both know he won’t want to see me. Now that he’s awake, his hospitality toward me comes to an end.”

“A great many things come to an end tonight.”

“That is true.” He turned and started walking, putting some much needed distance between them.

“Struan!” The desperate cry warbled on the air.

Don’t turn around. Don’t look at her.

Stopping, he held himself motionless. He never should have gone after her.

“Struan,” she said again, this time her voice demanding, pleading.

He had to turn. Had to look. His hands opened and closed at his sides, groping for control. Just walk out and don’t look back. He’d be glad later. Glad he was free of her and this place.

Glad he hadn’t been a prize idiot and looked at her a final time.

Slowly, he turned and faced her. “Poppy . . .” He put a wealth of meaning into her name. It was a warning and a plea.

Her face was ravaged. Her big eyes glistened with tears. Wet tracts lined her cheeks proving she had already been crying. The sight broke something loose inside him.

Damnation. It wouldn’t be the first time he acted like a prize idiot.

It took three long strides for him to reach her.

After that, there was no going back.



She should have let him go. He had tried to leave. She didn’t know why he had followed her in the first place. Perhaps to say good-bye in his own way. It didn’t matter. He was here, standing before her, and he would know everything soon enough.

He’d know she was a liar. A fraud. He would hate her. Whatever he saw in her now . . . the way his eyes turned warm and molten. That would be over. Done. Gone forever.