The Princess and the Peer

by Warren, Tracy Anne

  Clearly too impatient to wait, Ariadne peered over her shoulder, glasses perched on the end of her nose. A few moments later, she gave a disdainful sniff. “I knew he would postpone his arrival again.”

  “He is regent now, what with the king so very ill. I am sure he has many weighty responsibilities, particularly in these trying times.”

  Ariadne rolled her eyes. “The times have been trying for years, and it’s not as if he need worry about being shot or captured now that the war is done. No, he’s arrogant and inconsiderate. If he wasn’t going to join Emma in a timely fashion, he ought not to have forced her to leave school when he did.”

  Mercedes was well acquainted with Ariadne’s less-than-flattering opinion of Emma’s older brother. Personally, she had never understood her friend’s dislike of the prince. He had always been pleasant and well mannered, one might even say charming, on the pair of occasions they had met. Yet Ariadne bristled like a hedgehog whenever they were together or he was mentioned.

  Once, she’d asked Ariadne why she held such a grudge against him.

  “Let’s just say I know his type. That is sufficient.”

  If by type, Ariadne meant royal princes, then she supposed all three of them knew his type. Beyond that, Ariadne would not explain.

  At Mercedes’s side, the other girl gave a knowing hum. “I told you Emma was blue-deviled and trying much too hard not to let on. But oh ho, what’s this? Why, that little minx. I see I didn’t give her enough credit.”

  Enough credit for what?

  Mercedes read faster, her mouth dropping open as she found the pertinent sentence. “Whatever does she mean she’s left the estate and has found alternate lodgings!”

  Ariadne laughed. “It means she’s kicked over the traces, that’s what. Good for her.”

  Mercedes frowned. “But it isn’t good. If she’s run away, just think of the trouble she’ll be in when they find her.”

  Ariadne chuckled again. “If they find her. I think it’s wonderful she’s escaped. Maybe she’s finally come to her senses and is going to refuse that match her brother has arranged for her.”

  “How can she refuse when so much is at stake? She said herself that she knows her duty and that her nation’s future depends on this marriage.”

  With a hand, Ariadne brushed aside such logical objections. “According to the Americans, everyone has a right to personal happiness. Duty be damned, I say.”

  “Arie! What if someone hears you? You know how the teachers feel about such radical ideas, not to mention the use of rough language.”

  “No one comes up here to hear. But even if they did, I wouldn’t care.” Ariadne grinned, displaying her white teeth. “As for language, I could teach you words that would turn your ears blue.”

  “Yes, I know, and you oughtn’t sneak down to the kitchens at night and talk to the servants.”

  “They’re a great deal more interesting than staying up late drinking hot milk and tying my hair up in curling rags.”

  “I only do that for Sunday services,” Mercedes defended. “But that is beside the point. I’m worried about Emma. What if something untoward happens to her? I mean, who could she possibly know in that part of England well enough to trust?”

  Ariadne paused to consider. “One of the teachers maybe. Didn’t Miss Poole move there? Anyway, I wouldn’t be concerned. If you read further, Emma says that she has taken up residence with a respectable personage.”

  “Hmm, so I see,” she said, noticing the sentence in the letter. “Still, if this person is so respectable, then why the mystery? Why not simply tell us where she has gone? And who this individual is, for that matter?”

  “Obviously she doesn’t want that old witch Weissmuller dragging her back to the estate.”

  “True. But Emma has to know we wouldn’t say anything, not when she’s asked us to keep her confidence.”

  Ariadne paused, clearly mulling over her questions. “Well,” she said, drawing out the word, “mayhap the person aiding her would rather not reveal themselves. Maybe they fear being the recipient of royal retribution.”

  Mercedes decided not to comment, reluctant to incite a fresh round of Prince Rupert bashing.

  “Then again,” Ariadne went on, “my guess is that Emma is just being cautious. You know how she can be, particularly when she feels she is protecting someone—in this case the person helping her and us, her friends. If we don’t know where she is, no one can try to pry the information out of us.”

  Mercedes lifted her chin. “As if they could. I do not tattle on those I love.”

  “Nor I,” Ariadne agreed resolutely, the two of them suddenly in complete accord. “Now, let us worry no more for the moment. Emma will be in touch again when she can and you will see that all is well.”

  Mercedes nodded, trying to let herself be convinced. Even so, a niggling fist of unease remained, not so much for Emma’s safety now but instead for her future.

  “Here we are, apple fritters hot and fresh from the seller,” Nick said as he and Emma stood amid the milling crowd of revelers gathered for the autumn country fair. It was the same one she remembered him first mentioning that night at the theater nearly two weeks earlier—another promised outing that she could now add to her list of adventures enjoyed.

  Emma waited with patient anticipation for him to hand her one of the paper-wrapped treats, oil already beginning to stain the parchment’s heavy brown surface. Making no effort to disguise her eagerness, she balanced the confection carefully inside her gloved palms, then took a small, careful bite.

  The golden fried dough with its steaming ooze of cinnamon-spiced apples melted in her mouth, nearly burning her tongue. But she didn’t mind, the pastry a perfect accompaniment, not only for the venue, but for the day itself.

  The early October afternoon was crisp and cool, the sky a pure, bird’s-egg blue that was punctuated by an occasional lazy cloud drifting past. Like girls dressed in their best finery, the oaks, beeches, and maples sported a riot of color, their leaves ranging from palest gold to vibrant, fiery red.

  In the midst of all this natural glory had risen a makeshift village of sorts, farmers and entertainers, merchants and mongers come to hawk their wares and display their talents and trades. People of every class and temperament were assembled, ready to fill their bellies and imaginations and empty their purses of any coin that could be spared.

  Doing her best not to gawk in what would be a most inelegant and unprincesslike way, Emma had spent the past two hours taking it all in. As she and Nick roamed from stand to stand, they paused at one to watch a juggler toss painted wooden pins in the air and at another to listen to a comic tell jokes that left the audience roaring with laughter and wiping away tears.

  All the while, Nick had grinned down at her, clearly enjoying her delight as she exclaimed over one marvel after another. When she’d grown hungry, Nick had led her to the food stalls, where he’d bought meat pies and slices of roasted potatoes for them both.

  And now they were having apple fritters to finish off the meal with something sweet.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Exceptional,” she said, blowing on a section of the filling before taking another bite.

  Apparently impervious to the heat, Nick polished off his pastry in a few considered mouthfuls, then reached for a handkerchief to wipe a spot of grease from his fingertips.

  “More to eat?” he inquired once she had finished and he’d tossed away their used wrappers. “Or shall we visit some of the merchant stalls to inspect their wares?”

  “Merchants, please. I could not eat a single thing more.”

  “Not even some of that treacle toffee I saw you eyeing earlier?”

  She paused. “Hmm, it did look awfully good. Maybe just a few to take home with us.”

  Nick let out a laugh, took her arm to slip through his own, and wheeled her around for the walk to the candy stand.

  She supposed it was very wrong of her, but she was happy that she and
Nick were alone today, the dowager viscountess having declared an autumn fair to be far too inclement and full of rascals for her old bones to endure.

  And so she’d waved them off after breakfast, promising an eagerness to hear all about their outing upon their return.

  Exactly as Nick had told her, his aunt had been happy to remain in residence at Lyndhurst House so that Emma might stay awhile longer. At first, Emma had told herself she would remain only a few days more, just long enough to visit some of the sites about Town with which Nick had lured her.

  But as each new day arrived, there was something else that had to be seen or done, a fresh reason to put off her departure yet again.

  Without entirely knowing how, one week became two and she had not still written to Mrs. Brown-Jones. By now, her former teacher must have returned to the city. But as much as Emma realized she ought to contact her, she knew that once she did, the other woman would expect her to leave Nick’s town house and move into her own.

  Or else return to the estate and her chaperone, and to her brother once he arrived from Rosewald. Quite likely Mrs. Brown-Jones would be sympathetic about her decision to run away, but in the end, Emma suspected, her old teacher would advise her to return home. That she would tell her to honor her family and work matters out with them.

  But she knew what her family would say, having heard their sentiments expressed her entire life.

  Being royal was a sacred honor that must be upheld at all costs, the duty that comes with it a necessary burden.

  With privilege and power comes obligation. Individual wishes, most especially love, are unimportant.

  The stability and strength of the kingdom and their royal lineage must come first, last, and always.

  Which was why she did not write Mrs. Brown-Jones. Instead, she chose to push thoughts of her real life from her mind while she reveled in the pleasure of her newfound freedom.

  And the even greater pleasure of being with Nick.

  The more she knew him, the more she liked him. Each morning she rose from her bed with a smile on her face as she thought about seeing him again. And in the evening, she wished that they need not be parted by the necessity of separate rooms—or individuals beds.

  Such thoughts always made her flush, her body growing warm with longings she could not deny.

  He had not kissed her again; he hadn’t even tried.

  Yet sometimes she got the distinct impression that he wanted to. Every once in a while she would catch him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t watching, an expression of intense yearning on his face, his gray eyes nearly black.

  If he desired her, why did he not say?

  If he wished to kiss her, why did he not try?

  Because, she thought, he is an honorable man and does not wish to do me harm.

  For, in spite of his aunt’s presence in the house, he could have tried to seduce her any time he liked. And were she honest with herself, she knew she would have let him. She didn’t like to let herself dwell on it, but in the deepest, most hidden part of her soul, she had already confessed to herself that her heart was lost.

  She was in love with Nick Gregory.

  But she said nothing and neither did he, each of them seemingly content to let the days slip by as they enjoyed the deep pleasure of each other’s company.

  Smiling up at him now, as he passed her a small paper cone full of toffees, she felt her heart flip up and over beneath her breasts. His expression was tender, solicitous, and something more.

  Suddenly she found herself wondering, Could he be courting me?

  Her heart flipped again, the idea too wonderful to imagine and too impossible to entertain.

  Looking away, she stared at the candies in her hands as if she were thinking of choosing one, when in reality they barely registered in her sight.

  “Th-thank you, my lord,” she said quietly.

  “I thought we had gotten past all that formality, Emma,” he said.

  She raised her gaze to his. “You are right. Thank you, Nick.”

  Plainly satisfied, he took her arm again and resumed their stroll.

  If anything, the crowd had thickened in the hours since their arrival, the festival paths teeming with jostling bodies and noise.

  Nick kept her close, protected.

  A raucous group of boys came racing past in a kind of daisy chain, weaving in and out among the throng, bumping several people as they went and causing one poor man to stumble into a crate of apples. The outraged vendor came flying around, waving his arms as he began to shout deprecations. Other fairgoers let loose a series of complaints, another argument soon ensuing. In the meantime, the cause of all the mayhem disappeared, the boys apparently long gone.

  The scene rather reminded her of her unfortunate robbery on her first day in London—and of Nick coming to her aid.

  He did so again now, drawing her tighter against his side before pulling her into the narrow, shadowed space between a pair of stalls, where they would be safe while they waited for the commotion to die down.

  As she glanced back to survey the crowd, she caught the flash of brass buttons and the look of familiar green-and-black regalia from several yards away. It reminded her of Rosewaldian uniforms and the colors of her brother’s guard.

  But no, it couldn’t be; she must be misinterpreting what she had seen. After all, what would Rupert’s personal guard be doing at an English country fair?

  She snuck another look to see if she was mistaken, but the effort only made matters worse. Her breath caught as she studied the man across the way. She did not recognize him personally, but there was no mistaking his attire or military bearing. And even from a distance, she recognized the golden leopard crest on his black shako hat—the predatory cat, her family’s royal symbol.

  A gasp rose in her throat, but somehow she managed to keep silent as disparate thoughts flashed through her mind.

  If Rupert’s guard was here, then that meant Rupert was in England. And if he was in England and at the estate, then he not only knew she was missing, but had already dispatched his men to find her.

  But why this particular fair? Unless…

  Good Lord, it had never occurred to her that the fair might be located anywhere near the estate. Nick had mentioned the event was being held outside London, then named a town of which she had never heard. She’d assumed it would be safe. After all, why would anyone think to look for a wayward princess at a country fair?

  Apparently that had been an extremely foolish assumption.

  With a shudder, she eased more deeply into the shadows.

  When she did, Nick moved along with her. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “We should be safe here.”

  But they were not, at least not from the men who were looking for her—assuming they knew her by sight, that is.

  She’d changed a great deal since she’d left Rosewald. She was no longer a child. But Rupert had commissioned a miniature of her last spring, presumably at the behest of her prospective bridegroom—though she hadn’t realized it at the time. If he’d had a copy made, then it would be a simple matter to show her likeness to his guard.

  Now was not the time to lose her head and draw attention to herself. All she needed to do was make certain Rupert’s guard did not see her, then return to London with Nick.

  She could only imagine the scene that would erupt if one of her brother’s men recognized her and attempted to take her back to the estate. Nick had no idea she was a runaway, let alone one whose family retained a hereditary military guard. He would not understand. Knowing Nick, he would most certainly attempt to defend her, and were he to be injured as a result, she would never forgive herself.

  Nick glanced over his shoulder to judge the tenor of the crowd. “The commotion seems to have died down,” he said, turning back to face her. “Shall we resume our explorations?”

  “No!” She caught hold of his arm.

  He raised a brow.

  “Not yet,” she amended in a more even t
one. “I—I think we should wait a few minutes more, just to be certain.”

  “If you like,” he agreed, though it was clear from his expression that he was indulging her.

  Surreptitiously, she peered around his shoulder at the guard in the black shako. As she watched, the man was joined by another officer garbed in the same familiar green-and-black. How many men had her brother dispatched? she wondered. The two spoke for a few moments, then started forward, scanning the fairgoers as they went.

  To her horror, she saw they were coming toward her and Nick. In another minute they would pass right by the opening to the stalls.

  Knowing she had to do something, she reached up and threw her arms around Nick’s neck. Arching onto her toes as high as she could manage, she tugged his head down and placed her lips against his.

  He stiffened against her, clearly taken by surprise. Her pulse thudded, afraid he might pull away at exactly the wrong instant. Tightening her grip, she redoubled her efforts and kissed him with every bit of skill she possessed—which admittedly was not a very great deal.

  Apparently it was enough, however, Nick’s arms coming up to wrap her in a snug embrace. Fitting her to the powerful length of his body, he murmured something that sounded like “God help me.” And then he was kissing her, claiming her mouth as if she were the answer to a long-held prayer.

  Fire rippled through her system like a match set to dry kindling, igniting a desire she had tasted only once before on the night of their first kiss. His touch was as dark and sweet as the finest chocolate, making her crave more, sudden need driving everything out of her mind but him. She couldn’t even remember why she had initiated their kiss; she was only glad she had, delight filling every pore.

  The world spun around her as he crushed his mouth harder against hers, coaxing open her lips so he could lead her into a new game of the most dangerous kind. She hung in his arms, trembling with fervid pleasure as he showed her one wicked trick after another.

  Utterly lost, she did not demur when he turned and pressed her back against the side of one of the stalls. Reaching beneath her cloak, his hand found her breast, curving his palm around it in the most devastating of ways.