While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(69)

Her throat thickened and her eyes burned. He was right. She should not dismiss his offer. In fairness, she could not.

Still, she hesitated. She couldn’t help thinking about Struan . . . about what this would do to him. She didn’t imagine he loved her. He wanted her, she knew, but love had never been uttered between them.

“He’s gone,” the duke declared.

She blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

“Mackenzie.” He pursed his lips as though he had difficulty saying the word. “He’s gone. He left early this morning.”

Struan was gone?

“I see.” And she did see. It was crystalline clear for her. Struan wanted her. He had her. Now he was gone.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She squared her shoulders to face him. “I’d be honored to wed you.” No more would she let herself worry about what this would do to Struan. She had to look out for Bryony. For herself.

Later, she would worry about what this would do to her.





Chapter 26




That evening the duke himself joined them for dinner. His color was high as well as his spirits. The dining room was beautiful, decked out in holly and garland and ribbons. Candlelight glistened throughout the vaulted-ceiling room. All the ladies were resplendent in bright silks, Poppy included. The dowager insisted she wear one of Enid’s gowns, a confection of gold silk trimmed in jet beads.

Autenberry was most attentive, occasionally brushing his hand against hers resting on the table’s surface, listening when she spoke. As though what she had to say mattered. As though he truly cared for her.

His stepmother beamed. Lord Strickland looked on like a proud papa who had brought them together—and, in a way, she supposed he had. Everyone was overcome with joy and good cheer. The duke was alive. Engaged to marry Poppy. It was a happy yuletide. All was right.

She had landed a duke. Her sister would never go without again. It was almost enough. Almost.

Blast. It was enough. She pushed the petulant thought from her head. This was all she had ever wanted and more. Belonging. Her charming duke. An instant family. Everything she had dreamed to the letter.

Only now she realized that getting what you want wasn’t all she thought it would be. Sometimes other things exist. Better things. One couldn’t dream it because they didn’t know it.

“As soon as Christmas ends, it’s back to Town,” the dowager was saying. “We’ll have to meet with Madame Stefana about your wedding gown.” She bounced in her seat, her breasts jiggling dangerously in the daring cut of her bodice. “And, oh, the church! St. Paul’s must be booked at once. Do you think we have enough time to plan a spring wedding? Perhaps it should be in the fall?” She blinked her lush dark eyes and stared back and forth between Poppy and Autenberry expectantly.

Her head spun. She brought her fingers up to massage her temples. A dull headache had started to throb there. To be fair, her head had been throbbing ever since she left the duke’s bedchamber this morning. Ever since it became clear she would be marrying him.

Ever since it became clear that Struan was gone.

Poppy’s gaze drifted and locked on her sister. For once, Bryony didn’t seem quite so focused on Clara. She stared at Poppy with a slightly cocked head as if mystified.

She quickly looked away, glancing down at her plate, afraid her sister would see something in her expression that revealed just how unhappy she was.

“Poppy?” the dowager pressed. “Did you not hear me? I was suggesting you honeymoon in the Mediterranean. You can visit with my family there. They will make certain you see everything you should see . . . and give you the desired space. They will understand the needs of newlyweds.”

Lady Clara grimaced, clearly not relishing the idea of her brother’s needs. To be fair, Poppy had to fight her own grimace.

She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She tried to form words, but nothing happened. She felt like she was drowning. Sinking through fathomless water and unable to breathe.

“Poppy?” Bryony’s pretty face scrunched in concern. “Are you well?”

“Of course she is,” the duke assured, skirting the food around on his plate with a fork, presumably looking for the perfect bite.

Perplexed, she watched him. Was he indifferent or simply did not care about the state of her heart and mind?

Her gaze lifted, colliding with Bryony’s again. Her sister looked at her in concern, her lips mouthing, “What is wrong?”

What is wrong?

Everything.

Her gaze slid to where the duke sat at the head of the table, handsome as ever. She could not stomach the idea of being his wife, no matter how much she tried to deny it. No matter how much she tried to talk herself into doing this.

“I can’t,” she uttered. No matter how much it could benefit her sister, she could not.

“I beg your pardon?” the dowager asked, sipping from her glass.

“I can’t . . .”

“What did you say?” Lady Enid asked. “We can’t hear you.”

“Poppy?” Bryony frowned at her from across the table.

She couldn’t bear it anymore. She flung her napkin down on the table. There came a time when enough was enough. The madness had to stop. It was time for her to be honest. With herself and everyone else.

She pushed up to her feet. “I’m sorry.” She looked at the duke. “I can’t marry you.”