The Princess and the Peer (33 page)

But she did, and she could feel the lines like they were a great big
L
for
liar
stamped in the middle of her forehead.

Beside her, Ariadne waited, knowingly smug.

“All right. All right,” Emma confessed. “Yes, that’s him. But it doesn’t make any difference.” Sadness swept through her like an arctic wind. “He’s as far away from me now as if we were separated by an ocean.”

“He doesn’t look that far,” Ariadne said in a gentle voice. “Only just across the way, if you would but reach out.”

Yet in spite of Ariadne’s words, Emma knew her friend understood exactly what she meant, even if she chose to be foolishly idealistic about the subject.

Looking down, Emma gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Don’t start again. It’s too late.”

“No, it—”

“What are you two whispering about?” Mercedes murmured, leaning forward from the seat behind. “What’s going on? You’re both driving me to distraction.”

“I’ll explain during the interval,” Ariadne tossed quietly over her shoulder.

Just then, the baroness turned her head to study the three of them.

Mercedes sent her a smile, while Ariadne and Emma fixed their gazes on the play as if they had been watching all the time.

“Kean is thrilling, do you not think?” Mercedes said.

The baroness stared, then gave a faint, noncommittal nod. Apparently satisfied with her charges’ conduct, she turned her attention back to the stage.

Mercedes relaxed in her chair once again, while Ariadne shot Emma a relieved smile.

But Emma could not smile back.

Nor did she dare let herself gaze again at Nick.

“I believe I shall take a stroll,” Emma declared once the interval commenced. “I never like to sit too long.”

Ariadne shot her an encouraging look, clearly under the impression that Emma planned to escape their chaperone and find some means of meeting up with Nick.

“If you would be so good as to accompany me, Baroness?” Emma continued.

Ariadne’s face fell, her eyes goggling with incredulity and obvious frustration.

“But, of course, Your Highness,” the older woman agreed, clearly unaware of the unspoken conversation raging around her. Turning her back, she walked to wait at the door of the box.

Emma reached down to retrieve her small, pearl-encrusted ivory satin evening reticule, then stood to make her way along the aisle. Ariadne gained her feet at that moment and moved with a lithe step that neatly managed to block Emma’s exit. Pausing, she brushed at her skirt with a casual hand.

Mercedes, who stood one row ahead of them, shot them both a pointed
what’s going on?
look, followed by a
you’d better tell me soon
frown. Aware they could not speak freely, she drew a resigned breath and turned to leave as well.

As she did, Ariadne stepped quickly forward, walking into the aisle just behind Mercedes, her stride long and oddly determined. Suddenly, Mercedes staggered as if she’d been jerked from behind, and a loud ripping sound rent the air.

“Oh, Mercedes!” Ariadne exclaimed, her hands going to her cheeks. “Oh, heavens, what have I done? I am so sorry. I don’t know how I could be so clumsy. I think I may have ripped your flounce. Here, let me see.”

Mercedes tried to look around to view the damage, her face flushed with distress and obvious confusion. “Is it torn? How bad does it look?”

Ariadne bent down to inspect the dress and the large hole that now sagged in the silk.

“I’m afraid it definitely needs mending.” Ariadne said, shaking her head, apparently shamefaced. “It’s entirely my fault. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Well, it was an accident,” Mercedes said. “Of course there is nothing to forgive.”

Emma saw Ariadne look quickly away.

“Why do you not run along to the ladies’ withdrawing room and have it mended?” Ariadne suggested. “I am sure the theater must provide a woman who can help repair it with a few pins and a bit of thread.”

She made another regretful moan of apology and wrung her hands. “Baroness, Princess Mercedes cannot go by herself. Surely you will accompany her?” She sent the older woman a hopeful smile. “Princess Emma and I shall be fine for a few minutes until you return.”

The baroness pursed her lips, clearly uncertain. She glanced between the three of them for a long moment, then gave a nod. “Yes, you are right, Princess Ariadne. I shall escort Princess Mercedes to have her gown seen to and return as soon as may be. Perhaps you should both remain here in the box?”

“We’ll be fine together,” Ariadne said. Reaching over, she slid her arm through Emma’s, locking them hip to hip. “We shall only stroll a few feet in either direction. With so many estimable personages present, what harm can there be in getting a little air?”

What harm indeed?
Emma thought sourly.

With a few choice words she could ruin Ariadne’s scheme. But it went against the grain to tattle on a friend—even if that friend deserved to be soundly thrashed for her unwanted conniving.

The baroness studied them again. “Stay close to the box,” she warned. Turning, she smiled at Mercedes. “Your Highness? Shall we?”

Mercedes sent them a look of helpless resignation, then set off with the older woman.

Emma held her tongue until they were gone; only then did she round on Ariadne. “You are beyond all bounds. Do you know that? I cannot believe you actually tore Mercedes’s gown. Poor thing. She loved that dress. And worse, you lied to her. She actually believes it was an accident.”

“Well, I am sorry about that, but it couldn’t be helped,” Ariadne defended.

Emma muttered her opinion on that score inaudibly beneath her breath.

Ariadne ignored her, the repentant expression she had worn disappearing from her face. “As for the gown, who cares about that? Mercedes literally has dozens of dresses in her wardrobe and I shall gladly buy her a new one. The important thing is that I needed to get you away from the baroness. I cannot believe you were going to leave the box with her in tow. How can you possibly talk to Nick with her along?”

“I can’t, which is exactly the reason I asked her to accompany me. Good Lord, Arie, how can you be so cruel? Can you not understand that no good will come from me seeing him again?”

Assuming he wants to see me,
she thought with a dismal turn of mind. He hadn’t looked as if he’d been glaring at her,
but in the low light, how could she be sure? Was he still angry? Did he hate her even now? Her chest was already aching as if she’d taken a kick to the ribs—and that was only from seeing him across the theater. How much worse would it be if they actually met?

“Running away isn’t the answer,” Ariadne countered. “You owe it to yourself, and him as well, to at least meet and be polite. You don’t want him to think you are giving him the cut, do you?”

Emma scuffed the bottom of one slipper against the box’s thin carpeting. “Of course not.”

Hurting Nick is the last thing I wish,
Emma thought.

“Well then,” Ariadne continued, “let us proceed out into the corridor and walk toward his box. That way we may give the appearance of having just happened upon each other when we meet him.”

“And if he isn’t coming to find me?”

“Do not be absurd. Of course he is coming to find you. I saw the way he was looking at you. He is probably tossing people aside even as we speak in order to reach you with all deliberate haste.”

A begrudging smile curved over Emma’s lips at the image Ariadne created. “Now who is being absurd?”

Ariadne merely smiled and drew her Emma out into the corridor. Linking arms again, she started them on their way. “I must confess,” she murmured a few moments later, “I am most anxious to make your beau’s acquaintance. Even from a distance, he looked absolutely delectable.”

“Arie! Of all the outrageous things to say.”

But Ariadne merely shrugged, unconcerned. “I only say what I think. Why is that so outrageous?”

“And he’s not my beau,” Emma declared. “My hand is already promised to another, remember?”

“Promised, but not given,” Ariadne corrected. “Your future isn’t written yet and
that
is what you need to remember. Well now,” she said, her gaze traveling ahead, “if my eyes don’t deceive me, here comes your Nick.”

Emma looked up, finding him as though he were the only person in the corridor instead of one of many meandering within the crowd. Her heart beat wildly up into her throat, as she drank in the sight of his tall, powerful body and masterful stride. Dressed in requisite black-and-white evening attire, he was every inch as delectable as Ariadne had proclaimed. His black coat was smoothed precisely over his wide shoulders, his breeches molded to his heavily muscled thighs, snug as a second skin.

Skin that once had touched her skin.

Muscles that had moved in rhythm with her muscles as the two of them made passionate, intoxicating love.

Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her as he drew near. She fought them off, fought them down, striving to regulate the expression on her face so that she appeared outwardly calm and serene.

As far as the world knew, she and Nick were virtual strangers.

As far as even Ariadne knew—at least not for certain—she and Nick had never even kissed, let alone spent one unforgettable night wrapped in each other’s arms.

She and Ariadne slowly came to a halt.

Nick did as well.

Meeting her gaze, he bent into a low, respectful bow. “Your Royal Highness. Good evening.”

Emma inclined her head in appropriately formal greeting. “My lord.”

She couldn’t help but stare, long and lingeringly, her eyes tracing his features as if she hoped to memorize them. Only when Ariadne gave a faint
hmm-hmm
did Emma recall the young woman at her side.

“Oh,” Emma said, returning to the present. “Allow me to introduce my companion to you, my lord. This is Her Highness, Princess Ariadne of Nordenbourg. Princess, the Earl of Lyndhurst.”

Nick bowed again, this time to Ariadne, who gave him a warm smile.

“A pleasure,” she said. “I do hope you are enjoying tonight’s entertainment.”

“Yes, it is most”—Nick’s gaze turned to Emma—“enlivening.”

“Well, I would simply love to stay and chat, but the interval grows short.” Ariadne looked over the crowd with a sweeping gaze. “Oh, look now, I see a dear acquaintance with whom I simply must speak. If you will both please excuse me. Carry on.”

“Arie,” Emma said on a protesting whisper as her friend disengaged her arm from her own.

Emma knew that Ariadne couldn’t possibly have a “dear acquaintance” here in London, since she had been to only a few parties and had formed no important new friendships. But Ariadne was clearly determined to give her and Nick as much time together as possible, even if they could not actually be alone.

With anxiety fluttering in her stomach, she watched Ariadne drift away. Slowly she turned back to Nick.

He gazed at her, his eyes unexpectedly hungry. “You are well?”

“Yes. Quite well.”
If you don’t count my broken heart, that is.
“And you, my lord?” she asked.

“Fine. Well.”

He fell silent and so did she. It was, she realized, the first time they had ever been awkward with each other.

“You are enjoying the play?” he ventured.

“Yes,” she answered, when in truth she couldn’t remember the title and had no idea what the plot was about.

She stared at his chin, noticing the slight shadow of a beard that was just beginning to darken his jaw. She wondered whether his skin would feel as warm and rough against her fingertips as she recalled. She clasped her hands together at her waist. “I had your flowers. They were from you, I presume?
N.
”

One corner of his mouth curved upward. “I assumed you would toss them away once you read the card.”

“Oh, I did,” she shot back. “Even so, the violas were lovely.”

His eyes darkened like a shifting storm and bore into hers. “Your favorite.”

Her pulse throbbed in her wrists. “Yes. You remembered.”

“I remember everything,” he said meaningfully.

Another small silence fell. Without conscious awareness, each of them drew fractionally closer so as to afford more privacy while still appearing to be engaged in nothing more important than small talk.

“Are you still angry?” she ventured.

“I should be, I suppose,” he said, “but somehow I find that particular emotion eludes me at present.”

Another moment’s pause.

“Would it be permissible for me to write to you?” he asked.

Her gaze flashed to his, her heart giving a quick, joyous leap. But seconds later the traitorous organ resumed a slower beat when she recalled Rupert and what he would have to say if she started getting letters from Nick. “It would be better if you did not.”

A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I see.”

She watched his withdrawal and felt the ache start again inside her chest. She should say nothing, she knew, and let him think the worst, let him believe she felt nothing for him. But she couldn’t. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t like you to write to me. It is just that my family would not approve.”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes as her meaning sank in. “Then I’ll write anyway.”

She shook her head. “Do not. We shouldn’t even be speaking tonight.”

“Why not? Are you forbidden to speak to men?”

“No, but you are not just any man. My chaperone may return at any moment, and she cannot see us together. I have to go.”

“No.” He stretched out a hand to her. “Emma, I must see you again.”

“It is impossible. And do not call me by my given name. Not here.”

A glower of frustration crossed his face. “Very well, Your Highness. But, please, there must be a way for us to meet.”

She looked him full in the face, her cheeks suddenly cold and pale. “There is not. Do not attempt to contact me. If you come to the estate you will be turned away.”

His face turned hard again.

Her own expression crumpled. “I know I told you to hate me,” she whispered, “but I beg you, do not. I cannot bear the idea of you out in the world and thinking ill of me.”