From the other side of the room came the discordant squeal of wood being scraped against wood as the four occupants of one table pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet. Their heavy leather boots rang out against the oak plank floors as they crossed to the far corner. All of them talked and laughed noisily as they went, ale mugs clutched in their hands.
One of the men stopped in front of what appeared to be a round slice of barrel wood affixed by a nail to the wall. Out of its scratched and scared surface, he yanked several pewter-colored metal objects with short white feathers attached to the ends.
“What is it they’re doing?” Emma inquired, making no effort to disguise her interest.
“Looks like they’re starting up a game of darts.” Nick raised a surprised brow. “Are you not familiar with the game?”
“No. How does it work?”
He sent her another slightly disbelieving look, then answered her question. “Basically it’s a competition that tests coordination and accuracy. Each player tosses a set number of darts at the board and scores points depending on how close to the center they land. There’s variation on throwing techniques and scoring methods, but that covers the most important particulars.”
Craning her head around in a way she would never have dared in normal company, she watched the men begin to play. The first dart thrown went wide of its target, eliciting groans and good-natured jeers from the man’s companions. The next man to throw was better, his dart landing with a resounding thunk near the center of the circle.
A roar of congratulations and backslapping ensued.
She watched long enough to see the next two men take turns before she swung around to face Nick, a wide smile on her face. “Oh, it does look fun. Do you suppose we could give it a try later, once they are finished with their game?”
“No,” Nick said automatically. “Anyway, those games can go on for hours, particularly when there is drink involved.”
“But perhaps once they’ve played for a while, they would let us take a turn.”
Nick made no reply this time.
She opened her mouth to debate the matter further when the tavern keeper appeared and laid a blue-and-white china platter filled with meats and cheeses in front of them. He followed that with two small dishes, one containing mustard and the other a glistening golden chutney. Bread came next, and then, to her surprise, a pitcher of milk and another small dish containing a few lumps of hard brown sugar that looked as if they had just been chiseled free from a much larger piece.
“Thank you,” Emma said. “This looks delicious.”
“I’ll tell me wife you approve.” Despite his surly disposition, Emma had the sneaking suspicion he was pleased.
Nick handed her a set of the pewter utensils the man had left along with a china plate whose pattern matched the platter.
She placed a slice of ham and a small wedge of creamy yellow cheese onto her plate. “Just because we’re eating doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the dart game,” she informed him. “We can see if they are still playing once we are finished.”
“You are not playing darts in this public house.”
“Well, where else am I to play darts, then, if not here?”
Nick stared for a long moment, then shook his head. “You are incorrigible.”
She shot him a grin. “I prefer to think of it as persistent.”
This time he laughed. “There are other terms I might use. Now, eat your meal.”
“And then we’ll play darts,” she stated confidently.
“And then we’ll see.” Lifting to his mouth a slice of bread piled with beef, cheese, and chutney, he took a hearty bite, the discussion closed for the time being.
As they ate, they talked about the performances they had watched at Astley’s and which ones had been their favorites; Emma liked the trick riders best, while Nick had preferred the elaborate battle scene at the end.
“Although I would never trade my days at sea, not even for a chance to have captured an Imperial Eagle,” he told her.
“What was it like,” she asked, “being at sea?”
His eyes were very gray as they met hers. “Liberating. Exhilarating. Wet and cold when it stormed, yet absolutely beautiful. Peaceful—except when we were being bombarded by cannon fire from an enemy ship, that is.”
“Cannon fire? That sounds terrifying. Was it frightening?”
He took a drink of ale. “Any man who claims he isn’t afraid in the midst of a battle is either a liar or a suicidal fool.”
She took a moment to consider his words. “But you miss it, your life in the navy,” she said, a statement rather than a question.
His gaze turned introspective. “It doesn’t matter now, since it’s rather difficult to manage a landed estate from the deck of a ship,” he concluded with a wry smile.
And that was the end of that particular subject.
Their conversation moved on to a variety of random topics, everything from her impressions of the English countryside as she’d traveled from Scotland to pets they had each owned as a child: two King Charles spaniels and a long-haired white cat for her, a pack of English foxhounds his father had kept for hunting and a Dalmatian named Speckles for him. He currently had a magnificent black Newfoundland that he had left at his estate in the country—a huge dog that loved to swim, drooled copiously when he was excited, and stood roughly the height of a pony.
“I would love another pet,” she confided with a sigh. “But right now there is no place for one in my life.”
Perhaps once I am married, she thought, only to wish that the dismal thought of her upcoming nuptials hadn’t entered her mind. Pushing it aside, she drank the last of her tea and laid her fork across her empty plate.
She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, look. It would appear they are finishing their game.”
More than that, the men were leaving. After draining the last of their ales, they each set down their empty mugs, then strode toward the door, calling out friendly farewells to the tavern keeper as they went. One of the men, a rough-jawed fellow with collar-length black hair and vivid blue eyes caught her gaze as he passed, then, to her astonishment, gave her what one could only call a cheeky wink.
Across the table from her, Nick stiffened, his jaw turning grim and pugnacious as he half made to rise. But the other man was already out the door, exchanging some inaudible comment with his friends that drew a raucous burst of laughter.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He glared toward the door. “That one needs to be taught respect. He’s got nerve looking at you that way.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything.”
“I’m sure he did,” Nick countered in a hard tone. “If there were any way I could safely leave you alone, I would go impress that fact upon him.”
By using his fists? she wondered, rather convinced that was exactly what he had in mind. An odd warmth spread inside her at the idea, a sensation that vacillated strangely between pleasure over his defense of her and alarm that he would consider resorting to violence.
“Well, they are gone now,” she said reassuringly, “so there is no point in worrying further over the matter. We shall never see them again, after all.”
“A good thing—for them,” he said.
Still, the logic of her statement seemed to resonate with him, and after another few moments, he finally quit glaring at the doorway. His eyes, a steely gray now, shifted back to hers. “If you are finished dining, we should depart.”
“Oh, but we haven’t had our game,” she protested.
His expression turned hard again.
Before he could refuse her outright, she rushed on. “There is no one here now to watch except the proprietor and those two old men, and what harm can they present?” And she was right, the clerks having rushed off while she and Nick had still been eating their meal. “Just let me try tossing a few darts; then I will go quietly.”
He scowled. “As I’m rapidly lea
rning, you never do anything quietly.”
She pulled a face. “Don’t be a spoilsport. Please. You know it will be fun.”
“Trouble, more like,” he muttered dourly.
She fluttered her long lashes at him in what she hoped was an appealing way, although it wasn’t something she had ever tried using on a man before.
After a long moment, she saw his lips twitch.
“Very well,” he pronounced in the same severe tone. “But only a few; then we’re leaving.”
She suppressed the urge to clap and exclaim with delight, contenting herself with a wide smile instead. “Thank you, my lord. You are most kind.”
“Yes, I am,” he drawled sardonically. “And completely devoid of sense.” He stood and came around to help her from her chair.
All but bouncing on the toes of her supple brown leather half boots, she glided quickly across the scarred floor. Reaching the wooden target, she gave one of the burnished metal darts a tug, but it stubbornly refused to pull free. She tried another one with the same less-than-satisfactory result.
“Allow me,” Nick said, reaching an arm past her. His movements were simple and efficient as he easily twisted the darts from the wood. He held out his flattened palm where three of them lay. “Ladies first.”
She gathered them into her hand, then faced the board. Behind her, she knew the other men were watching. She ignored them, everyone but Nick, as she studied the numbers sketched in white paint onto the barrel round. “I aim for the center, correct?”
“As close as you can get.” Nick took a single step back to give her more room, then crossed his arms over his chest.
She raised one dart and threw, but her throw lacked power and, rather than sticking in the wood, the dart clattered noisily to the floor at the base of the target. She shot a glance at Nick out of the corner of her eye, expecting to find him laughing.
Instead, his face was calm, surprisingly understanding. “Easy beginner’s mistake. Try again and don’t be afraid of the board.”
“I am not afraid.” Lifting a second dart, she focused on the target and, with a fierce heave, hurled it forward. It stuck in the wood this time but just barely, hanging by the tip in a very precarious way.
“This is more difficult than it looks,” she admitted.
“Most talents that require skill generally are. Throw a little harder this time and move your fingers back on the body of the dart so it’s more evenly balanced in your hand.”
“Like this?” she said, trying to grasp the last dart as he suggested.
“No.” Taking her hand in his, he gently repositioned her fingers. A warm tingle chased over her skin, the sensation buzzing in crazy swirls up her arm. As far as she could tell though, Nick seemed unmoved. Without a word, he stepped away again.
Drawing a quick breath, she stared at the target, noticing as she did that the slight weight of the dart felt different now. She tightened her fingers and made herself concentrate on the game. Drawing back her arm, she shot the dart, squeezing her eyes closed a moment after she let go.
A small roar went up behind her and she cringed. Had she missed that badly again? Resigned to the fact that she was dreadful at darts, she made herself look at the target.
Her eyes went wide in astonishment.
The dart was not only buried straight and deep in the wood, but it was protruding from the exact center of the board.
“I did it!” she exclaimed, laughing in stunned jubilation. Without thinking, she grabbed Nick’s arm and gave it a hard, exultant squeeze. “Did you see? I did it.”
“Yes, you did,” Nick murmured.
“Yeh’ve a natural there,” piped one of the two old men. “Ne’er seen a woman throw like that.”
“Yeh ain’t ne’er seen a woman throw at all,” said the other. “But it was a right fine shot, all the same.”
“Lucky shot,” Nick murmured. “Then again, everyone is entitled to one, I suppose.”
Her hand fell away from his arm. “What an uncharitable thing to say.”
He raised a dark brow, clearly amused. “So you think it was skill, then? With your eyes closed?”
So he’d seen that, had he? Well, no matter, she told herself as she drew up straight and regarded him down the length of her nose, in spite of the fact that he stood a head taller than she did. “That, my lord, was technique.”
“Technique?” He barked out a laugh. “After shooting three darts, and two of them rather badly?”
“I was just getting my bearings with the first ones,” she declared with false bravado.
He laughed again, low in his throat. “Is that what you were doing? And now you believe yourself to be an expert player? Think you can duplicate that last shot, do you?”
No, she did not think that; she thought it quite likely that the next dart would fly well wide of its mark. But as she watched him continue to chuckle with overt amusement at the very notion that she could shoot a second dart as well as the last one, a sense of competitive determination overcame her, however foolish such an impulse might be.
“Yes,” she stated. “I do.”
“I’ll lay a quid on that,” said a voice from behind her.
“Yer on. And make it two.”
“I’ll double the two,” said a third voice, which Emma recognized as belonging to the tavern keeper. “I say she misses,” he finished.
Swinging around, she was astonished to see the trio of men laying money onto a table.
“Are they wagering? On me?” she asked Nick in a low voice.
He gave her a look that displayed both humor and exasperation. “So it would appear. But not to worry. I shall put a stop to it.” He took a step away.
She delayed him with a hand. “Put a stop—but you just challenged me.”
“Not exactly. I merely said that you couldn’t make another shot like the last. No one really expects you to follow through, you know.”
“Speak for yerself, mister. We’ve got blunt laid down on that gal,” one of the two old men said in hoarse complaint.
“Ignore them,” Nick said for her ears alone. “I shall pay for our meal and we’ll leave.”
“But I do not want to leave. Not before I’ve shot that dart.”
“Emma,” he said warningly. “You’ll only embarrass yourself if you persist in this.”
“I shall do no such thing. In fact, I think we should make a wager of our own.”
One of old men let out a long, low whistle, having obviously heard her statement.
Nick took hold of her arm and marched her a few steps away so they could speak privately this time. “I am not gambling with you.”
“Why ever not? Afraid I’ll win?”
His scowl returned. “No. I have no doubt as to the outcome.”
“Well, then, why the hesitation?”
“You have no money, for one.”
“True, but wagers can be made for things other than money.”
A peculiar gleam came into his eyes. “And what did you have in mind?”
He had her at that, she realized. She’d issued her dare on a whim, his embarrass yourself remark more than she could bear. A princess had her pride, after all.
But what to wager?
She thought for a long minute, but nothing came readily to mind.
“Anytime before dark should be fine,” he drawled over her lengthy silence.
She waved an exasperated hand. “I cannot think of the precise thing at the moment. So let us just say it will be winner’s choice, the actual prize to be determined at a later time.”
He stared. “Winner’s choice? You realize that leaves you open to almost anything I might select.”
“That I shall select, you mean, since I shall be the one who wins.”
He studied her, clearly considering all the ramifications. “You are certain?”
For a second, she hesitated, wondering if she was making a huge mistake. How could she possibly achieve another perfect shot? But the Whytes of Rosewald h
ad spent centuries refusing to back down from all challengers and she wasn’t about to break precedent now.
“Yes, my lord. I am certain.”
Slowly, a smile spread over his face, his mouth tilting upward at a devilish angle. “Very well, I accept your wager. And may I say, my dear young woman, that you are far too trusting for your own good.”
“Then it is providential that you were the person I met in the market yesterday, my lord, rather than someone of an unscrupulous nature.”
A warmth crept into the steely gray of his eyes, tiny lines fanning out in the corners. “Quite providential, indeed. Now, allow me to clear the board so you may take your shot.”
Emma waited while Nick went to gather her a fresh supply of darts. As she did, she became aware of the activity behind her as a new group of patrons entered the public house. The noise level rose as the five new men found out what was going on and demanded to be let in on the wagering. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the old men pull a small leather book and pencil from his pocket and begin making notions. From what she gathered as their voices came her way, the bets were almost universally against her.
Then Nick was at her side once again, darts in hand. Silently, he offered one to her. She gulped, her stomach suddenly tight with nerves. “Maybe you should throw a couple first,” she suggested. “We never did have an actual game.”
“All right. Assuming you are still sure about this,” he said quietly. “I won’t hold you to your promise, if you want to back out. Although considering the crowd you’ve attracted, we might have to make a run for it if you do change your mind.”
Another glance over her shoulder confirmed his hypothesis. She nearly groaned as two more men walked through the door. The tavern keeper called out a friendly greeting and began to pour drinks, while the newcomers wandered over to the gathering of men to see what all the excitement was about.
“Here now, the girl’s to shoot,” one of the men complained as Nick moved into place.
He ignored them as if they weren’t there.
When it became clear Nick was competing as well, a fresh flurry of bets ensued, the one old man continuing to make furious notions in his small leather notepad.
The Princess and the Peer Page 9
