The Princess and the Peer (18 page)

“There’s families wots come ’ere, an’ the little ’uns don’t need seein’ such dealings as this.”

She frowned, a few more of the words penetrating her mind this time.

Nick shivered against her, then abruptly broke their kiss, his breathing a bit ragged.

Rather than letting her go, however, he curved her closer so that the stranger, whoever he was, could not see her features. Closing her eyes, she buried her face against the soft wool of Nick’s coat and wished the man to perdition.

“My apologies,” Nick said after a long moment. “My… um… wife and I are on our honeymoon, you see, and we didn’t think anyone would notice us here. I suppose you might say we lost our heads.”

His wife!

She stiffened in surprise and tried to push herself away,
but Nick held her securely against him, his arms as immovable as a steel cage.

“Newlyweds, are ye?” the man said far more amenably. “Well, I suppose no real ’arm’s been done, though the pair of ye ought to have more sense than to sneak off fer a tryst in such a public place.”

“You are entirely right,” Nick agreed reasonably.

“Still,” the other man drawled, “when yer young and in love, it’s not always easy to do what’s right and proper, is it?”

“No, indeed, it is not.”

Amazing,
she thought. If she didn’t know better, she would think they really were newlyweds and that Nick actually did love her. She hadn’t realized he could dissemble with such apparent ease and believability. He’d even managed to sound rather sheepish in his explanation. If not for the fact that he was an earl and a trained ship’s captain, she would have advised him to take up a life on the stage.

Emma heard, rather than saw, the man drum his fingers against some metallic object in his hands, some of his wares perhaps? “I suppose then that I won’t call the constable,” he said.

“We would be immensely relieved if you did not,” Nick told him in a voice Emma knew to be strictly truthful this time.

She couldn’t help but stiffen again. An interview with the local constabulary, or worse, a conversation with the magistrate himself, was the last thing they needed. And if the county authorities happened to have spoken to her brother or his guards and found out who she was—

Mein Gott im Himmel!

In her abandon over Nick’s kiss, she’d completely forgotten about Rupert’s men—astonishing considering she’d initiated the kiss for the express purpose of avoiding the guards’ detection. Although perhaps a part of her had also simply wanted to kiss him whatever the excuse. Mercy knows she’d thought about it often enough over the past couple of weeks.

But that was of no moment right now, she told herself.
What mattered was whether her diversion had been successful or not. Were Rupert’s men still searching for her somewhere just outside in the crowd, or had they given up and gone on their way?

Obviously sensing her agitation, Nick rubbed a soothing palm over her back. “If you would be so kind as to give us a moment,” he said, addressing the stall owner, “my bride needs to compose herself. I promise we shall not trespass upon your good nature and forbearance for too much longer.”

The man puffed out a breath as if he weren’t certain he should leave, but then he turned and shuffled away.

“You can relax,” Nick told her a few moments later. “He’s gone.”

Yes, but have Rupert’s men gone, too?
she wondered.

She raised her face from his shoulder and gazed into his eyes, not sure what expression she would find there. A swift inhalation caught in her throat at the warmth and tenderness she found.

“I must say,” he remarked with an unmistakable note of amusement, “that was all rather unexpected. Particularly”—he paused and slid a fingertip along her cheek—“the reason why it all began.”

She stayed silent. After all, how could she possibly explain?

“Just remember. The next time we kiss,” he said in velvety tones, “it’s my turn to take
you
by surprise.”

Her pulse leapt, then fell into a wild, jagged rhythm. “Will there be a next time?” she couldn’t keep herself from whispering.

His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Oh, I think you can count on it.”

This time, she couldn’t catch her breath.

On a quiet chuckle, he hooked her arm over his. “Shall we call it a day and go home?”

“Yes.”

He led her forward, but she stopped him again. “Nick?”

He raised a dark eyebrow inquiringly.

“Do you suppose we could go out the other way?” With a nod of her head, she indicated the light-filled opening at the rear of the stalls. “I’m not ready to face the crowds again.”

Nick nodded and led her out.

To her relief, the area proved to be a mostly deserted field with only a handful of people roaming about. Keeping close to Nick with her head bent low, she walked at a quick, purposeful pace. Nick made no comment about her hurry, his long legs effortlessly eating up the distance to the carriage.

It wasn’t until she was seated next to him in the vehicle and they had driven well away from the fair that she finally relaxed.

Nonetheless, her uneasiness remained. She’d avoided Rupert’s guard today, but they would continue searching for her. Eventually, she would be found. It was only a matter of time; Rupert would never give up. He would be thorough and relentless—she knew him well enough to count on that.

She would have to make a decision soon about going home.

She only wished her heart wasn’t going to break once she did.

“I
t certainly sounds as if you two had a lively time on your outing today,” the dowager viscountess remarked later that evening, as Emma, Nick, and his aunt sat around the long dining room table in Lyndhurst House.

Emma stared down at the roast guinea fowl, whipped parsnips, and chestnut soufflé on her plate, careful not to look at Nick for fear of what might be revealed on her face if she met his gaze.

Of course, neither she nor Nick had said anything to his aunt about the ardent kisses they’d shared that afternoon. Instead they had confined their discourse to stories of the entertainers, merchants, and food vendors they had seen at the fair.

If only his aunt knew the half of it; although even Nick didn’t know it all, she reminded herself.

For her part, Lady Dalrymple was content to chatter away, her own observations taking up far more of the conversation than any remarks Emma or Nick chose to volunteer.

Emma was actually relieved at not being required to contribute, too preoccupied to add much of any real import to the discussion. As it was, she could barely eat, picking at each dish as it was served in spite of the excellent efforts of Nick’s cook.

When not being directly addressed by his aunt, Nick was quiet too, lingering contemplatively over his food and wine as the meal progressed. He gazed at Emma periodically, as if attempting to decipher her thoughts.

She sent him a halfhearted smile every now and again, otherwise struggling to give nothing away. For, despite the thought she’d given the matter since returning from the fair that afternoon, she was no closer to making a decision about her future than she had been when she’d seen her brother’s guard.

Although deep inside she knew what she must do.

There really was only one option, a single inescapable choice.

A sick ache settled beneath her ribs as she acknowledged that choice, feeling as if she had suffered a blow. Abruptly, she laid down her fork, unable to eat another bite.

Silent relief spread through her when the meal concluded a short while later and the three of them withdrew to the drawing room.

She had only to get through another hour, maybe two at most, she told herself; then she could retire to her bedchamber. There she could break down and give way to the grief that was beginning to spread like an ice floe through her bones.

Nick gave her a quizzical look, clearly sensing her agitation. But he made no comment as he handed a sherry to his aunt, who thanked him with a cheerful smile from where she sat swathed in her usual multitude of colorful shawls—Emma seated beside her.

Brandy in hand, he relaxed into a chair across from them.

Emma raised her teacup to her lips, having refused an offer of spirits. Foolish of her, she supposed, as she let the benign brew slide down her throat. And yet for the present she thought it wise to keep a clear head.

Both she and Nick let Lady Dalrymple continue her commentary, her remarks as wry and unintentionally amusing as ever. But tonight Emma had no trouble suppressing a smile, wishing mightily that the evening would end soon.

“So, where would you like to venture tomorrow, Miss White?” Nick asked when his aunt had finally begun to exhaust herself. “There must be at least one gallery or display we have not yet seen.”

Emma glanced up, then quickly looked away. She set her teacup aside. “I am not sure, my lord. We had such an eventful outing today, perhaps we might remain at home tomorrow. If you do not mind, that is.”

“No, not at all.” Nick shot her another curious look, this one faintly surprised. As they both knew, this was the first time since her arrival that she had expressed an interest in staying at home rather than venturing out to see something of the city.

But now that Rupert was actively searching for her, London was no longer the safe place it once had been. True, the city was immense, but she’d been lucky so far, she realized. It would take only a single sighting of her by one of his men to ruin everything, and so she couldn’t afford to involve Nick any further. If Rupert discovered she had been living in Nick’s town house, his aunt’s chaperonage notwithstanding, she didn’t want to contemplate her brother’s reaction.

As a foreign ruler, Rupert couldn’t go to the extreme of ordering Nick’s detention or arrest—not that he would. Then again, she knew he was more than capable of persuading sympathetic individuals in the British government, perhaps even England’s prince regent himself, to make trouble for Nick in his stead. Then too were the things her brother might personally decide to do to Nick. She shuddered to imagine them fighting or dueling over her.

No, she would just have to throw herself on Mrs. Brown-Jones’s mercy and hope she was willing to lie and say that Emma had been living with her these past three weeks.

If she would not—and her husband would not as well—then Emma would simply have to refuse to tell her brother where she had been during her absence from the estate. Nothing would pry Nick’s name from her lips. She would never do anything to harm him.

So, apparently I have decided what must be done after all,
she mused sorrowfully.
I must leave and quickly, even if I can hardly bear the thought.

A deep sigh escaped her lips.

Looking up again, she caught Nick studying her over the rim of his glass.

Moments later, the dowager viscountess yawned into her handkerchief, her eyelids beginning to droop. “If you will excuse me, I believe I must say my good nights. I find myself much in need of retiring.”

Nick got to his feet and strode across to assist his aunt.

Emma stood as well.

“Miss White,” he said as she moved to follow Lady Dalrymple from the room, “a word if you would be so good.”

Emma stopped and turned back. She and Nick waited in silence until his aunt’s footfalls could no longer be heard.

“Yes, my lord. What did you wish to say?”

“There is no need to stand on formality. We are quite alone now. Even the footmen have gone,” he said, coming forward. “I just wanted to make sure you are well. You have been very quiet this evening, Emma.”

Too quiet, he meant.

She gave a slight shrug and glanced at one of the oil paintings on the wall. It was a pastoral landscape that was imbued with a serenity she in no way felt. “I am merely tired; that is all,” she dissembled.

“Then you are not upset by what occurred this afternoon at the fair?”

Her gaze flew to his.

What did he know? Surely he hadn’t noticed her brother’s guards searching for her? But how could he, she thought, when he didn’t realize who she actually was?

Rather than ask outright, she decided to take a cautious approach. “What do you mean?”

He raised a brow. “I was referring to our kiss. What did you think I meant?”

“Oh, our kiss, of course. That’s what I meant too. I just”—
Just what?
she thought frantically, aware of the speculation in his eyes—“wasn’t sure if you did. Mean the kiss, that is,” she finished weakly.

He appraised her for a long moment, his dark brows drawing close. “Clearly you are troubled. I couldn’t help but notice how quiet you have been ever since our return.”

Sometimes he really was far too observant, she mused. Even so, she couldn’t help but be touched by his thoughtfulness. “No, it’s not our kiss. I quite enjoyed what happened at the fair.” Her lashes fanned downward. “Especially when we were alone in that alcove between the merchant stalls. I am not the slightest bit upset about that.”

How could she be when those moments in his arms had been some of the best in her life? She would treasure them forever.

“After all, you can hardly be blamed when I am the one who kissed
you
first,” she said, warmth creeping into her cheeks at the admission.

“Yes,” he agreed with grave seriousness, “but I continued our encounter—more than you might have wished perhaps?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “No, you did nothing I did not wish. Nothing I did not like.”

Love, actually.
Just as she loved him.

A small crack formed in the region of her heart at the realization. How was she ever going to leave?

Reassured by her words, the tension drained from his shoulders. “What, then?” he pressed. “Something
is
amiss.” Bridging the distance between them, he took her hand. “Will you not tell me, Emma?”

Oh, how she wished she could. How she longed to step into his arms and confide every bit of the truth. But it was impossible. He would hate her for her lies, for one. For another, he might feel honor bound to do something foolish, such as approaching her brother to plead her case. She could only imagine him telling Rupert that if she did not wish to proceed with the marriage he had arranged, she should not have to. That surely other diplomatic means could be reached
to secure the needs of both country and kingdom. But she knew with a doleful certainty that Nick would only be causing himself trouble and that his efforts, however well intentioned, would do nothing to aid her in the end.