The Princess and the Peer (11 page)

Playfully, she grabbed his arm again and held it tight. “I’m sticking already.”

At that exact moment, a toddler ran past them, followed by a man who was clearly giving chase. As he reached to grab hold of the wayward youth, he accidentally bumped Emma’s shoulder and sent her stumbling against Nick.

Instinctively, Nick caught hold and pulled her into his arms, tucking her tightly against his chest. His heart gave a strong swift beat, then another, his body humming with warmth and unmistakable need.

Her lips parted, breath soughing in and out in sweetly scented drafts. She trembled against him but made no effort to pull away; if anything she curled closer.

“Are you all right?” he murmured huskily.

She nodded, her eyes wide and brilliant, not with alarm but something else.

“Here now, it’s right sorry I am, missus. Didn’t mean to cause ye no trouble.” The man who had bumped into Emma had returned, the errant toddler held now in his arms. “Boy gets loose and it’s like chasing the wind. Ain’t it, Johnny?”

Johnny, the cause of all the trouble, giggled and hid his face against his father’s neck.

“He wanted to see the horses again, ye see,” the stranger went on.

“An understandable accident,” Nick stated. “Thankfully no harm was done.”

Clearly relieved, the man touched respectful fingers to his cap. “Guvnor. Ma’am. Best be getting the lad back to his mum.”
With another nod, he hurried away, Johnny clinging to his beefy shoulders.

“Shall we be on our way?” Nick asked. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather I take you to Gunter’s?”

She nodded. “Quite sure. I believe I just proved my ability to stand fast in a dangerous situation. And if the public house is as you say, the experience will be incredibly boring.”

With Emma in tow, however, Nick knew their upcoming visit would be nothing of the kind.

The inside of the public house was dim and quiet with only a few patrons seated at the tables and chairs arranged throughout the room. Talk died down as she and Nick entered, a pair of grizzled old men looking up from their mugs to stare at her with undisguised interest. They looked away again quickly enough, Emma noticed, most likely because of the fierce look Nick gave them in return.

“Let’s find a table,” he said, keeping hold of her arm as he steered her toward a shadowed corner of the tavern.

“There’s one near the window that looks much more cheerful,” Emma told him, slowing their progress as she pointed out the other table.

“Sitting in the most noticeable spot in the entire place isn’t a good idea. This will do fine,” he stated, his tone inflexible.

She made a face, which she saw him pretend to ignore as he led her the rest of the way to the corner he had selected. When they reached the table, she slid her arm free of his and made to walk around, but he stopped her with a gentle touch.

“You sit here,” he said, pulling out a simple, straight-backed wooden chair that faced away from the other patrons.

“Why?”

“I don’t like having my back to the room. Old habit from my war days,” he added at her quizzical expression.

“Oh.” Deciding it wasn’t worth the argument, she slid into the offered seat. Rounding the table, Nick sat down across from her.

“Is it really so dangerous in here?” she leaned over to whisper, shivering with excitement at the idea.

Unable to resist, she looked over her shoulder to inspect the other patrons, wondering what untrustworthy types she might have missed on first glance.

At one table sat the two old men who had stared at her when she’d first come in; the pair had gone back to drinking their ales, bluish gray pipe smoke hovering above their grizzled heads like a small cloud. At another table sat a trio of young men with ink-stained fingers and harried expressions that made her wonder if they might be clerks taking an early supper break. And occupying a third table were four rather ordinary fellows dressed in plain vests and jackets who might have been anything from laborers to merchants to artisans; it was impossible to tell.

To her great disappointment, none of them looked particularly menacing at all.

As for the keeper of the public house, he at least seemed a bit more pugnacious with a short, thick build, shiny bald pate, and wiry brows that were knitted over his eyes like two lumps of wool.

He wiped the counter while shooting a disapproving glare in her direction. In that moment, it dawned on her that she was the only woman in the room.

“This place isn’t dangerous,” Nick told her with wry amusement once she’d turned back. “If it were, you would not be here.”

The barman, scowl still in place, lumbered up to them. “What’ll yeh ’ave?” he growled.

“Ale for me and tea for the lady,” Nick said before she had a chance to speak.

“Tea?” she shot back, giving Nick a reproving look. “I can have tea anytime.” Looking up, she sent the barman a wide smile. “I’ll have ale too. A small one, if you please.”

“She’ll have tea,” Nick countermanded. “And we’ll share a plate of your best meats and cheeses and bread to go with it.”

“Mustard or chutney with that, Guvnor?” the man asked. “My missus spent time in India with her father afore I married her and she makes a right tasty fixin’ with apples and pears.”

“It sounds delicious. We shall try both.”

The man nodded, then shot Emma another disapproving look before turning away.

“He’s not very friendly,” she complained as soon as he was out of earshot. “Surely I am not the only woman to ever set foot across the premises.”

“With the exception of his wife and possibly a daughter, you might well be. This isn’t the sort of public house that caters to working ladies and their companions.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind. I should not have mentioned it.”

Emma cudgeled her brain trying to make sense of his statement. “But what sort of women—oh—” She broke off suddenly, leaning close again. “Do you mean loose women? Are those the kind you’re talking about?” Not that she knew much about such unfortunate females, but even she had heard rumors of their existence.

Then a new thought occurred. “Surely he doesn’t think that you and I… that I am—” she breathed.

“No. He doesn’t,” Nick said in a firm tone, “which is precisely why he hasn’t asked us to leave. If you don’t want him to change his mind, I suggest you be quiet and behave. No more trying to order pints of ale for yourself.”

She shot him a reproachful look. “Gainsaying my request for an ale was rude of you, you know. I do not see why I cannot have a glass.”

“My God, you’re a handful. How did you ever even manage to acquire a post as a governess? They can’t have known you well. That much is certain.”

She looked down, using the movement to hide her sudden dismay. In all of today’s excitement, she’d completely forgotten the story she’d told him—or rather the erroneous assumptions he’d made that she’d conveniently allowed him to believe. Now what to say?

To her immense relief, the tavern keeper chose that moment to return with their drinks. He placed a rich nut-brown mug of ale in front of Nick, then a pot of hot tea and a cup in front of her.

“Have you any milk and sugar?” she ventured, noticing their absence.

The barman gave a disgruntled huff and shuffled off again.

“Do you think he heard me?” she asked.

Nick grinned. “Oh, he heard you. It will be interesting to see if he complies.”

From the other side of the room came the discordant squeal of wood being scraped against wood as the four occupants of one table pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet. Their heavy leather boots rang out against the oak plank floors as they crossed to the far corner. All of them talked and laughed noisily as they went, ale mugs clutched in their hands.

One of the men stopped in front of what appeared to be a round slice of barrel wood affixed by a nail to the wall. Out of its scratched and scared surface, he yanked several pewter-colored metal objects with short white feathers attached to the ends.

“What is it they’re doing?” Emma inquired, making no effort to disguise her interest.

“Looks like they’re starting up a game of darts.” Nick raised a surprised brow. “Are you not familiar with the game?”

“No. How does it work?”

He sent her another slightly disbelieving look, then answered her question. “Basically it’s a competition that tests coordination and accuracy. Each player tosses a set number of darts at the board and scores points depending on how close to the center they land. There’s variation on throwing techniques and scoring methods, but that covers the most important particulars.”

Craning her head around in a way she would never have dared in normal company, she watched the men begin to play.
The first dart thrown went wide of its target, eliciting groans and good-natured jeers from the man’s companions. The next man to throw was better, his dart landing with a resounding
thunk
near the center of the circle.

A roar of congratulations and backslapping ensued.

She watched long enough to see the next two men take turns before she swung around to face Nick, a wide smile on her face. “Oh, it does look fun. Do you suppose we could give it a try later, once they are finished with their game?”

“No,” Nick said automatically. “Anyway, those games can go on for hours, particularly when there is drink involved.”

“But perhaps once they’ve played for a while, they would let us take a turn.”

Nick made no reply this time.

She opened her mouth to debate the matter further when the tavern keeper appeared and laid a blue-and-white china platter filled with meats and cheeses in front of them. He followed that with two small dishes, one containing mustard and the other a glistening golden chutney. Bread came next, and then, to her surprise, a pitcher of milk and another small dish containing a few lumps of hard brown sugar that looked as if they had just been chiseled free from a much larger piece.

“Thank you,” Emma said. “This looks delicious.”

“I’ll tell me wife you approve.” Despite his surly disposition, Emma had the sneaking suspicion he was pleased.

Nick handed her a set of the pewter utensils the man had left along with a china plate whose pattern matched the platter.

She placed a slice of ham and a small wedge of creamy yellow cheese onto her plate. “Just because we’re eating doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the dart game,” she informed him. “We can see if they are still playing once we are finished.”

“You are
not
playing darts in this public house.”

“Well, where else am I to play darts, then, if not here?”

Nick stared for a long moment, then shook his head. “You are incorrigible.”

She shot him a grin. “I prefer to think of it as persistent.”

This time he laughed. “There are other terms I might use. Now, eat your meal.”

“And then we’ll play darts,” she stated confidently.

“And then we’ll see.” Lifting to his mouth a slice of bread piled with beef, cheese, and chutney, he took a hearty bite, the discussion closed for the time being.

As they ate, they talked about the performances they had watched at Astley’s and which ones had been their favorites; Emma liked the trick riders best, while Nick had preferred the elaborate battle scene at the end.

“Although I would never trade my days at sea, not even for a chance to have captured an Imperial Eagle,” he told her.

“What was it like,” she asked, “being at sea?”

His eyes were very gray as they met hers. “Liberating. Exhilarating. Wet and cold when it stormed, yet absolutely beautiful. Peaceful—except when we were being bombarded by cannon fire from an enemy ship, that is.”

“Cannon fire? That sounds terrifying. Was it frightening?”

He took a drink of ale. “Any man who claims he isn’t afraid in the midst of a battle is either a liar or a suicidal fool.”

She took a moment to consider his words. “But you miss it, your life in the navy,” she said, a statement rather than a question.

His gaze turned introspective. “It doesn’t matter now, since it’s rather difficult to manage a landed estate from the deck of a ship,” he concluded with a wry smile.

And that was the end of that particular subject.

Their conversation moved on to a variety of random topics, everything from her impressions of the English countryside as she’d traveled from Scotland to pets they had each owned as a child: two King Charles spaniels and a long-haired white cat for her, a pack of English foxhounds his father had kept for hunting and a Dalmatian named Speckles for him. He currently had a magnificent black Newfoundland that he had left at his estate in the country—a huge dog that
loved to swim, drooled copiously when he was excited, and stood roughly the height of a pony.

“I would love another pet,” she confided with a sigh. “But right now there is no place for one in my life.”

Perhaps once I am married,
she thought, only to wish that the dismal thought of her upcoming nuptials hadn’t entered her mind. Pushing it aside, she drank the last of her tea and laid her fork across her empty plate.

She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, look. It would appear they are finishing their game.”

More than that, the men were leaving. After draining the last of their ales, they each set down their empty mugs, then strode toward the door, calling out friendly farewells to the tavern keeper as they went. One of the men, a rough-jawed fellow with collar-length black hair and vivid blue eyes caught her gaze as he passed, then, to her astonishment, gave her what one could only call a cheeky wink.

Across the table from her, Nick stiffened, his jaw turning grim and pugnacious as he half made to rise. But the other man was already out the door, exchanging some inaudible comment with his friends that drew a raucous burst of laughter.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He glared toward the door. “That one needs to be taught respect. He’s got nerve looking at you that way.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything.”

“I’m sure he did,” Nick countered in a hard tone. “If there were any way I could safely leave you alone, I would go impress that fact upon him.”