You’re from one of the oldest, most prominent families in England and you need an appropriate wife, someone sophisticated, respected and connected.”

“I do?”

“Obviously. It’s what your father dictated, and it explains why you and Sophie had all those contracts and agreements.”

“Yes, but that was with Sophie, and exclusive to my engagement to her. There is nothing that stipulates who my replacement bride should be.”

“You started with a very small list, and it’s just grown shorter as we’re crossing number three off.”

“Are we?”

“Yes. Poppy Marr is not an option, which means we’ll need to focus on Seraphina and Florrie.”

“But Poppy Marr is an option. All three names on that list are options. I thought quite seriously about each possible candidate—”

“Please don’t use the word candidate. It’s dreadful. It’s as if you’re trying to hire a woman to fill a position.”

“Being the Countess of Langston is a job.”

“Then definitely take Poppy Marr off your list. She’s not interested in that position.”

“Why not? We work well together.”

“Because this new job requires skills that are outside my area of expertise.” Her cheeks flamed and her eyes glowed bright. “Nor have I any interest in acquiring the skills necessary to be the Countess of Langston.”

Heat surged through him, and he hardened as he pictured her fulfilling her marital duties. His trousers grew uncomfortably tight as he imagined introducing her to those duties. “I would teach you.”

“No.”

“I’d be patient.”

“We’re ending this discussion now. It’s not going to happen. It’s not even a remote possibility. I’m not interested in jumping from your office to your bedroom. I like the you in your office.”

“Randall,” he said dismissively.

“Yes, Randall. Polite, controlled, chivalrous. I don’t trust Dal at all.”

“That’s probably wise.”

“Excuse me. Who are you? I don’t even know you anymore!”

“I suspect it’s because you never did.”

“If that’s the case, does anyone know you?”

His wry smile faded. That was an excellent question, and he had to think about it for a minute before answering. “Probably not.”

More silence followed, and then Poppy broke it with a heavy sigh. “You have no idea how sad that makes me.”

“And you, my dear Poppy Marr, have just moved into melodrama.”

“Just because I feel things doesn’t mean I’m being melodramatic.”

“I have found that emotions unnecessarily complicate things.”

“Probably because you were taught that emotions were bad things.”

“No one has ever told me anything about emotions. My views are based on firsthand experience. Excessive emotion is toxic and damaging.”

“What about good emotions? What about love and joy and—”

“That’s Gila in the distance,” he said mildly, cutting off her impassioned stream of words. “You can see the skyline on the horizon.”

She shot him an indignant look, letting him know that she didn’t appreciate him interrupting her, before craning her head to see out the window.

He watched as the city loomed nearer, surprisingly eager to see how much he recognized of the Mehkar capital. He’d heard that elegant, historic Gila had become a new, modern, urban city, but the change hadn’t registered until now when he saw the dozens of new skyscrapers dotting the skyline.

As they approached the airport, they flew over lakes and glittering pools, and oases of green amidst the marble and glass. The captain turned just before they neared the historic neighborhoods, the ones Dal knew best as it was home to the royal palace, the place where his mother had grown up.

His mother loved to show off her hometown when they used to visit every year. They never went to Kasbah Jolie without first visiting their grandfather and family in Gila. One of their grandfather’s drivers would take them out in one of the classic cars he loved, and they’d travel the wide, pristine boulevards lined with stately palm trees, boulevards that led to museums and palaces as well as her favorite shopping district.

To a boy, Gila represented family and history and culture. It never crossed his mind that it was a playground to others—sensual, sexy, hedonistic.