The Princess and the Peer (26 page)

There he could walk.

Ride his horses.

Sail when the weather allowed.

He could think and breathe and find some way to forget.

As it stood, every room in the town house reminded him of her. He couldn’t go into the library now at all for fear of losing himself in memories of their one and only night together, of thinking about the future of which he’d once dreamed, and the life he knew would never come to pass.

Even Aunt Felicity had shaken off the dust of the city and made her way into the countryside, where she would pass the upcoming holiday season in the company of friends.

She had been surprised and a little perplexed by the
abruptness of Emma’s departure, but unlike him, Emma’s letter had not distressed her. On the contrary, she had found Emma’s words most eloquent and thoughtful, talking of her with a warmth that bespoke real fondness.

“I am most sorry to see her go,” his aunt had said on that first evening after Emma left. “Mayhap she will find some means of visiting us again. In the spring, perhaps?”

He hadn’t had the heart to tell her it was doubtful that she would ever see Emma again. He hadn’t been able to voice the fear that she had walked out of their lives and might never return again.

Where is she?
he wondered for the thousandth time.
Why did she go?

Cursing under his breath, he tossed back the last of the whiskey in his glass, relishing the burn it left behind in his throat. As he did, his gaze fell on the invitation he’d received and the royal crest embellished in gold on the heavy stationery.

His presence, it would seem, was requested at a court dress ball—
demanded
, more like. If it were up to him, he would send his excuses, but one did not refuse an invitation issued by the royal family. Frankly, if it weren’t for his upcoming investiture as earl, he might still have taken the chance of refusing. Yet every time he thought of turning his back on the proceedings, Peter’s face would pop into his mind, disappointment shadowing his features.

At least the bloody thing was tomorrow night. He would get it over with, make his official bow at court, then close up the house. No one would fault him for leaving the city at this time of year. Just like Aunt Felicity, many of the
Ton
were already ensconced in the warmth of their country estates, where they planned to share the holidays with family and friends.

He had little family of his own left, but suddenly he truly longed to return to Lynd Park. He hadn’t been there in years. Not since before he’d quarreled with his father. Not since Peter had died. He’d been avoiding the trip up to now, reluctant
to revisit uncomfortable old memories. But there had been good times in his youth at Lynd Park, years of joy and laughter before all the discord had driven him from its walls. Perhaps he would find peace there now that he was a man grown. Maybe he would take comfort in the familiar.

If nothing else, he would have an opportunity to settle several estate matters that required his personal attention; his steward had been begging him to come north for months.

Once there, he would bury himself in work and strenuous activity. He would wear himself out so that he could sleep again at night. Sleep without dreams of Emma to plague his mind and weary his soul.

He would strive as he had never done before to forget and find a way to go on without her.

“Y
ou look splendid, Emmaline,” her brother told her the following evening as he escorted her and Sigrid up the steps of Carlton House, the London residence of England’s prince regent.

It had been decided that this evening’s ball would take place there rather than the stodgier and far less impressive confines of St. James’s Palace, where she and her siblings had made their first official court visit earlier that afternoon.

“The place is a deuced barn,” the regent had confided after their meeting with the aging queen, ceremonial metals and ribbons glinting on his plump chest. “But Mama insists on maintaining the old protocols and Parliament is too stingy to grant me the funds to build a proper palace. So I thought Carlton House would do for tonight’s fete. I do hope you’ll agree once you see what I’ve done with the place. Holland’s work, don’t you know,” he added proudly, puffing himself up in a way that threatened to pop the buttons on his waistcoat.

No,
Emma had thought. She did not know, nor did she particularly care. All she wanted was to get through the evening and return home.

Wishing now to avoid any concern on Rupert or Sigrid’s part, she smiled at her brother’s compliment, forcing her
mouth into what felt like an unnatural shape. “I am glad you approve.”

And indeed, the dressmaker had more than earned her wage. Designed with an eye for the current fashion, Emma’s gown was made of the purest white silk, gold embroidery stitched in a geometric design along the rounded neck and the edges of the elbow-length half sleeves. The skirt hung in a straight line from beneath her breasts, ending at her ankles in a dramatic flounce that was decorated with sprays of purple violets, small white diamonds sewn in the center of each bloom.

“How could I fail to be enchanted?” Rupert returned her smile, his strong, square jaw flexing at the movement, his midnight blue eyes serious and sincere, as was his way. “You and Sigrid are a credit to our family and our nation. The pair of you shall put all the other ladies to shame this evening.”

Sigrid laughed, looking urbane and sleek in bloodred satin, her dress designed to draw every eye in the room, particularly the male ones. “As we should. After all, this reception is being held in our honor. I fully expect to be the center of attention.”

Rupert gave a ruefully amused shake of his golden head. “I suppose I ought not to complain. You and Emma can dazzle our friends while I strive to convince our detractors not to stand against us.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” Sigrid stated supportively. “Rosewald is far too valuable an ally. Besides, why do you think I loaned Emma my favorite diadem tonight? As you said, she and I will dazzle.”

But Emma had no interest in
dazzling
anyone, concentrating instead on keeping a polite smile on her face and exchanging the requisite niceties with everyone to whom she was introduced. Given the fact that she and her siblings were indeed the evening’s guests of honor, they took their places beside the prince regent in the receiving line.

For the most part, those invited to attend proved friendly, if curious, many commenting or inquiring about her country.
A few braver individuals remarked on her lack of an accent, one older gentleman saying that she sounded more English than most of the English ladies he knew. Not at all offended, she explained about her English-speaking nannies and her years spent at Countess Hortensia’s Academy in Scotland.

After nearly forty minute of greetings, she’d had enough. During a small lull in the line’s progress, she turned to Rupert to make her excuses. To her consternation, she discovered him still deeply involved in conversation with a gentleman she knew to be the Austrian ambassador. Surely Rupert could save what was certain to be a lengthy discussion for later, when he and the other man could withdraw to a more private location to converse over liquor and cheroots?

Vaguely she heard the majordomo announce the next person being presented but failed to catch his name. Muffling a sigh, she pasted another smile on her face and turned to acknowledge whomever it might be.

She looked up and froze.

For the space of four full seconds her heart ceased to beat as she stared into a pair of stormy gray eyes—familiar, beloved eyes that she had last looked upon after sharing a passionate, lingering kiss.

Nick looked as thunderstruck as she felt, his lips parted on a silent inhalation, his tall, athletic body held in a rigid stance, as if he too had been stunned into immobility.

Only her years of training saved her from crying aloud and dissolving into a quivering puddle of jelly at his feet.

Or else fainting dead away.

If she wasn’t careful, she might well end up lying insensate on the marble floor, ladies rushing forward to wave hartshorn under her nostrils as the entire assembled company witnessed the scene.

Instead, she continued to stare, absolutely unable to look away.

Nick stared back.

How long they stood there, unspeaking, gazes locked, she had no idea. It couldn’t have been long, however, since her
brother and the Austrian ambassador continued their conversation and Sigrid exchanged pleasantries with another guest. On the far side of the room, the majordomo’s voice boomed once more above the crowd.

Abruptly, as if the sound had brought him out of his momentary trance, Nick’s jaw snapped tight, his eyes narrowing. She could almost see his mind working as he tried to reconcile everything he thought he knew about her against the reality of her presence at tonight’s ball.

What must he be thinking to find the young woman he’d believed to be a poor governess standing in a receiving line in the midst of royalty?

To encounter as one of tonight’s guests of honor the girl whose virginity he had claimed on his library sofa one cool autumn evening four weeks ago?

To unexpectedly come face-to-face with her after she had fled from his house without a proper explanation, leaving nothing more behind than a carefully worded note?

She lowered her gaze abruptly, afraid of what she might glimpse on his face.

And worse, what he might see on hers.

Without warning, Sigrid turned toward her, having apparently become aware of her silence. “Emmaline?” her sister murmured in a soft undertone. “Is all well?”

It took her a few seconds to reply.

“Of course,” Emma said casually, managing by some miracle to force the words past the tightness wrapped like a strangling hand around her throat. Her heart continued to pound, so furiously she was surprised everyone within fifty feet could not hear it. Yet her voice sounded calm, faintly cool, her well-practiced demeanor seeming every bit as serene and untroubled as always.

At least she prayed that was how she appeared, fearing suddenly that her sister might see more than she ought, might read a hint of the truth about herself and Nick in her gaze.

No one must know,
she thought,
most particularly Sigrid and Rupert.
Should they even suspect there was anything
between her and Nick, she could not contemplate the volcanic magnitude of their response.

“I was just making the acquaintance of this gentleman,” she informed Sigrid with a studied indifference. “Lord…? You’ll forgive me, but I was unable to hear your name when it was called.”

Drawing on every ounce of her fortitude, she met Nick’s gaze as if they were strangers.

For an instant, she thought he might betray her, his eyes widening slightly, his nostrils flaring as he drew in a sharp, quick breath. Then he recovered, a mask of emotionless civility lowering over his face.

“Lyndhurst, Your Royal Highness. I am the Earl of Lyndhurst.” Taking a single step back, he made her a perfect, graceful bow.

“A pleasure,” she replied, holding out a gloved hand.

He took it, his grip tightening with an almost painful pressure.

The lightest of shivers ran along her spine. Perversely, she relished the sensation of his touch despite the punishing quality of his hold. A little more force and he could easily have broken her bones.

Instead, he released her without harm, behaving for all the world as if this were their very first meeting.

With a pang, she let her arm lower to her side.

To her relief, she saw Sigrid nod with apparent satisfaction that all was well, then turn back to the older woman with whom she had been conversing.

Emma cast about for something innocuous to say. “Your prince keeps his rooms quite comfortably warm. Such a blessing on a cold night as this.”

Nick quirked a dark eyebrow as if to say,
So we are going to talk about the weather, are we?

Silently, she pleaded with him to follow her lead.

His jaw clenched in a way she recognized, one that never boded anything good.

Still, when he spoke again, he made no effort to steer the
conversation into more dangerous territory. “Indeed, it is a chilly night, even for November,” he said. “Thankfully you are right that Carlton House is a most comfortable edifice. Although you may find yourself wishing for a few open windows once the dancing begins.”

She sent him a little smile.

“Might I request the honor of a dance, Princess? A waltz perhaps?”

Her smile disappeared, her pulse picking up speed again. She looked away, wondering how she could find a way to refuse him. Once she and Nick parted company in this receiving line, she knew she could not afford to speak to him again. It would be far too perilous. And much, much too tempting.

Her gaze fell on Rupert, and she saw that he was finally alone. “Ah, my brother appears to have concluded his conversation with the Austrian ambassador. It has been a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

Nick’s eyes flashed, his gaze hard and sharp as glass. “The dance, Your Highness. What do you say to taking a turn with me later tonight?”

“I do not waltz, I am afraid,” she told him.

And it was nothing but the truth. Countess Hortensia did not approve of the waltz, finding it much too bold and improper for young ladies. For that reason, it was omitted from the dance instruction given by the academy. Even if Emma had wished, she would not have been able to accept his offer.

But Nick was not to be deterred. “The quadrille or a cotillion, then? Surely you are familiar with one of those forms of dance?”

Emma forced herself not to scowl, both of them fully aware he had her neatly trapped. She could refuse him outright, of course; it was her prerogative as a royal to accept whichever offers she preferred. But she knew him well enough to realize her refusal would make no difference. He would seek her out by one means or another. Perhaps a dance would be the easiest way to satisfy his demands.

“The quadrille, then,” she agreed. “I shall look forward to the occasion.”