The Princess and the Peer (15 page)

Need crashed over her with an overwhelming force that left her scarcely able to breathe. Her thoughts scattered, every fiber of her being centered on Nick and the splendor of his touch.

Slowly, his kiss changed, growing deeper, gentler, yet every bit as intense as before.

“Part your lips,” he murmured, pressing against her mouth with a firm but tender insistence.

On a little gasp, she did as he told her.

She gasped again as his tongue slid inside and stroked the sensitive inner lining of her cheeks, his touch blazingly warm and sleek as velvet. Shuddering, she dug her fingernails harder into his coat and let him have his way.

Drowning in a surfeit of pleasure, she gave herself over to his expert tutelage, following his unspoken instructions as he led her along the path of temptation, showing her one delicious kind of devilment after the next.

She was quivering by the time he let her come up for air. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he brushed his lips over her temple and chin and along the sensitive line of her throat. He paused at the base, burying his face against her pulse where it beat in quick, violent strokes.

Lifting his head, he released her and leaned away.

She couldn’t speak, her body throbbing in places she hadn’t realized could throb—intimate, personal places that
were suddenly begging to be soothed. Worse, she was vividly aware of her nipples beaded into hard points beneath her bodice, aching too.

Meeting his gaze, she stared into his eyes, arrested by the shadowy passion still visible in their depths. If he wanted, he could kiss her again; she knew she would make no demur. And if he wanted more of her than that? She wasn’t sure she would have the strength to deny him—or herself.

But to her mingled relief and disappointment, he laid no further temptation in her path. Instead, he released her. “You should go now,” he said in a flat tone. “And no arguing this time.”

She took a shuddering breath, realizing how easy it would be to let things go further, to let them go too far. Gripping the arm of the sofa, she pushed herself to her feet.

“G-good night, Dominic.”

When he said nothing, she forced herself to move toward the door.

“Emma,” he said thickly.

She stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

“Sweet dreams.”

In that moment she knew that all her dreams that night would be of him and that they would indeed be sweet.

Once Emma had left the room, Nick leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. He listened to her footsteps ring out softly against the marble-tiled hallway, the sound fading as she made her way up the stairs.

In his mind, he followed, seeing her walk inside her bedchamber and reach up to take the pins from her hair. He stepped inside, then closed the door behind them. Her shining golden tresses fell in a lush wave around her shoulders and down the slim arch of her back, shimmering like a river of molten gold. Striding to her, he pushed the soft, sleek mass aside and bent to kiss her neck, entwining his hard arms around her supple, feminine curves. Sliding his palms upward, he covered her breasts and caressed the pliant flesh. He traced the shape, running his thumbs up and over as they both
shuddered in delight. He reached for the buttons on her gown and began to unfasten them, one by one by…

Gah!
he cursed, sitting up abruptly and giving his head a brain-clearing shake. His body wasn’t so easy to calm, his arousal as hard and heavy as some rough sailor’s on his first shore leave.

Blister it. Where is my control?
He’d known Emma for all of two days, and yet here he was dallying with her, lusting after her.

I should never have agreed to kiss her. It was nothing short of insanity.

Yet he couldn’t lay the blame solely on her shoulders. In spite of her provocation—and there was no doubt that she had been provocative—he was still the experienced party.

The older—and supposedly wiser—party.

The one with sense.

The mature one.

Only he didn’t feel mature tonight. He felt as randy as a sixteen-year-old, and if it weren’t for his promise to behave like a gentleman, he’d have been upstairs right now, tossing up her skirts and having his way with her.

He could have had her. He knew that as well; she was green as new spring grass. Even now he could feel the way she’d trembled beneath his touch. How sweetly she had tasted. How naively eager yet hesitantly shy had been her every move, her every kiss.

And there was the problem—that damned innocence of hers.

And his own rather inconvenient scruples.

She might only be a governess, but she was still a lady born and a gentleman did not seduce a lady.

Then again, if his feelings were a simple case of lust, he could have found other means of dealing with his needs. There were plenty of women in London who were free with their favors. Unlike Goldfinch and Cooper though, he didn’t care for bawdy houses, no matter how well kept the doxies might be.

Instead, he’d had a casual arrangement over the years with the widow of a slain officer. He visited her on occasion—his attentions and the gifts of food and money he sent her afterward never seeming to go amiss. Yet in spite of the welcome he was certain he would receive if he showed up on her doorstep, he wasn’t interested in a visit tonight.

No, it was Emma he craved.

Emma he preferred.

And that was perhaps the most surprising thing of all—and the most troubling.

It wasn’t just her body he wanted; it was
her
.

Her laughter.

Her intelligence.

The quick perception of her remarks and the gentle kindness of her smile. The way her blue eyes sparkled with warmth and her lashes swept down with a hidden mystery he didn’t always understand and longed to figure out.

He wasn’t sure how such feelings were possible after such a brief acquaintance, yet there they were. If he weren’t careful, he could see himself falling in love.

Sitting up, he raked his fingers through his hair.

I shall simply have to be careful until she leaves,
he warned himself. If only he were certain that he could so easily follow such self-imposed dictates. Perhaps it would be prudent to put some well-considered distance between them. There would be no repeat of tonight’s intimacy. From now on Emma White would be no more than a temporary guest in his house.

With an impatient tug at his cravat, he loosened the linen a couple of inches. He supposed he should seek his bed. Yet he knew there would be no rest, not for a good long while.

Brandy and a book,
he decided. His usual at-home means of escape.

Climbing to his feet, he picked up his snifter and crossed the room to refill it.

T
hree evenings later, Emma descended the final steps of the town house’s main staircase, then continued into the entry hall where Nick and his aunt were already gathered.

“It seems far too chilly an evening to attend the theater,” Aunt Felicity remarked as she let the butler assist her into a thick lavender cloak that was more suited to a raw January day than a mild September night. “But since you young people have your hearts set on attending,” the dowager viscountess continued, sending a smile toward Emma when she joined them, “who am I to curtail your pleasures?”

“You are exceedingly forbearing to indulge us, Aunt,” Nick said, as he finished pulling on a pair of white dress gloves. “In return, we shall do our utmost to see to your comfort on the journey. I’ve asked Bell to place a warm brick in the coach, along with a lap blanket, to keep you nice and toasty.”

His aunt’s smile widened and she reached over to pat his sleeve. “Oh, you are too good to me, dear boy. Truly you are.”

From beneath her lashes, Emma studied Nick, finding nothing remotely boyish about him; he was far too much of a man. As for the way he looked in evening attire—handsome didn’t begin to describe him. He was sleek and powerfully
urbane in a black cutaway coat and evening breeches, his crisp white shirt, starched cravat, and understated waistcoat only enhancing the effect.

His cheeks were smoothly shaven. Nevertheless, the grain of his whiskers left a barely visible shadow along his jaw, one that made her wonder what it would be like to glide her fingers over his skin to feel its texture and warmth.

Abruptly, she looked away, grateful when Symms approached with her evening wrap. She busied herself by fastening the top button of her deep blue merino crepe mantle. The color provided a cheerful foil for her ecru silk gown, the same one she had worn the night Nick had kissed her.

In the days that had passed since then, he hadn’t made an attempt to repeat their passionate embrace, his silence on the subject absolute.

When she’d come down for breakfast that morning after their kiss—her first kiss—she hadn’t been sure what to expect. Would their initial meeting be awkward or easy? Would he give her an intimate smile or a frown of regret? For her part, she had thought of nothing but their kisses during the night, her dreams as full of him as she had predicted.

To her dismay, he’d offered her a pleasant greeting, then gone back to his newspaper and toast. After a few moments, she attempted to engage him in conversation, and although he answered easily enough, the closeness of the evening before had vanished.

“My lord,” she’d said when he had finished his breakfast and was about the leave the table. “I had hoped that we might see more of the city today.”

She watched his face for any revealing emotion but there was none.

“Your aunt does not seem inclined to long excursions, and I thought you might continue to show me the sights.”

He looked down at the table. “I have business. I believe I mentioned that already.”

“Yes, but surely you could postpone your work for another day or two? I would be no trouble.”

One dark brow went skyward, and for a moment she thought he was going to offer some arch rejoinder. Instead, he leaned calmly back in his chair. “Well, if that were indeed the case and I was no more than a host offering his guest escort to the places everyone comes to London to see, then I might perhaps be able to find a few hours. If there was no further trouble.”

She met his gaze, momentarily puzzled by his words. Then she realized two things at once: that he intended to treat their passionate interlude as if it had not happened at all; and that so long as she agreed to ignore what had passed between them, he would agree to continue escorting her around the city.

It was a well-veiled bribe, but a bribe nonetheless. For a long moment she considered tossing it back in his face.

But pride kept her silent.

What did she care if he regretted last night? It had been a kiss, an experiment that satisfied her curiosity and fulfilled the requirements of their wager. Now it was over and the two of them could go on as before. She was here in London to see the city and he was offering to show it to her; only a simpleton would have cause to complain.

Besides, what had she expected? It wasn’t as if anything could come of their association. She was a princess destined for life as a queen and he was only a peer—and an English one, to boot. It wasn’t as if she had feelings for him. It wasn’t as though she might fall in love and want to spend the rest of her life inside his arms.

Or do I?

The question whispered like a jeer inside her mind, leaving her far more unsettled than she cared to admit. Suddenly, she was glad that Nick wanted to forget their kiss and carry on as they had done before. It was better this way, she told herself. Their parting would be easier with no feelings of hurt or regret when the time arrived for them to go their separate ways.

With that in mind, she had smiled and matched his polite
friendliness with a resilient kind of her own. If he could pretend, then so could she.

Determined to enjoy herself and her time left in the city, she threw herself into each activity with enthusiastic zeal. The dowager viscountess finally emerged from her rooms, but rather than accompany them that afternoon, she waved them on their way with the glad assurance that she would be fine at home and for them to have a good time.

Emma and Nick began with a trip to Bullock’s Egyptian Hall, which she found startlingly bizarre, set as it was on an ordinary street in Piccadilly. The facade was built to resemble an Egyptian temple, its massive pilasters supporting the Egyptian gods of Isis and Osiris—or so she learned once she and Nick were inside. Together they strolled among the artifacts and antiquities, viewing tablets of carved hieroglyphics, replicas of the pyramids and the sphinx as well as items brought back by Captain Cook from his voyage to the South Seas. There were African and North and South American objects too—more fascinating discoveries and oddities than anyone could easily absorb in only a few hours.

The next day they visited the shed at Lord Elgin’s home where he kept the marble sculptures he’d brought back from Greece. And in the afternoon, Nick took her to Gunter’s as he had promised. Despite the cool weather, Emma insisted on sampling some of their famous ices, shivering delightfully as she ate bites of lemon, green apple, and pineapple. Nick had contented himself with hot black coffee, the amused smile playing once again across his mouth.

And this morning, after employing a bit of skilled persuasion over breakfast, she had convinced Nick to let her accompany him to Tattersall’s. There was a horse auction he did not wish to miss—some lord had apparently lost his fortune at cards and been forced to put his estate up for sale, including his stable of extremely fine thoroughbreds. Nick kept her close, the auction grounds at Hyde Park Corner teaming with noise, the earthy scents of horseflesh, and scores of men hoping to find a bargain.

The bidding process was fascinating, and Emma followed the action with keen interest. She couldn’t help but cheer when Nick won as high bidder on an excellent pair of matched bays with glossy coats and intelligent brown eyes. Nick grinned at his victory, promising that he would take her for a drive in his curricle once the horses were delivered.