While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(9)

“Indeed.” She rocked back on her heels, still staring at Poppy, speculation bright in her eyes. “How fortunate. I shudder to think what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

Warmth crept over her face. She was unsure how to respond and still suffering acute embarrassment from the housekeeper overhearing her talking to herself.

The woman took hold of her arm and turned her toward the front door. “Come inside, my dear. I’m certain the duke will want to see you when he wakes.”

She frowned, hope skimming through her. “You really think so?”

“Of course he will.” Her silvery head nodded with certainty. “I’m Mrs. Wakefield, by the by.”

Poppy wasn’t so certain that the duke would want to see her, but she couldn’t resist letting herself be guided inside the house. She wanted to know when he woke. She wanted to be there. She wanted to make certain that he was going to be well—that next week he would stroll into Barclay’s Flowers and place his usual order.

Arm in arm, Mrs. Wakefield led her into the grand foyer.





Chapter 4




“Let him hear you talking. Maybe he’ll come to.” The housekeeper positioned a chair by the duke’s bed for Poppy.

They weren’t the only two individuals in the chamber. On the far side of the enormous room Mr. Mackenzie sat on a brocade chaise. Sprawled, really. His long booted legs stretched out before him like some pasha overseeing his domain. His eyes glowed from the shadows, following her like a predator’s stare.

She knew his name now. He was no longer that rough Scotsman. He was Mr. Mackenzie. Mackenzie.

She didn’t like finding him sitting there, watching Autenberry, watching her as she walked across the vast chamber. Brothers or not, she still did not trust Mackenzie.

She rubbed her palms against the skirts of her pinafore, feeling very uncertain in such grand surroundings. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Poppy sank down beside the bed, rationalizing that it was the least she could do until the physician arrived. Be there for Autenberry. Talk to him. Encourage him.

Mrs. Wakefield nodded in satisfaction, staring at Poppy so intently, as though she had something on her face . . . some bit of food stuck between her teeth. Poppy resisted the urge to bring her hand to her face as a shield.

“Can I offer you any refreshments while you’re waiting?” she asked.

“No, thank you. I am fine,” Poppy replied with a forced smile, bemused at the woman’s kindness.

Mackenzie glowered from where he loomed on the far side of the room, arms crossed his chest.

The housekeeper hesitated before taking her leave. “I must say, I’m glad His Grace has you.”

She floundered. “Er . . .”

“I’ve long wished His Grace would find someone special and put an end to his bachelor ways.” She patted Poppy’s shoulder approvingly.

Blast! Evidently the housekeeper had heard her ramblings, after all, and taken them to heart.

“Now have a seat beside your betrothed right here.” Mrs. Wakefield patted her shoulder briskly.

Poppy’s stomach dipped. Betrothed? Oh, sweet heaven.

She searched for the right words to correct her confusion, but Mrs. Wakefield kept on talking. She motioned to the unconscious duke. “Go on now, my dear. Let him hear you. It will do him so good.” She whirled around to address Mackenzie. “If you will both excuse me. I shall wait for Dr. Mercer and escort him in the moment he arrives.”

Poppy’s mouth worked, seeking the right words as the housekeeper bustled from the room, moving surprisingly fast for a woman of her size. The door shut behind her with a soft click that resounded in the cavernous space.

Poppy swung around swiftly, not daring to meet Mackenzie’s scouring gaze. She scooted the chair closer to the edge of the bed, peering at her unconscious duke and pretending that her lie didn’t throb on the air like a giant, man-eating gnat. While she was also pretending, she tried to imagine there wasn’t a third person in the room. A chore, to be certain, as she could feel his glacier stare drilling into the back of her.

Poppy patted the duke’s well-shaped hand resting on the bed. She went ahead and folded it, so still and cold beneath her fingers, in her own hand and chafed it, trying to warm the chilled skin. “There now. Everything will be—”

“Fine?” That Scottish brogue spoke up from behind her. He’d risen to his feet and moved closer. “Is that what you intended to say?”

She tensed. “Why are you still here?” she snapped. Without waiting for an answer, she focused on the duke’s handsome face. “Everything will be fine,” she crooned, refusing to look over her shoulder and give that other man the satisfaction of her attention.

“You think so?” he asked.

She sighed. “There’s no sense in being grim. That’s not helpful.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You’re being harsh,” she countered with a sniff. She recalled his hard, unsmiling face vividly in her mind as well as the savagery of his fight with his brother. Yes, this man was as unrelenting as stone and she would do well to stay clear of him. Whenever she must be in close proximity with him, she would stay on guard.

“He may never wake up, you know.”

She sent him a withering look over her shoulder. She couldn’t help it. At that remark, she had to look back at him. “And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”