The Princess and the Peer (19 page)

Somehow, as if she were a seasoned actress on the stage, she forced a smile to her lips, glad there was no need to conceal her underlying pain. “It is only a slight headache, that is all,” she told him. “I didn’t want to say before and distress your aunt. You know how she would have fussed.”

Some of the concern eased from his face. “You are right. She would no doubt have ordered you immediately to bed and sent up the maid with warm lavender compresses and an assortment of headache powders.”

“Then spent the next half an hour demanding to know if I have any other symptoms in case my malady turned to something worse, such as a cold or the ague.”

“Or la grippe,” he said with mock seriousness. “She is always very concerned about la grippe and how a chill house can lead to contagion.”

For a long moment, they smiled at each other, warmth spreading like a small sun inside Emma’s chest. Then she remembered the reason she had pleaded a headache in the first place and her good humor fell away.

“But forgive me,” Nick said, his own smile vanishing. “You are feeling unwell and here I have kept you rambling on. Let me escort you upstairs.”

“No, no, there is no need. You haven’t finished your brandy—”

“I can finish it later.” He looped her arm over his, then led the way from the room, leaving her no choice but to comply.

But suddenly she didn’t want to go to bed.

She wanted to stay up and talk to him for hours.

She wanted to laugh and be carefree and forget all about what she must soon make herself do.

She wanted to be with Nick for what little time still remained.

But she could not, considering that she was well and truly
hoist on the sharp edge of her own lies. Nor could she bring herself to tell him that she would be leaving shortly, perhaps as early as tomorrow, if she only could find the strength.

She should write her letters tonight, she judged. The first to her old teacher to advise her that she would be paying her a call soon before she hired a conveyance to take her back to the estate. The next missive to the dowager viscountess for her great kindness in relocating from her home to act as a chaperone and for being such an affable and entertaining companion despite her sometimes querulous remarks.

And last, to Nick.

To him, she didn’t know quite what she would say. A polite good-bye seemed too little and a heartfelt confession of her love was clearly too much. She would puzzle over that last, most important, letter once she was alone, she decided, as the two of them came to a halt outside her bedroom door.

Slipping her arm from his, she turned to bid him good night. “Thank you, Nick, I…”

But her words trailed off, her heart full of an ocean’s worth of feelings and explanations she could not allow herself to express. She frowned, her brow drawing tight with suppressed sadness.

“Hurting again?” he inquired in a low voice.

Yes, she was hurting, though not in the way he meant.

Rather than correct him, she gave a little nod.

Unexpectedly, he placed the tips of his long, lightly calloused fingers against her forehead and drew them in a soothing arc across the lines gathered there. She trembled, as a dizzying tingle spread over her skin. His fingers continued their massage, relaxing her frown away.

“Better?”

Her lips parted, but she could not seem to form a reply. Instead she gave another tiny nod and let her eyes slide shut.

If she had really had a headache, she knew his touch would have chased it away. How could anything but pleasure remain beneath the exquisite sensation of his touch?

He glided his thumb over each of her eyebrows in a last,
lingering stroke before lowering his hand. “Shall I send the maid up with a headache powder, after all? It would be no trouble, you know.”

Already bereft at the loss of his caress, she forced her eyes to open again. “N-no. I shall be fine without it. In the general way, I do not like tonics and drafts.”

Nor do I require one at present,
she added silently.

“If you are sure.”

“Yes, quite sure.”

He brushed the back of one finger across her cheek. “Sleep well, then.”

“And you, Dominic.”

He smiled, then turned away.

Leaning back against the door, she watched him go. Only when she knew he must be far away in another part of the house did she find the strength to still her trembling hands and let herself into her room.

A
little after one o’clock in the morning, Emma roused from a restless sleep, the sensation of fleeing from shadowed figures following her into wakefulness.

A dream,
she realized, sitting up in the bed.

Nothing but a dream.

Leaning across the feather mattress, she found the tinder on the bedside table and set the candle to light. A soothing glow spread outward, chasing away a measure of the darkness as well as the dream.

Her mind was playing tricks with her, that was all, chiding her for her worries and fears. Ironic that the real nightmare would come tomorrow in the full brightness of the day when she forced herself to tell Nick and his aunt good-bye.

While preparing for bed a few hours ago she had decided there was no point in putting off her departure. Delaying the inevitable would only make it harder to leave and give her more opportunity to weaken and change her mind. She couldn’t afford to involve Nick and his aunt any further; it wouldn’t be right to repay their kindness with strife and scandal.

And so, once the maid left, she’d seated herself at the lovely secretaire, located paper, pen, and ink and begun to write.

The finished letters now lay in a neat little pile on top of the writing desk. Nearby, a small mountain of wadded-up paper overflowed from the painted wastepaper bin—discards from her numerous attempts at bidding Nick adieu.

Writing to him had proven nearly impossible, but finally she thought she had arrived at an appropriate mix of polite gratitude and casual, friendly affection. Of her true emotions, she had said nothing. She would depart with her pride intact, even if she had no choice about leaving her heart behind.

For whether she’d intended it or not, whether he wanted it or not, her heart now belonged to Nick.

And what of her betrothal, now that she had fallen in love with Nick?

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them, bending her head low. An empty, sick ache filled up her stomach and chest. She tried to shake it off, telling herself she would deal with such matters later.

Once she had returned to her family.

Once she was presented to her future bridegroom.

And who knew? Maybe King Otto would prove to be a good man, a kind sovereign, who wouldn’t mind the fact that his queen would never be able to love him with a whole and undamaged heart.

Flinging back the covers, she got to her feet. She knew herself well enough to realize that sleep would be completely impossible for the time being. A cup of hot milk and a good book might help to ease her mind. Assuming she could locate the kitchen, that was, since it was far too early to rouse the servants from their beds.

Well, on second thought, maybe just a good book, she mused. Because even if she managed to locate the kitchen without mishap, she would have absolutely no idea how to light the stove.

Instead, she decided to go downstairs to the library and find something with which she could distract herself. Surely if the book wasn’t too exciting, she would soon grow sleepy enough to doze off again.

Pulling on her favorite old brown cashmere dressing gown, she tied the sash tightly at her waist, then fit her feet into a pair of soft leather slippers. Taking up the candle, she left the room.

The house was utterly still, swathed in thick expanses of darkness. Making her way carefully down the staircase, she reached the ground floor and continued toward the library at the rear. As she drew nearer, she noticed a low spill of light emanating from the partially opened, carved double doors.

Slipping inside on soundless feet, she saw that the glow came from the fire that still burned at a hearty pace in the grate. A pleased sigh escaped her lips at finding the room warm and extraordinarily cozy. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, each one filled to capacity with books, the leather-bound volumes with their aging paper and ink adding an earthy tang to the air. Plush woolen Aubusson carpets in shades of deepest blue and brown lay across the polished wood floors, while wide, comfortably upholstered sofas and chairs were arranged into inviting configurations.

It was from the depths of one of these chairs that a man peered toward her, an open book on his lap, a crystal snifter of what looked to be brandy set on a small table near his elbow.

“Nick!” she said, coming to an abrupt halt in the center of the room. “I didn’t realize you were still awake.”

One of his brows drew into an arch. “I could say the same of you.”

He looked at his seductive ease, lounging there with his coat flung aside, dressed now in white shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and black trousers. His shirt lay open at his throat, his neckcloth having gone the way of his jacket. She couldn’t take her eyes off the triangle of golden flesh the opening revealed or the patch of dark, tightly curled hair that peeked tantalizingly from beneath.

She’d known he was beautiful, but tonight he simply took her breath away.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, apparently oblivious to her regard. “You’re not feeling worse, are you?”

Worse? Oh, he must mean my supposed headache,
she reminded herself.

“No.” She linked her hands together at her waist and forced herself not to stare unduly. “I am much improved, but I woke up and can’t get back to sleep. I thought a book might help. You did say I could avail myself of the library.”

“Of course. Take whatever you like. Is there any particular subject you would enjoy?”

She shrugged, her hopes for becoming sleepy growing dimmer with each second she spent in Nick’s company. He stimulated her, not the other way around. Maybe if she found a book quickly and went back to bed, she might manage to get a few more hours of sleep in spite of her encounter with Nick.

But now that he was here, she really didn’t want to read—or sleep. Their time together was growing so short; she wanted to spend as much of it as possible with him.

Only he did not know she would be leaving in just a few hours’ time. Nor was she going to tell him.

Not tonight.

Casting around, she looked again at the myriad books. When he’d said his brother had an extensive collection he hadn’t exaggerated. Although compared to the vast array of works housed in the palace library in Rosewald, this was but a minor accumulation.

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” she said, moving a few steps farther into the room. “But not so boring I can’t abide what I’m reading. Just dull enough to make me drowsy, if you know what I mean.”

He chuckled. “I suppose there are a fair number of works that might satisfy that requirement, depending on the interests of the reader.” Setting his own book aside, he stood and walked toward one of the nearby shelves. After perusing the titles, he drew two volumes from their shelves.

“How about one of these?” he said, crossing to her. “The first is a series of essays on various historical periods, while the other deals with helpful sermons for everyday living. I should imagine either will put you swiftly to sleep.”

“Undoubtedly. But remember, I said not
too
boring. They both sound deadly.”

“As I remarked, books are often tedious or fascinating depending on one’s taste. Alas, my brother wasn’t much of one for reading novels. No tales from the Minerva Press with which to tempt you, I am afraid.”

She stepped nearer but made no effort to accept the volumes in his hands, losing herself instead in the smoky gray of his eyes. “That is a blessing tonight, since I would likely stay up reading all night long.”

He gazed back, as if he were also unable to look away. “If these don’t suit, I shall have to try again.”

“Yes,” she murmured, not much interested in books any longer. “Why are
you
still awake, my lord? You did not say.”

His brows furrowed, a slightly sheepish expression crossing his face, as if she had somehow caught him out. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t imagine in what way.

“I wasn’t tired, that’s all,” he told her. “Too much on my mind to sleep.”

Her lips parted. “Ah.” Despite his answer, however, she didn’t feel much more enlightened than before.

“I decided a brandy might help in addition to a book,” he added.

“Did it?”

“Somewhat. I was just contemplating going upstairs to bed when you came in.”

“I am sorry to have detained you, then.”

He laid the books aside, then turned back to meet her gaze once more. “I’m not.”

Her pulse kicked into a faster rhythm. “Actually, I am not either.”

There was a light in his eyes that made her wonder suddenly about his restlessness. Was it possible that he had been unable to sleep because of her?

Suddenly she very much hoped that was the case.

Neither of them spoke, a soft crackling pop from the fireplace the only sound in the room. She waited, knowing she
should make herself leave before she did something imprudent, something she would never be able to take back or undo.

Instead she stood rooted to the spot, waiting.

Just waiting.

“I suppose I ought to find you another book,” he remarked.

“Yes,” she murmured. “That would probably be best.”

Neither of them moved.

Her breath stilled in her lungs as he reached up and placed a palm against the side of her face with a tenderness that made her tremble. Her eyes slid rapturously closed as she leaned into his touch, unable to suppress her love or her longing. She didn’t care what she revealed—not tonight, their final night together.

“I told you it would be my turn,” Nick said in a voice as sleek and supple as velvet, “the next time we kissed.”

And then his mouth was on hers, taking her lips with a sweet claiming that left no doubt as to his desire. She responded without thinking, without wanting to think, desperate to be as close to him as she could manage, to gather every ounce of pleasure there was to be had.