He tossed the empty glass aside, ignoring the sound of it shattering in the corner. Then he stepped out into the hall, stopping another one of the caterers who was coming in from the kitchen with a tray of appetizers.
“Pardon me,” Hasan said in lightly accented Welkish, “but did you see where Miss Sutherland has gone? Her fiancé is looking for her.”
The other caterer shook his head. Hasan scowled. He rounded the corridor, opening the doors to parlors and sitting rooms one by one, but they were empty. When he looped back to the ballroom, Poppy still hadn’t returned. He’d have to check the west wing. It had been closed off to guests and the hired help, but he tried to look purposeful as he strode toward it.
He heard her before he saw her: the swishing of skirts, the slap of slippers against the marble floor, the dry sobs of someone in the throes of panic. Hasan turned and bolted halfway up the staircase, crouching behind the banister.
Poppy Sutherland swept into the foyer, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright?—but she was not the joyful, bashful future bride of the Montrose heir anymore. He had stalked enough men to know the wild, hunted look in her eyes. For a moment, Poppy tilted her head toward the ballroom, evidently considering.
No!If she went back into the ballroom, hedefinitelywouldn’t be able to knock her out there. The appetizers were nearly over. If this event got to dinner and he still didn’t have her, he wouldn’t get another chance. It had to be now. Noiselessly, he rose from his crouch, lifting the gold platter in his hands in preparation.
But before he could reach her, she sprinted past him, not even registering his presence, and burst out of the front doors. He hastened after her, keeping enough space between them so she wouldn’t notice him tracking her.
His brows furrowed in confusion as Poppy took off her earrings and gave one to each valet. Then she turned and started to walk away, moving quickly, as though she were walking a fine line between speed and drawing attention to herself.
This was his chance. He nodded at the valets, then pursued Poppy down the driveway. To his amazement, she was headed in the exact direction where Zeyar was parked. Hasan closed in, invisible as a shadow in the night. When they were out of the valets’ eyesight, he lifted the tray.
Then, because the gods clearly hadn’t derived enough entertainment at his expense, Poppy stopped, so abruptly that Hasan nearly crashed into her.
“I can’t do this,” she gasped, her back to him. “What am I thinking?”
Before he could hide, she turned around. Her round nose wrinkled as she blinked up at him. “What?—”
He swung the platter. It caught her on the side of the head with a resounding clang. He tossed the weapon into the grass and caught her easily as her knees buckled.
Though his instincts were screaming at him to get running, he needed to see her injury. He brushed away some of the hair that had fallen into her heart-shaped face from the force of his blow. Her right temple was swelling rapidly, the shadow of what promised to be a nasty bruise blooming under her skin. He winced?—he was supposed toavoidleaving a mark, lest Montrose demand they give her back unharmed. He looked away from the bruise, taking in the rest of his captive’s face.
When he’d seen Poppy in the ballroom earlier, she’d carried herself with the haughty dignity of an experienced lady. Now, unconscious and vulnerable, Poppy looked like the young woman shereallywas?—small and naive. Despite the lump swelling on her head, he had to admit that Poppy was undeniably beautiful?—but not in the way the Welkish prized. Her skin was darker than theirs, her nose too big, her lips too full. He wondered if Poppy considered herself pretty, or if she felt disappointed every time she looked in the mirror and found she was not yet white.
The trees above rustled as a large owl swooped into its branches. Hasan started, suddenly remembering where he was. He slid his arm under Poppy’s legs and tightened his grip around her back, lifting her off the ground. He ran down to the tree line, where Zeyar had parked.
He shifted Poppy over his shoulder like a sack of rice, then used his free hand to open the door to the back seat?—or, at least, he tried to. He went around the car, where Zeyar was smoking out the driver’s side window. “Unlock the door, idiot,” he snarled.
Zeyar started, nearly dropping the cigarette. “Damn, you move quietly,” he said, grudging admiration in his tone. “You got her?”
“No”?—Hasan rolled his eyes?—“I got the queen of Welkland instead. Of course, I got her! Open the fucking door.”
Zeyar unlocked the doors with a metallic click, then got out of the car to open the door for Hasan so he could lay Poppy inside. It was harder than it looked?—her dress was puffier than anything they had anticipated, and Hasan half feared that it would suffocate her before they reached their destination. Finally, they were able to get her into an upright position. By the time Hasan slid into the passenger seat, sweat dotted his forehead.
They didn’t speak until they had crossed Morning Bridge.
“We did it!” Zeyar whooped. “We pulled it off, Hasan.”
“We did it,” Hasan echoed, amazed. For the first time in years, they had done somethingtogether.
Paranjay would have been proud.
Chapter Twelve
In the Den of the Jackal
Poppy’s head pounded viciously. It started as a soft ache, but as she came to, it swelled into a pulsing pain concentrated in her right temple. She squeezed her eyelids together, trying to make it go away, but that only caused another sharp flare of pain.
Founder above.How much had she had to drink? She tried to recall the previous night, praying she hadn’t made a fool of herself. How had it ended? She couldn’t even remember what she’d eaten for dinner.
Slowly, her memories returned in fractured slivers. First, the beginning: the fizz of champagne, the flash of the cameras, the floorboards thrumming with music and dancing. Another shard: Richard, going to the restroom. She winced, recalling the ugly comments those women had made while she was alone, more hurtful than her hangover. She’d gone to the library for comfort, where she’d stumbled on?—
Her eyes flew open.
