The Princess and the Peer

by Warren, Tracy Anne

  Her gaze lowered at that, her pale lashes fanning like corn silk against her cheeks. Suddenly she lifted the brandy glass to her lips and took a swallow—too large a swallow, he realized, as a sputtering cough rose from her lungs. Bending double, she covered her mouth with a hand as the paroxysms continued.

  Hurrying to her side, he rubbed a smoothing palm across her shoulders. “Breathe slowly,” he told her. “The worst will pass in a few moments. Shall I get you some water?”

  She shook her head, coughing another pair of times before the bout ended and she was able to pull in several bracing lungfuls of air. Seeing her watering eyes, Nick offered her his handkerchief.

  Silently, she accepted and dabbed the moisture away. “How can you drink that?” she gasped in a faint voice. “It’s ghastly.”

  “An acquired taste and skill. It’s best when sipped, which you seem to have a penchant for not doing.”

  As if determined to prove that she was worthy of the challenge, she raised the glass again and took a cautious sip, then moments later, a second. She shuddered and set the snifter onto a side table. “I do not think you will have to worry about corrupting me with brandy, after all.”

  He leaned back against the sofa cushions, enchanted by the burst of color staining her creamy cheeks and ripe mouth. “That comes as a great relief. One less blemish on my record.”

  She linked her hands in her lap, her gaze lowering again.

  Studying her, he wondered at her sudden reserve.

  “I have been thinking, my lord,” she said at length.

  “Yes? About what?”

  “My boon. Winner’s choice, if you will recall.”

  “I do. And what prize have you selected?” Casually, he raised his glass and took a drink.

  Slowly her eyes rose to meet his. “Another small bit of corruption. I want you to kiss me.”

  Chapter 8

  Emma’s heart beat as if a thousand tiny birds were trapped inside her chest, all fighting at once to be free. She swallowed past her still-burning throat, relieved that she’d finally found the nerve to ask Nick the one question she’d been wanting to ask him all evening.

  The idea had occurred to her not long after she’d strolled into the drawing room before dinner and found him there alone. The way he’d looked at her with his intense silvery eyes had made her tremble, and for the faintest instant she’d wondered if he was going to kiss her. But then he’d looked away, his expression wiped clean of all but his usual sardonic amusement.

  Studying him afterward, she found herself wondering if she might have imagined the entire event.

  But whether his intention to kiss her had been real or simply a case of wishfulness on her part, she couldn’t get the idea of kissing him out of her mind. Even while they talked and ate and laughed, a tiny part of her brain had continued to mull over the possibilities. That’s when she’d thought about the wager—and the “winner’s choice” that was her prerogative to decide.

  Still, claiming a kiss as a boon was extremely daring. Even Ariadne, who barely understood the meaning of the word fear, would have hesitated over so bold a move.

  Do I dare? she’d debated as she and Nick lingered over their desserts.

  It wasn’t exactly proper for an unmarried woman to ask a man to kiss her, most especially an unmarried, about-to-be-engaged royal princess. But wasn’t that precisely why she ought to ask? Why she should seize her opportunities while she still had the chance?

  As she’d reminded herself when she’d agreed to spend the week here in Nick’s town house, these few days would likely be her only chance to explore a side of life from which she would otherwise be barred. Her only chance to be Emma rather than Her Royal Highness Princess Emmaline. Actually, she couldn’t think of a time when she had been allowed to be herself without all the trappings and expectations that came with being born royal. Even at school, she had been separate, apart. Only Ariadne and Mercedes understood because they were princesses just as she was.

  But Nick knew none of that, instead believing her to be a rather ordinary young woman in need of his help. Although ordinary might not be the right term, considering what she’d just asked him to do!

  She could have waited a little longer to call in her boon, she supposed. But she knew herself well enough to realize that it was tonight or never. If she couldn’t muster the courage now, she never would again.

  For in spite of her hesitation, she knew three things for certain: She wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man who wasn’t some handpicked consort approved by her brother. She longed to embrace someone she genuinely liked, someone who made the breath catch in her lungs and her toes curl inside her shoes with tingling anticipation. And, most of all, she wanted to know what it felt like to kiss Dominic Gregory.

  And so she’d drunk a bit too much wine at dinner, then tried—and failed—to drink something even stronger afterward.

  Then, before she’d given herself any more time to consider, the words had come tumbling out.

  Words that now hung between them.

  Words that could never be taken back.

  Across from her, Nick stared, an arrested expression on the angular planes of his face. He studied her as if trying to solve some unfathomable puzzle before he tossed back half the brandy in his glass with a swallow that would have scalded holes in her throat.

  “I take back my earlier appraisal,” he said in a dry tone. “You are foxed after all.”

  “I am not. I know exactly what I said… and what I want,” she told him with gentle determination. “It has nothing to do with the amount of drink I’ve had.”

  “It would be easier if it did,” he murmured under his breath. “Choose something else.”

  She drew back her shoulders, the arrogance and fortitude of her ancestors resilient as diamonds in her spine. “I do not want anything else.”

  His eyes fixed on hers, deep and stormy gray. “You would, if you knew what was good for you. But then, as I’ve so recently observed, you seem to run toward trouble rather than away, as any sensible person would do.”

  “I do not run toward trouble. It just seems to find me,” she concluded with an impish smile.

  She watched as a light danced in his eyes, his mouth twitching begrudgingly up at the corners. “Indeed it does, and with that in mind, I suggest you err on the side of prudence and think of another prize to claim. A bottle of perfume perhaps? Or a pair of fine leather riding gloves? Either one is more than daring enough for most young ladies.”

  “But I am not most young ladies. I thought you realized that by now. Unless you think me overly bold. Have I shocked you, my lord?”

  His eyes warmed. “No,” he said smoothly, “but I must confess to being somewhat curious. Why a kiss?”

  She looked down, only then noticing how tightly her fingers were clasped atop her skirts, squeezed white against the pale ecru of her gown. “Mayhap I am curious too.” Slowly she lifted her gaze. “Will you not kiss me, Dominic? You did say I might choose anything.”

  He didn’t speak, a long silence stretching between them. Abruptly, he tossed back the last of the brandy in his glass and set it aside with a clink. “Very well. Far be it from me to deny a lady her express wish.”

  Wings started beating hard inside Emma’s chest again, her throat going dry as she waited for him to traverse the short distance between them.

  Instead he stood and moved across the room.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise and dismay from rising in her voice.

  He looked back, his familiar amused smile on his face. “I thought a little privacy might be in order. But if you would rather I not close the door—”

  “No, no,” she amended hastily. “Close it, by all means.”

  Gracious, she sighed inwardly. How could she have forgotten that the door was standing wide open for anyone to look inside? Good thing Nick still had possession of his faculties, or who knew what difficulty might arise?

 
; A shiver chased over her spine when she heard the lock click into place, vividly aware of just how alone they truly were. Her eyes slid closed as she waited for him to return, nervous anticipation trembling through her. Then she felt the sofa cushions depress as he sat down beside her.

  She waited and waited.

  He trailed the back of one knuckle in a gentle sweep across her cheek and she jumped slightly, her eyes flying open again. Fire burned across her skin where he’d touched, her lungs in acute need of air.

  “Are you quite sure this is what you want?” he asked soberly, his eyes very dark.

  Despite her inexplicable shyness, she couldn’t look away from his intent gaze, nor let herself turn back from her chosen path. “Yes.”

  Smiling again, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.

  Her heart pounded in thick strokes that drummed between her ears, the faint scents of linen starch and sandalwood soap teasing her senses. His mouth was warm and firm on hers—light, easy, undemanding. He held the embrace for a few seconds longer with nothing but their closed lips touching. Then, as simply as the kiss had begun, it was over.

  She blinked and let the sensations sweep through her.

  Nice, she thought. Definitely nice.

  Yet she sensed the kiss had been lacking somehow, that there ought to have been more. A pang she could only describe as dissatisfaction slid serpentlike through her middle.

  “There, Miss White,” he said in a low drawl, “you’ve had your kiss. My debt is paid.” Easing another inch away, he stretched a negligent arm along the back of the sofa. “It grows late and you should be abed. I shall wish you good night.”

  But in spite of the late hour she didn’t wish to say good night to him. Nor was she the least bit sleepy. She studied him, taking in his relaxed posture and the urbane calm in his eyes. If she hadn’t been the one he’d kissed moments ago, she would have thought they’d been doing nothing more involved than discussing the weather.

  Yet maybe that’s all their kiss had meant to him.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one who had been left wanting more. Perhaps she had failed to live up to his expectations, too inexperienced to excite his interest or approbation.

  Deflated, she shifted uneasily on the couch, gathering herself to do as he suggested, and bid him a dignified good night. She was about to stand when she saw a muscle clench in his cheek, a tightening of his jaw that denoted tension and strain.

  She’d thought he was relaxed, even bored, but now she wondered. Was he concealing something? Had he felt more than he let on? She knew she was right when he flexed the fingers of one hand into a fist for a brief but significant time.

  Was it possible? Had he been holding out on her during their kiss? Was he restraining himself even now?

  The idea circled in her mind, growing stronger with each revolution.

  “I don’t think your debt is paid,” she stated with renewed boldness. “That kiss had about as much passion in it as one you might give a sister—or even your aunt.”

  He stared. “Believe me, that was passionate compared to the cheek pecks I give my aunt.” A wry light flared in his gaze. “Besides, you asked for a kiss and I gave you one. You didn’t stipulate what kind.”

  “Well, I am stipulating now. I think we should try again, and this time I want you to put some real effort into the exercise.”

  “Real effort?” He gave a humorless laugh. “Be careful what you wish for, Emma. You’re playing with fire when you don’t even know how to light a match. I am trying to behave like a gentleman. You ought to be thanking me instead of pushing the issue.”

  Despite his narrow-eyed glare, she refused to look away. “Maybe I don’t want you to behave like a gentleman tonight,” she murmured. “Maybe I’d rather you kiss me again and satisfy my curiosity.”

  The gleam in his eyes deepened, simmering with an odd half-light. “Curiosity can be a dangerous thing.” Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  In the next second, his mouth came down on hers.

  She’d wanted passion, but she hadn’t been prepared for the force of his embrace or the raw hunger her prodding had unleashed.

  He claimed her. There was no other word for it. His lips moved against hers with a heady power that left her reeling, turning her weak and instantly dizzy. Heat burst in wild ripples over her skin, alternating with a shivering chill that made her whole body quake. He tasted of brandy and spice, his clean male scent far more intoxicating than any of the liquor she’d drunk that night.

  Angling his head, he drew her deeper inside his embrace, ravishing her mouth with a thoroughness that left her stunned. He was right to have warned of the dangers, his every move bringing a fresh new temptation and unexpected new joy.

  No wonder he’d held back before. One small taste and she never wanted him to stop. His kiss was like some magical elixir of which she knew she would never get enough.

  Helpless to resist, she settled more completely into his arms, her fingers curling into the fine, soft wool of his coat. She clung to the broad strength of his shoulders before tentatively beginning to kiss him back. She didn’t know what she was doing precisely, since he was the first man she had ever kissed. Closing her eyes, she let instinct be her guide.

  Need crashed over her with an overwhelming force that left her scarcely able to breathe. Her thoughts scattered, every fiber of her being centered on Nick and the splendor of his touch.

  Slowly, his kiss changed, growing deeper, gentler, yet every bit as intense as before.

  “Part your lips,” he murmured, pressing against her mouth with a firm but tender insistence.

  On a little gasp, she did as he told her.

  She gasped again as his tongue slid inside and stroked the sensitive inner lining of her cheeks, his touch blazingly warm and sleek as velvet. Shuddering, she dug her fingernails harder into his coat and let him have his way.

  Drowning in a surfeit of pleasure, she gave herself over to his expert tutelage, following his unspoken instructions as he led her along the path of temptation, showing her one delicious kind of devilment after the next.

  She was quivering by the time he let her come up for air. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he brushed his lips over her temple and chin and along the sensitive line of her throat. He paused at the base, burying his face against her pulse where it beat in quick, violent strokes.

  Lifting his head, he released her and leaned away.

  She couldn’t speak, her body throbbing in places she hadn’t realized could throb—intimate, personal places that were suddenly begging to be soothed. Worse, she was vividly aware of her nipples beaded into hard points beneath her bodice, aching too.

  Meeting his gaze, she stared into his eyes, arrested by the shadowy passion still visible in their depths. If he wanted, he could kiss her again; she knew she would make no demur. And if he wanted more of her than that? She wasn’t sure she would have the strength to deny him—or herself.

  But to her mingled relief and disappointment, he laid no further temptation in her path. Instead, he released her. “You should go now,” he said in a flat tone. “And no arguing this time.”

  She took a shuddering breath, realizing how easy it would be to let things go further, to let them go too far. Gripping the arm of the sofa, she pushed herself to her feet.

  “G-good night, Dominic.”

  When he said nothing, she forced herself to move toward the door.

  “Emma,” he said thickly.

  She stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  In that moment she knew that all her dreams that night would be of him and that they would indeed be sweet.

  Once Emma had left the room, Nick leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. He listened to her footsteps ring out softly against the marble-tiled hallway, the sound fading as she made her way up the stairs.

  In his mind, he followed, seeing her walk insi
de her bedchamber and reach up to take the pins from her hair. He stepped inside, then closed the door behind them. Her shining golden tresses fell in a lush wave around her shoulders and down the slim arch of her back, shimmering like a river of molten gold. Striding to her, he pushed the soft, sleek mass aside and bent to kiss her neck, entwining his hard arms around her supple, feminine curves. Sliding his palms upward, he covered her breasts and caressed the pliant flesh. He traced the shape, running his thumbs up and over as they both shuddered in delight. He reached for the buttons on her gown and began to unfasten them, one by one by…

  Gah! he cursed, sitting up abruptly and giving his head a brain-clearing shake. His body wasn’t so easy to calm, his arousal as hard and heavy as some rough sailor’s on his first shore leave.

  Blister it. Where is my control? He’d known Emma for all of two days, and yet here he was dallying with her, lusting after her.

  I should never have agreed to kiss her. It was nothing short of insanity.

  Yet he couldn’t lay the blame solely on her shoulders. In spite of her provocation—and there was no doubt that she had been provocative—he was still the experienced party.

  The older—and supposedly wiser—party.

  The one with sense.

  The mature one.

  Only he didn’t feel mature tonight. He felt as randy as a sixteen-year-old, and if it weren’t for his promise to behave like a gentleman, he’d have been upstairs right now, tossing up her skirts and having his way with her.

  He could have had her. He knew that as well; she was green as new spring grass. Even now he could feel the way she’d trembled beneath his touch. How sweetly she had tasted. How naively eager yet hesitantly shy had been her every move, her every kiss.

  And there was the problem—that damned innocence of hers.

  And his own rather inconvenient scruples.

  She might only be a governess, but she was still a lady born and a gentleman did not seduce a lady.

  Then again, if his feelings were a simple case of lust, he could have found other means of dealing with his needs. There were plenty of women in London who were free with their favors. Unlike Goldfinch and Cooper though, he didn’t care for bawdy houses, no matter how well kept the doxies might be.