The Princess and the Peer (10 page)

Nick lifted a brow. “Who? Bell?” At her nod, he continued. “Well, what with the navy pensioning off so many of its sailors now that the war is done, jobs are hard to come by, particularly for men who’ve suffered an injury. Being half blind means he can’t work the riggings any longer, even if he could find work on the sea. As for the rest, there aren’t many employers who want a man with one eye. But he’s a good,
hardworking lad and loyal as they come, so I found a place for him here.”

Made a place,
she realized, since Bell was clearly still learning how to be a proper footman. Nick said it so casually, as if any officer would have done the same for a former crewman. But she knew differently.

Nick had rescued Bell.

And yesterday he had rescued her as well.

Swallowing past the sudden knot in her throat, she was relieved when the footman returned, a loaded tray balanced in both hands.

Whistling quietly under his breath, he set down the tray, then came forward to fill her cup from a large green-and-white porcelain teapot. He left a matching sugar and creamer for her, then returned again with a succulent-looking dish of fresh fruit.

“Here ye go, miss,” he declared. “Cook outdid herself, if ye asks me. Oranges, pears, and pineapples. Couldn’t help meself. I had to try a bite in the kitchen—though not from
your
dish, o’ course. Got meself smacked for the trouble, but it were worth it. That pineapple is sweet as candy. Ye want a dish too, Cap’n? I mean, milord,” Bell corrected, as if this was another mistake for which he was reprimanded frequently.

“Thank you, no,” Nick said, his lips twitching slightly. “I am content with my coffee.”

“Well, then, be back in a tick with the rest o’ yer grub, miss.”

Emma held her breath until he departed; then, unable to contain her mirth any longer, she let out a laugh. Catching her gaze, Nick joined her. “Mr. Symms has his work cut out for him if you ever plan to hold an entertainment,” she said once she had recovered her voice.

Tiny lines fanned out along the corners of Nick’s eyes. “Luckily for me, I have no such plans.”

“Not even for your investiture?”

His smile fell away, replaced by a rueful grimace. “No, most especially not for that.”

She thought of the maid’s comment that he’d been forced to resign his naval career in order to assume his brother’s title. Did he miss commanding a ship? Gazing at him now, she rather suspected he did.

Taking up the cream pitcher, she added a splash of milk, then two small lumps of sugar. She nearly sighed in bliss as she took a first sip, finding the brew both sweet and aromatic. “Will your aunt be joining us for breakfast, or does she plan to meet us later for our excursion?” she asked as she set her cup back in its saucer.

He paused for a moment, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Neither. She sends her regrets concerning today’s outing. Her maid informs me that my aunt is entirely too exhausted from yesterday’s travels and for the sake of her health must remain abed.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “But I thought she lived here in London?”

“She does,” Nick said in a rueful tone. “Apparently the half-mile journey was simply too much for her nerves.”

“Oh.” She picked up her fork and stabbed a slice of orange. “I am sorry to hear she is unwell. Perhaps she will recover and change her mind by ten o’clock.”

“I greatly doubt it,” he said with blunt honesty. “Once Aunt Felicity takes to her bed, she generally lies in state with all the pomp of the queen. She may put in an appearance at dinner.” He drank more coffee. “Then again, she may not.”

Emma laid down her fork, unable to contain the disappointment creeping through her. “Does this mean our excursion is canceled?”

“Not necessarily,” he told her. “Of course, I shall understand if you would rather not go.”

“No!” she shot back quickly. “I want to go. If you still do, that is.”

“Well, I had cleared my calendar for the day,” he said. “So long as we take the curricle, I can see no harm in us proceeding without my aunt.”

“Nor I,” she agreed, hiding a gleeful smile. Taking up her
fork again, she ate a cube of pineapple, then followed it with a slice of pear.

“I thought,” he said, relaxing in his seat, “that you might enjoy a visit to Astley’s.”

“Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre, you mean?” She couldn’t contain the spark of excitement that spread through her like a match set to tinder.

“So you’ve heard of it?”

“Of course. Hasn’t everyone?”

He laughed. “Then I take it you do not object to the idea?”

“Not at all. It is a wonderful suggestion, my lord.”

In fact, Emma mused, she couldn’t have thought of a better one. She wanted to experience London, but more than that she wanted to experience a side of London that a princess would not ordinarily see. Despite the
Royal
in its name, Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre was not one of the places of which her brother or chaperones would approve, however popular it might have been with London’s fashionable younger set.

An equestrian circus, even one indoors, would be packed with common folk, the masses jostling and laughing in ways both wild and vulgar—or so she would be warned. “Do not be absurd, Your Highness,” she could imagine the duchess saying as the older woman stared down her nose. “Royalty does not mingle with rabble. I cannot imagine why you would even entertain such a dangerous and disgraceful notion.”

But this week, she wanted to be dangerous. As for disgraceful… well, she would see what transpired in the days ahead.

“I must warn you beforehand,” Nick continued, “that the place is overwarm and crowded, smells of sweat, straw, and horseflesh.”

Even better,
she thought.

“However, the show is highly entertaining and an experience no one should miss. Shall we plan on attending, then?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm.

Bell entered a moment later and set a plate before her with a flourish. Her eyes widened at the sight of more food than she could possibly eat. Even so, her stomach rumbled appreciatively, the scent of the eggs and hash absolutely mouthwatering. The footman poured more tea for her, then replenished the coffee in Nick’s cup.

“Eat hearty,” Bell advised with a grin before he withdrew once more from the room.

Nick sipped his coffee. “I’d take Bell’s advice if I were you. We have a long day in store and you’ll need your strength.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she teased.

Surprise warmed his eyes, a smile playing over his mouth. Turning over his newspaper, he began to read.

In happy, companionable silence, she continued her meal.

“O
h my, I think my heart just stopped!” Emma exclaimed that afternoon as she sat next to Nick in the stands at Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre.

The crowd burst into a welter of riotous applauses, cheering for the amazing rider who stood upright on the backs of two galloping horses. Somehow, moments ago, he had managed to pluck a handkerchief off the ground, the fluttering white cloth now held proudly aloft in his raised hand.

In her entire life, she’d never seen anything to rival the feats of skill and daring achieved by the troop of equestrian riders as they performed one astonishing trick after another. The men and their steeds were every bit as amazing as advertised. And just as Nick had warned, the theater was crowded and overly warm, the interior ripe with the scents of horseflesh, straw, human sweat, and the mixture of colognes being used to disguise it. But Emma didn’t mind; the atmosphere only added to the thrill and adventure of the outing.

The horseman finished his act and rode out of the ring, exiting behind a curtain. Moments later, a trio of clowns ran onto the stage, their painted faces as comical as the humorous scene they began to pantomime.

Looking over, she met Nick’s gaze, which she found fixed on her rather than the entertainment. She smiled, lost for a
moment in his eyes. Only then did she realize that she was literally hanging on to him, her right hand clenched in a fierce grip around his arm. She must have taken hold during the last act, as she waited on tenterhooks to see whether the horseman would survive unscathed.

Gently, she tried to disengage herself. “It seems I have forgotten myself.”

But Nick stopped her, catching her hand and pressing it to his sleeve. “You may forget yourself as often as you like. I shall not mind in the least. And since the next performer is a tightrope walker, you might as well stay exactly where you are so you can hang on as needed.”

He gave her one of his devastating, crooked smiles, the effect sending her pulse speeding as fast as a sharpshooter’s bullet. She was suddenly vitally aware of Nick’s large, powerful hand cradled over hers, and of how small she felt standing next to his tall, broad-shouldered body.

Gathering every ounce of her willpower, she forced herself to return her attention to the performance. But it was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything now except the man at her side.

Luckily the tightrope walker appeared as promised. He proved spectacular, and she was so terrified for him that she was soon caught up in his death-defying deeds.

At her side, Nick didn’t bother watching the acrobat. He was far more interested in watching Emma. Her face was a spectacle unto itself, revealing every emotion, each nuance of reaction from wonder to fear, from astonishment to delight.

She was clinging to him again, her fingers tight against the wool of his sleeve and the flesh and bone beneath. He kept his hand where it lay, covering hers with a protectiveness and a possessiveness that was quite unlike him.

He’d never been the jealous type. Even in his salad days, he’d regarded the emotion as a nonsensical waste of time. He preferred mature women rather than ingenues, boldly feminine females who were worldly enough to savor the mutual
pleasure and passion to be found in another’s arms without any messy ties of the heart. He nearly always ended his liaisons on friendly terms with no tears or recriminations when it came time to say good-bye, as it inevitably must. He didn’t like clingy lovers—or clingy girls for that matter.

But he didn’t mind Emma hanging on to him as she alternately gasped, laughed, and sighed, the brilliant blue of her eyes sparkling with almost childlike amazement.

And she was a child in so many ways, years younger than himself and not just in terms of age. As he’d seen last night, her innocence clung to her like a second skin, along with a trust that was unwise for a young woman who was alone in the world.

Yet he could not think of her as a child, his body responding to her the way a tide followed the progress of the moon and the sun. What he could not fathom was why.

She was beautiful, yes, but he’d known other beautiful women. She was interesting, but there were many accomplished, well-educated ladies, particularly in London and other fashionable capitals of the world. Yet something about her fascinated him on a level he did not entirely understand.

Perhaps it was her bravery and indomitable spirit. Only a woman with true zeal could have borne what she had endured yesterday without once breaking down. Maybe it was her gentle grace and keen sense of humor. Or mayhap it was the kindness he glimpsed in her gaze and the sweet curve of her smile. He knew so little about her really, yet he could not help wanting to know more, wanting to know everything.

A giddy laugh rippled from her mouth, a strawberry flush dusting her cheeks as a troop of small dogs dressed in the most absurd costumes appeared in the ring. They twirled on their hind feet and barked enthusiastically as they jumped through a series of increasingly smaller hoops. Her pleasure in their antics was a marvel to behold. She laughed again and his loins tightened, his arm flexing beneath her hand as his blood ran hot.

Shifting in his seat, he turned his gaze away.

The performances continued for another half hour, concluding with a magnificent mock battle complete with racing carriages, “armies” of mounted soldiers dressed in full military regalia, and the crack-and-smoke of faux gunfire as the British captured a French Imperial Eagle and Napoleon himself.

The crowd roared and applauded amid a crescendo of stamping feet and cheers, Emma along with them—minus the stamping, since she was far too much of a lady to participate in such a display.

Nevertheless, her cheeks were flushed with obvious pleasure as the noise faded and people began to make their way from the theater. “That was absolutely brilliant,” she told Nick as they stood. “Thank you for bringing me here, my lord. I cannot tell you what a treat this has been.”

Nick inclined his head, more pleased than he ought to be at her delight. “You just have, and you are most welcome. Now, what would you say to a drink and a light repast? Were it solely up to me, I would suggest a public house not too far distant. But I suppose such a place won’t do for a lady.”

“Will it not?” she asked, her eyes lighting up at the suggestion. “I’ve never been to a public house.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nor should you. I see I was unwise to mention it.”

“But now that you have, we simply have to go.”

“Oh, do we? Gunter’s would be a far more suitable choice.”

Her lower lip thrust out in a moue of disappointment.

“Most women love Gunter’s,” he said.

“I am sure it is a fine establishment, but not at all adventurous. Hardly fitting after the spectacle we have just witnessed.”

“Ah, so is that what you’re after—more spectacle?”

“Might we see one in the public house?”

He chuckled. “That is highly unlikely. Generally it is just men sitting around talking, drinking ale, and having a meal. Nothing terribly unusual and certainly not daring.”

“Then what is the harm in taking me there?” she encouraged. “Besides, how can I come to any harm when you shall be at my side?”

He scowled, realizing she had caught him neatly in his own trap. “Gunter’s would be better.”

“We can go to Gunter’s another day,” she wheedled sweetly.

He groaned, half exasperated, half amused. “Very well. The public house it is. But you are to stick to me like a burr every moment we are inside.”