The Princess and the Peer

by Warren, Tracy Anne

  But he didn’t seem disheartened by the loss, or lacking in confidence, as he flashed her a friendly smile. “Didn’t know you were going out fishing, milord,” Bell continued. “You sure did bring back a right fine catch.”

  Nick’s lips twitched, but he repressed a laugh. “Mind your manners, lad, or you’ll have our guest wishing she hadn’t agreed to accompany me here.”

  “Quite right, your lordship. As Mr. Symms is always tellin’ me, I need to watch this loose tongue o’ mine afore it lands me in the suds,” the footman said before returning his gaze to Emma. “Don’t mind me, miss. Just can’t seem to help meself around lovely females.”

  Despite the impropriety of fraternizing with a servant, she couldn’t keep from smiling back.

  A moment later, Nick reached up to help her from the carriage. But rather than offer his hand, he grasped her around the waist and swung her to the ground. Her pulse drummed in her veins, the curious footman utterly forgotten as her gaze locked with Nick’s. They stood just so for several long seconds before he released her.

  “I promised you tea, as I recall,” he said, apparently unaffected by their brief touch.

  Willing her heart to resume its normal pace, she let him lead her up a short flight of steps to the front door.

  Nick’s butler—the inestimable Mr. Symms, she surmised—greeted them at the entrance. Emma saw immediately that the man was a far more proper servant than Bell, his gracious politeness putting her instantly at ease.

  “If you will forgive me,” Nick said after a moment, “there is a matter to which I must attend. In the meantime, Symms will see you made comfortable in the drawing room. I shall join you there shortly.”

  Nick excused himself, striding away down the hall without another word of explanation.

  Emma stared after him.

  Symms proved excellent at his profession, however, and Emma hardly noticed Nick’s absence as the servant led her into the drawing room, where she settled as comfortably as promised onto a well-sprung salmon-colored divan.

  She gazed around the room, noticing the handsome but somewhat dated walnut furniture, the spring green draperies and colorful cream and blue Aubusson carpet. Tasteful as the room’s decoration might be, it didn’t seem to suit Nick Gregory at all; the style was far too frivolous and much too feminine.

  So he does have a wife.

  Is that where he had gone so abruptly? Had he left to seek out Lady Lyndhurst?

  She linked her hands in her lap, telling herself she would stay only long enough to be polite and then depart. Where, she wasn’t entirely sure, as the thought of the embassy was a less-than-happy prospect.

  Moments later, Nick strode into the room. “Sorry to have deserted you,” he said. “I hope Symms took good care of you in my absence.”

  “Excellent care. He has gone for tea.”

  Nick nodded in apparent satisfaction, then crossed to the fireplace to toss a pair of logs onto the grate. Taking up a heavy, black iron poker, he began working the wood, trying to coax the flames to burn hotter.

  “Will Lady Lyndhurst be joining us?” she ventured, casting a glance toward the drawing room doors.

  Nick stopped prodding the fire and turned to face her, his brows furrowed. “No.” At her continued look of inquiry, he went on. “My mother passed away some while ago.”

  His mother?

  “Oh, I—?” she said, confused. “My condolences.”

  He stared, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Did you think I had a wife?”

  “Is that not where you went? To ask her to join us?”

  “No. Whatever gave you the idea that I was married?” He paused, studying her where she sat on the divan—the bright pinkish orange divan. Then he flashed one of his wicked smiles. “The colors not manly enough for you?”

  “No,” she said dryly. “I cannot say that they are.”

  He laughed, plainly amused. “You’re right. They aren’t. But I take no responsibility for this room. The decoration was entirely my mother’s doing. She had the salon refurbished over a decade ago. I guess Peter never got around to changing it, and I don’t pay much mind to such things.”

  “Peter?” she inquired.

  “My brother. He”—Nick paused for a moment, swallowing hard—“he died a few months ago. Saddled me with the country estate and this house, among other things.”

  “Oh, I must beg your pardon and offer my condolences again. I did not realize you had suffered a loss recently. You’re not dressed… That is…”

  “Not wearing black?” he finished for her. “No, I damned well am not. Peter knew how I felt about him, and I don’t need to shroud myself like some carrion crow to prove that I cared. If Society doesn’t like it, they can blood—” He broke off, clearly realizing he was about to use another swear word in her presence. “Well, they know what they can do.”

  Emma suppressed a smile, finding herself rather in sympathy with his opinions concerning mourning requirements. Far too many people, she found, wore black because it was expected and not because they felt genuine grief. As Nick said, the color of his clothes did not make his loss less keen.

  So he had recently inherited his title, she mused. And apparently did not relish his elevation to the peerage.

  Curious.

  “In answer to your next question,” he said before she could offer any further comment, “this is a bachelor’s establishment and I live alone. Well, alone if you do not count the dozen or so servants who are in my employ here in the house,” he amended.

  A tiny frown creased her forehead. Clearly, satisfying Society’s expectations in regard to not entertaining unmarried young women inside his home wasn’t one of his priorities either.

  “I can almost hear you thinking,” he said with a hint of humor in his voice. Then he sobered. “You need not worry about the proprieties. I’ve already sent a note round to my aunt asking her to join us. She lives nearby and her curiosity won’t let her refuse my request.”

  Before Emma had time to further consider that bit of news, a knock sounded at the door and Symms entered with the tea service. The butler set the large silver tray with its array of pots and plates onto a nearby table. With a short bow, he withdrew from the room.

  “Would you be so good as to do the honors?” Nick gestured toward the tea tray.

  “Yes, of course,” she agreed, settling naturally into the familiar task. “Milk and sugar?”

  “Neither. I like it black, strong and hot.”

  She wasn’t surprised. Unlike the room’s style, his choice of tea seemed to suit him perfectly. She poured, then handed him a cup of the streaming brew. She filled a plate with an assortment of tender buttery cakes, tiny sandwiches, and sweet biscuits and passed that to him as well. Then she prepared a cup of tea for herself, pausing to add a healthy splash of milk and two sugars before taking a careful sip.

  “Is that all you’re having?” He sent her a disapproving look. “You still look a bit piqued.”

  “I told you I am fine. Tea is all I require at present.”

  He gave a derisive snort beneath his breath. “Require or not, I insist you eat something. Here.” Leaning over, he plucked up a sandwich, put it on a plate, and handed it to her. “Try one of these. They’re delicious.”

  She considered refusing, but decided it was easier to simply placate him—or at least appear to do so. Under his watchful gaze, she took a small bite and discovered he was right; the sandwich was delicious—chicken and watercress, if she wasn’t mistaken. She ate another bite.

  Apparently satisfied, he returned to his own repast.

  “Well now,” he said after swallowing the last of slice of raisin cake, then washing it down with half the tea in his cup. “We’ve talked about me. I should enjoy hearing something more of you.”

  Her fingers froze against her plate, only years of excellent training keeping her from revealing her reaction to his unwelcome question. “Me?” she said in a deliberately casual voice.

&
nbsp; “Yes, you. What brings you to London?”

  Fear of being married off to a man I don’t know, she thought. Frustration at being locked away like a prisoner. A chance to enjoy one last carefree hurrah before I must put my youthful dreams away forever.

  But she couldn’t very well tell him all that. Lowering her gaze, she took another long sip of her tea. “My friend; you know that. I am here for a visit.”

  He raised an eyebrow heavy with skepticism. “Perhaps I should rephrase my question. What really brings you to London? Clearly your friend was not expecting you, seeing that she and her husband are away at present.”

  Emma’s forehead drew tight. He really is most annoyingly logical and observant. “I misjudged the timing; that is all. A simple confusion of dates.”

  Both dark eyebrows shot skyward this time. “Please credit me with the intelligence to know when I am being fed a tale. I saw your face when you heard your friend was out of town. You were surprised and distressed. You are still uneasy about your situation. So, what has happened to make you seek refuge with your friend?”

  When she did not answer, he set his cup and plate aside and leaned toward her. “You may tell me, you know. I am rather good at keeping confidences,” he said, his voice deep and soothing.

  She suspected he was indeed good at keeping confidences, but she still could not risk telling him the truth. Only imagine how he would stare if she admitted she was a royal princess who had escaped the overly protective watch of her chaperones so she might enjoy a brief lark in the city. After he recovered from his shock, she suspected he would put her directly into a carriage and have her driven straight back to the estate.

  Her lips tightened like a clam.

  “Have you been turned out of a position perhaps?” he suggested gently. “Or maybe you had a disagreement at home and have run away? You’re from Scotland, you said.”

  A jolt surged through her, tingling down to her toes. How could he have guessed so easily that she had indeed run away? As for home, Rosewald was a small autonomous kingdom lying near the northwestern border of the Austrian Empire and to the east of Switzerland.

  “Yes.” She racked her mind for some glimmer of truth she could tell him. “I did journey from Scotland not long ago.”

  “And why did you leave?”

  She hesitated again, knowing she had to come up with something plausible. What was it he had said before? Something about her being turned away from a position?

  “I was… teaching.”

  “Teaching?”

  “Yes. But as you suspected, I was”—she lowered her eyelashes with a dramatic sweep—“dismissed,” she finished with what she hoped was a pitiable whisper.

  “You were a governess, then? Forgive me, but you seem rather young to be instructing children.”

  Her gaze flashed up again. Young! she thought. I am a fully grown woman of eighteen. How could he think she was too young? Everyone was always telling her she looked mature for her age. One-and-twenty at least.

  To a man of Nick’s years, however, she supposed anyone under five-and-twenty must look youthful. Studying him covertly, she wondered just how old he was. Thirty, she decided. A man in his prime. But his looks and age were not the issue here.

  “I am more than old enough,” she declared, thinking quickly in order to spin her make-believe tale. “Apparently, after additional consideration, my employers were of the same mind as you.” She took another dramatic pause. “It seems they wanted their daughters taught by a woman of more advanced years, and so—”

  “You were let go,” he finished. “Well, that seems most unfair, but unfortunately many things in life are unfair.” He paused, clearly thinking over what she’d told him. “And so you traveled to London to seek shelter with your friend?”

  She nodded. “Yes. She was a teacher as well—prior to her marriage, that is.”

  “I see.” Leaning back, he steepled his fingers together, settling them beneath his chin. “And then those two thieves stole your money and you found out your friend is out of town. That is a run of bad luck.”

  Fresh anger coursed through her at the reminder. She really did not want to go to the embassy or be compelled to return to the estate. She’d barely had any fun at all yet. He’d said her situation wasn’t fair and that was the least fair part of all.

  “You are in a difficult fix indeed,” he mused aloud. “Well, there seems nothing else for it. You must stay here with me.”

  Chapter 3

  Nick watched as Emma’s lips parted, her velvety blue eyes widening with surprise.

  He supposed his decision to have her take up residence with him—temporarily, of course—was insane by the usual standards, but then he’d never done the usual thing in his life. She said herself she had no money, no family and nowhere to go. Under the circumstances, someone had to step forward and help her.

  His mother had always said he had an overly protective streak in him, whether it was mending the wing of a wounded bird when he’d been a boy, providing employment to a former crewman, or rescuing a wayward girl he’d only just met on the street.

  If he were anyone else, he would drive her to a hotel, give her a few pounds, and turn his back, never to see her again. But in spite of the fact that he’d known her less than two hours, he already felt a connection to her.

  Even if he hadn’t felt anything, he couldn’t simply abandon her to her fate. She was far too pretty and much too naive to be allowed to wander around on her own. Who knew what kind of unscrupulous blackguards she might encounter in a public hotel? With no one to protect her, she would be easy prey; a tasty morsel any healthy male would find hard to resist.

  And what about him?

  Well, he wouldn’t mind having her around for a few days, just long enough for her teacher friend to return from the country. Then he could send her on her way, his conscience clear.

  Until then, she might be exactly the diversion he needed. She was certainly far more entertaining than sitting in his office reading letters from his steward about the pond that was being dredged at Lynd Park, the estate Peter had left him in Lancashire. A week with a pretty little houseguest sounded quite appealing.

  As for her reputation, she was a governess, a woman who by virtue of her employment was considered neither a proper lady nor a servant; instead, she dwelled somewhere in the nebulous gray area between. Personally, he didn’t give a hang about any talk her stay might elicit, but he supposed she might. Which was why he’d already sent a note to his aunt. He supposed he could ask Aunt Felicity to let Emma stay with her, but he was ninety-nine percent certain of her answer.

  “Have a girl with whom I am not acquainted live in my house? Do not be absurd, Dominic. You know how I loathe having people stay in my home. The town house is far too small for guests. We’d be quite in each other’s way. And you know I cannot be put to the expense of feeding anyone but myself and the servants.”

  Aunt Felicity, a widow of many years, was forever complaining about the miserly jointure left to her by her late husband. “It barely keeps me in candles, let alone proper firewood for the grates.”

  Of course, she never seemed to count the gifts of food and fuel and sundries that Peter, and now he himself, sent around to her town house on a regular basis. And while she would likely refuse to entertain guests at her own house, he strongly suspected she would be pleased to take up residence at Lyndhurst House for a few days. In fact, he was sure she would relish a chance to set up court in one of the largest guest bedchambers and pass the week plaguing his servants with demands.

  Nick met Emma’s gaze again, watching the changing expressions on her face as she mulled over his suggestion.

  “Stay with you?” she repeated with skeptical amazement. “That is out of the question, my lord.”

  “I fail to see why,” he stated in a bluff voice. “You need a place to stay for a few days, and I have a house with more than ample room.”

  Carefully, Emma set her teacup aside and tried to
decide how best to answer. “Well, yes, I can see that your home is most comfortably appointed”—for a house that isn’t a castle, she added to herself—“but the size of your establishment is hardly the issue.”

  “Then what is? If it’s appearances you’re concerned about,” he went on before she could elaborate, “you need not be. I told you, I’ve sent a note round to my aunt. I am sure if I ask her, she’ll be only too happy to lend you her countenance.”

  “Oh, your aunt, you say? Still, it simply isn’t possible.”

  Yet even as the words left her mouth, she found herself wondering why it wasn’t. He was a stranger, true, but so far he’d been nothing but generous and kind, aiding her when others might have either turned their backs or taken advantage. She supposed it was foolhardy to trust a man she barely knew and yet, crazy as it might seem, she sensed she could. But to live in his house, even with his aunt there to act as chaperone? The notion was as shocking and dangerous as it was absurd.

  Yet the more she considered the idea, the more she found herself warming to it. Staying here with him—and his aunt, she reminded herself—meant she could remain in London. And if she were in London, then surely she would be able to explore the city exactly as she’d planned.

  Not only that, but she would be doing so with complete anonymity. No one, not the duchess or the ambassador or even her brother, would have any way of knowing she was staying with Lord Lyndhurst. As for being seen around Town, well, she wasn’t acquainted with anyone in London, and no one searching for her would ever expect to find her living as a penniless, unemployed governess in the town house of a newly made earl.

  Truly, the idea could not be more perfect, she thought. If she accepted his offer, she would be able to enjoy her week’s freedom and do all the things she was dying to do and see. And best of all, she would have a strong, capable escort at her side to accompany her on her adventures. For even she was no longer foolish enough to think she could go exploring on her own, not after what had happened that morning at the market.