While the Duke Was Sleeping (The Rogue Files #1)(11)

Mrs. Wakefield followed close on his heels. Brief introductions were made. Poppy winced at hearing herself introduced as his fiancée and opened her mouth, prepared to finally correct that misapprehension, but then Dr. Mercer swiftly turned his focus on the duke—as he rightly should. It did not feel right to distract him from his task, so she drifted away from the bed, permitting him to conduct an examination in relative peace. She did not want to break his concentration.

Mackenzie withdrew alongside of her. Mrs. Wakefield stayed close to the bed, ready to assist if needed.

“You were saying how you met Autenberry, Miss Fairchurch.”

“No. I wasn’t,” she replied crisply, still gazing at the bed and ignoring the way his stare felt like an itching rash crawling over the side of her face.

“Well, then do share. How did you meet?” There was that tinge of skepticism in his voice again.

She sighed. How she longed to tell him they met at some grand ball or Almack’s. That would certainly take the wind out of his sails and kill the smug way he looked at her and acted toward her. She’d love to be able to tell him she did, in fact, travel in the duke’s exalted circles.

In the end, she knew sticking as close to the truth was the wisest course. “At Barclay’s Flowers.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his square-cut jaw locked in contemplation. Clearly he was not expecting that. “A flower shop?” he queried as though needing verification.

“Yes.” She inhaled. “I’m employed there.”

“You work in service?”

“I’m a florist.” She straightened her spine, arms crossed snugly before her.

“Interesting.”

She spun to glare at him. “And what, pray, is so interesting about that?”

“I did not realize my half brother so forward thinking as to consider courting a female far below his social station.”

She blinked, wanting to demand an apology from him, but she could not fault him for his honesty, even if he was more blunt than she would have liked. “Perhaps he believes in following his heart over the mores of class and society.”

Mackenzie leaned against the wood-paneled wall, a hint of a smile hugging his lips. He really was handsome . . . if one liked the brooding, stern type. “You’re describing Autenberry, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then it appears I don’t know him in the least.”

She didn’t know him either, but she did not point that out. She was allegedly his betrothed. At any rate, she suspected Mackenzie was correct and he did not know the duke well. Autenberry’s housekeeper had never met Mackenzie before, after all. The duke himself had struck a blow to him in the street. It stood to reason the two men were not on kindly terms.

“No,” she replied, fairly confident that she could say almost anything about the Duke of Autenberry and he could not contradict her with any assurance. She was wagering everything on that fact. “You do not.”

“But you do,” he said unnecessarily, and the censorious gleam in his eyes yet again seemed to shout: fraud! liar!

The physician cleared his throat. The sound rattled in the spacious chamber. He stepped back from the bed, looking to each of them with a grim expression.

Poppy stepped forward, eager for his prognosis of the duke’s condition. Mackenzie pushed off the wall, his expression somber even for him.

“When will he wake?” Poppy asked, unable to hold the question at bay any longer.

“There is no way to know. He’s sustained a serious injury to the head.”

“Oh!” The housekeeper brought her hands to her mouth. “Will he die?”

“He’s in a false sleep . . . otherwise known as a coma.” His voice faded away and he glanced back at the unconscious duke with a dejected expression that did not bode well. “The longer he sleeps . . . well, it is not promising, I’m afraid.”

“But he still lives,” Mackenzie interjected. He waved at his brother. “He still breathes.”

The physician nodded. “The body can linger long after life is viable.”

“Are you saying he’s essentially gone?” Poppy demanded, her throat closing up in horror.

The physician grimaced, glancing at each of them before looking back down at the wan duke asleep in his bed. Only he wasn’t asleep. No amount of calling his name or shaking would rouse him.

She blinked suddenly stinging eyes in the thick atmosphere of the chamber. He couldn’t be gone. She refused to accept that.





Chapter 5




The silence was shattered when the doors flung open and a boisterous crowd spilled into the chamber. There were several of them—mostly female and as loud as a steam engine complete with a shrieking whistle. Poppy attempted to count them but they were moving so quickly they made her dizzy. Overwhelmed at their arrival, she actually took a step closer to Mackenzie.

A lovely woman led the way at the front of the group. She was unlike any woman Poppy had ever seen. Tall and regal with dark hair and eyes, her skin was a delectable golden hue that made Poppy think of warm beaches. Not that she’d ever visited a warm beach but Poppy had read about them in Robinson Crusoe. Dressed luxuriously in a crimson traveling dress, jewels dripped off her. If ever there was a woman created to wear jewels, this exotic creature was she.