“Not necessarily,” he told her. “Of course, I shall understand if you would rather not go.”
“No!” she shot back quickly. “I want to go. If you still do, that is.”
“Well, I had cleared my calendar for the day,” he said. “So long as we take the curricle, I can see no harm in us proceeding without my aunt.”
“Nor I,” she agreed, hiding a gleeful smile. Taking up her fork again, she ate a cube of pineapple, then followed it with a slice of pear.
“I thought,” he said, relaxing in his seat, “that you might enjoy a visit to Astley’s.”
“Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre, you mean?” She couldn’t contain the spark of excitement that spread through her like a match set to tinder.
“So you’ve heard of it?”
“Of course. Hasn’t everyone?”
He laughed. “Then I take it you do not object to the idea?”
“Not at all. It is a wonderful suggestion, my lord.”
In fact, Emma mused, she couldn’t have thought of a better one. She wanted to experience London, but more than that she wanted to experience a side of London that a princess would not ordinarily see. Despite the Royal in its name, Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre was not one of the places of which her brother or chaperones would approve, however popular it might have been with London’s fashionable younger set.
An equestrian circus, even one indoors, would be packed with common folk, the masses jostling and laughing in ways both wild and vulgar—or so she would be warned. “Do not be absurd, Your Highness,” she could imagine the duchess saying as the older woman stared down her nose. “Royalty does not mingle with rabble. I cannot imagine why you would even entertain such a dangerous and disgraceful notion.”
But this week, she wanted to be dangerous. As for disgraceful… well, she would see what transpired in the days ahead.
“I must warn you beforehand,” Nick continued, “that the place is overwarm and crowded, smells of sweat, straw, and horseflesh.”
Even better, she thought.
“However, the show is highly entertaining and an experience no one should miss. Shall we plan on attending, then?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He chuckled at her enthusiasm.
Bell entered a moment later and set a plate before her with a flourish. Her eyes widened at the sight of more food than she could possibly eat. Even so, her stomach rumbled appreciatively, the scent of the eggs and hash absolutely mouthwatering. The footman poured more tea for her, then replenished the coffee in Nick’s cup.
“Eat hearty,” Bell advised with a grin before he withdrew once more from the room.
Nick sipped his coffee. “I’d take Bell’s advice if I were you. We have a long day in store and you’ll need your strength.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she teased.
Surprise warmed his eyes, a smile playing over his mouth. Turning over his newspaper, he began to read.
In happy, companionable silence, she continued her meal.
Chapter 6
“Oh my, I think my heart just stopped!” Emma exclaimed that afternoon as she sat next to Nick in the stands at Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre.
The crowd burst into a welter of riotous applauses, cheering for the amazing rider who stood upright on the backs of two galloping horses. Somehow, moments ago, he had managed to pluck a handkerchief off the ground, the fluttering white cloth now held proudly aloft in his raised hand.
In her entire life, she’d never seen anything to rival the feats of skill and daring achieved by the troop of equestrian riders as they performed one astonishing trick after another. The men and their steeds were every bit as amazing as advertised. And just as Nick had warned, the theater was crowded and overly warm, the interior ripe with the scents of horseflesh, straw, human sweat, and the mixture of colognes being used to disguise it. But Emma didn’t mind; the atmosphere only added to the thrill and adventure of the outing.
The horseman finished his act and rode out of the ring, exiting behind a curtain. Moments later, a trio of clowns ran onto the stage, their painted faces as comical as the humorous scene they began to pantomime.
Looking over, she met Nick’s gaze, which she found fixed on her rather than the entertainment. She smiled, lost for a moment in his eyes. Only then did she realize that she was literally hanging on to him, her right hand clenched in a fierce grip around his arm. She must have taken hold during the last act, as she waited on tenterhooks to see whether the horseman would survive unscathed.
Gently, she tried to disengage herself. “It seems I have forgotten myself.”
But Nick stopped her, catching her hand and pressing it to his sleeve. “You may forget yourself as often as you like. I shall not mind in the least. And since the next performer is a tightrope walker, you might as well stay exactly where you are so you can hang on as needed.”
He gave her one of his devastating, crooked smiles, the effect sending her pulse speeding as fast as a sharpshooter’s bullet. She was suddenly vitally aware of Nick’s large, powerful hand cradled over hers, and of how small she felt standing next to his tall, broad-shouldered body.
Gathering every ounce of her willpower, she forced herself to return her attention to the performance. But it was nearly impossible to concentrate on anything now except the man at her side.
Luckily the tightrope walker appeared as promised. He proved spectacular, and she was so terrified for him that she was soon caught up in his death-defying deeds.
At her side, Nick didn’t bother watching the acrobat. He was far more interested in watching Emma. Her face was a spectacle unto itself, revealing every emotion, each nuance of reaction from wonder to fear, from astonishment to delight.
She was clinging to him again, her fingers tight against the wool of his sleeve and the flesh and bone beneath. He kept his hand where it lay, covering hers with a protectiveness and a possessiveness that was quite unlike him.
He’d never been the jealous type. Even in his salad days, he’d regarded the emotion as a nonsensical waste of time. He preferred mature women rather than ingenues, boldly feminine females who were worldly enough to savor the mutual pleasure and passion to be found in another’s arms without any messy ties of the heart. He nearly always ended his liaisons on friendly terms with no tears or recriminations when it came time to say good-bye, as it inevitably must. He didn’t like clingy lovers—or clingy girls for that matter.
But he didn’t mind Emma hanging on to him as she alternately gasped, laughed, and sighed, the brilliant blue of her eyes sparkling with almost childlike amazement.
And she was a child in so many ways, years younger than himself and not just in terms of age. As he’d seen last night, her innocence clung to her like a second skin, along with a trust that was unwise for a young woman who was alone in the world.
Yet he could not think of her as a child, his body responding to her the way a tide followed the progress of the moon and the sun. What he could not fathom was why.
She was beautiful, yes, but he’d known other beautiful women. She was interesting, but there were many accomplished, well-educated ladies, particularly in London and other fashionable capitals of the world. Yet something about her fascinated him on a level he did not entirely understand.
Perhaps it was her bravery and indomitable spirit. Only a woman with true zeal could have borne what she had endured yesterday without once breaking down. Maybe it was her gentle grace and keen sense of humor. Or mayhap it was the kindness he glimpsed in her gaze and the sweet curve of her smile. He knew so little about her really, yet he could not help wanting to know more, wanting to know everything.
A giddy laugh rippled from her mouth, a strawberry flush dusting her cheeks as a troop of small dogs dressed in the most absurd costumes appeared in the ring. They twirled on their hind feet and barked enthusiastically as they jumped through a series of increasingly smaller hoops. Her pleasure in their antics was a marvel to behold. She laughed again and his loins
tightened, his arm flexing beneath her hand as his blood ran hot.
Shifting in his seat, he turned his gaze away.
The performances continued for another half hour, concluding with a magnificent mock battle complete with racing carriages, “armies” of mounted soldiers dressed in full military regalia, and the crack-and-smoke of faux gunfire as the British captured a French Imperial Eagle and Napoleon himself.
The crowd roared and applauded amid a crescendo of stamping feet and cheers, Emma along with them—minus the stamping, since she was far too much of a lady to participate in such a display.
Nevertheless, her cheeks were flushed with obvious pleasure as the noise faded and people began to make their way from the theater. “That was absolutely brilliant,” she told Nick as they stood. “Thank you for bringing me here, my lord. I cannot tell you what a treat this has been.”
Nick inclined his head, more pleased than he ought to be at her delight. “You just have, and you are most welcome. Now, what would you say to a drink and a light repast? Were it solely up to me, I would suggest a public house not too far distant. But I suppose such a place won’t do for a lady.”
“Will it not?” she asked, her eyes lighting up at the suggestion. “I’ve never been to a public house.”
He rolled his eyes. “Nor should you. I see I was unwise to mention it.”
“But now that you have, we simply have to go.”
“Oh, do we? Gunter’s would be a far more suitable choice.”
Her lower lip thrust out in a moue of disappointment.
“Most women love Gunter’s,” he said.
“I am sure it is a fine establishment, but not at all adventurous. Hardly fitting after the spectacle we have just witnessed.”
“Ah, so is that what you’re after—more spectacle?”
“Might we see one in the public house?”
He chuckled. “That is highly unlikely. Generally it is just men sitting around talking, drinking ale, and having a meal. Nothing terribly unusual and certainly not daring.”
“Then what is the harm in taking me there?” she encouraged. “Besides, how can I come to any harm when you shall be at my side?”
He scowled, realizing she had caught him neatly in his own trap. “Gunter’s would be better.”
“We can go to Gunter’s another day,” she wheedled sweetly.
He groaned, half exasperated, half amused. “Very well. The public house it is. But you are to stick to me like a burr every moment we are inside.”
Playfully, she grabbed his arm again and held it tight. “I’m sticking already.”
At that exact moment, a toddler ran past them, followed by a man who was clearly giving chase. As he reached to grab hold of the wayward youth, he accidentally bumped Emma’s shoulder and sent her stumbling against Nick.
Instinctively, Nick caught hold and pulled her into his arms, tucking her tightly against his chest. His heart gave a strong swift beat, then another, his body humming with warmth and unmistakable need.
Her lips parted, breath soughing in and out in sweetly scented drafts. She trembled against him but made no effort to pull away; if anything she curled closer.
“Are you all right?” he murmured huskily.
She nodded, her eyes wide and brilliant, not with alarm but something else.
“Here now, it’s right sorry I am, missus. Didn’t mean to cause ye no trouble.” The man who had bumped into Emma had returned, the errant toddler held now in his arms. “Boy gets loose and it’s like chasing the wind. Ain’t it, Johnny?”
Johnny, the cause of all the trouble, giggled and hid his face against his father’s neck.
“He wanted to see the horses again, ye see,” the stranger went on.
“An understandable accident,” Nick stated. “Thankfully no harm was done.”
Clearly relieved, the man touched respectful fingers to his cap. “Guvnor. Ma’am. Best be getting the lad back to his mum.” With another nod, he hurried away, Johnny clinging to his beefy shoulders.
“Shall we be on our way?” Nick asked. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather I take you to Gunter’s?”
She nodded. “Quite sure. I believe I just proved my ability to stand fast in a dangerous situation. And if the public house is as you say, the experience will be incredibly boring.”
With Emma in tow, however, Nick knew their upcoming visit would be nothing of the kind.
The inside of the public house was dim and quiet with only a few patrons seated at the tables and chairs arranged throughout the room. Talk died down as she and Nick entered, a pair of grizzled old men looking up from their mugs to stare at her with undisguised interest. They looked away again quickly enough, Emma noticed, most likely because of the fierce look Nick gave them in return.
“Let’s find a table,” he said, keeping hold of her arm as he steered her toward a shadowed corner of the tavern.
“There’s one near the window that looks much more cheerful,” Emma told him, slowing their progress as she pointed out the other table.
“Sitting in the most noticeable spot in the entire place isn’t a good idea. This will do fine,” he stated, his tone inflexible.
She made a face, which she saw him pretend to ignore as he led her the rest of the way to the corner he had selected. When they reached the table, she slid her arm free of his and made to walk around, but he stopped her with a gentle touch.
“You sit here,” he said, pulling out a simple, straight-backed wooden chair that faced away from the other patrons.
“Why?”
“I don’t like having my back to the room. Old habit from my war days,” he added at her quizzical expression.
“Oh.” Deciding it wasn’t worth the argument, she slid into the offered seat. Rounding the table, Nick sat down across from her.
“Is it really so dangerous in here?” she leaned over to whisper, shivering with excitement at the idea.
Unable to resist, she looked over her shoulder to inspect the other patrons, wondering what untrustworthy types she might have missed on first glance.
At one table sat the two old men who had stared at her when she’d first come in; the pair had gone back to drinking their ales, bluish gray pipe smoke hovering above their grizzled heads like a small cloud. At another table sat a trio of young men with ink-stained fingers and harried expressions that made her wonder if they might be clerks taking an early supper break. And occupying a third table were four rather ordinary fellows dressed in plain vests and jackets who might have been anything from laborers to merchants to artisans; it was impossible to tell.
To her great disappointment, none of them looked particularly menacing at all.
As for the keeper of the public house, he at least seemed a bit more pugnacious with a short, thick build, shiny bald pate, and wiry brows that were knitted over his eyes like two lumps of wool.
He wiped the counter while shooting a disapproving glare in her direction. In that moment, it dawned on her that she was the only woman in the room.
“This place isn’t dangerous,” Nick told her with wry amusement once she’d turned back. “If it were, you would not be here.”
The barman, scowl still in place, lumbered up to them. “What’ll yeh ’ave?” he growled.
“Ale for me and tea for the lady,” Nick said before she had a chance to speak.
“Tea?” she shot back, giving Nick a reproving look. “I can have tea anytime.” Looking up, she sent the barman a wide smile. “I’ll have ale too. A small one, if you please.”
“She’ll have tea,” Nick countermanded. “And we’ll share a plate of your best meats and cheeses and bread to go with it.”
“Mustard or chutney with that, Guvnor?” the man asked. “My missus spent time in India with her father afore I married her and she makes a right tasty fixin’ with apples and pears.”
“It sounds delicious. We shall try both.”
The man nodded, then shot Emma another disapproving look before turning a
way.
“He’s not very friendly,” she complained as soon as he was out of earshot. “Surely I am not the only woman to ever set foot across the premises.”
“With the exception of his wife and possibly a daughter, you might well be. This isn’t the sort of public house that caters to working ladies and their companions.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind. I should not have mentioned it.”
Emma cudgeled her brain trying to make sense of his statement. “But what sort of women—oh—” She broke off suddenly, leaning close again. “Do you mean loose women? Are those the kind you’re talking about?” Not that she knew much about such unfortunate females, but even she had heard rumors of their existence.
Then a new thought occurred. “Surely he doesn’t think that you and I… that I am—” she breathed.
“No. He doesn’t,” Nick said in a firm tone, “which is precisely why he hasn’t asked us to leave. If you don’t want him to change his mind, I suggest you be quiet and behave. No more trying to order pints of ale for yourself.”
She shot him a reproachful look. “Gainsaying my request for an ale was rude of you, you know. I do not see why I cannot have a glass.”
“My God, you’re a handful. How did you ever even manage to acquire a post as a governess? They can’t have known you well. That much is certain.”
She looked down, using the movement to hide her sudden dismay. In all of today’s excitement, she’d completely forgotten the story she’d told him—or rather the erroneous assumptions he’d made that she’d conveniently allowed him to believe. Now what to say?
To her immense relief, the tavern keeper chose that moment to return with their drinks. He placed a rich nut-brown mug of ale in front of Nick, then a pot of hot tea and a cup in front of her.
“Have you any milk and sugar?” she ventured, noticing their absence.
The barman gave a disgruntled huff and shuffled off again.
“Do you think he heard me?” she asked.
Nick grinned. “Oh, he heard you. It will be interesting to see if he complies.”
The Princess and the Peer Page 8
