The Princess and the Peer

by Warren, Tracy Anne

  “That, dear sisters, would be a blessing,” Rupert said.

  Sigrid shot him a look, then launched into a new round of good-spirited bickering.

  Emma opened her book and once again pretended to read.

  Many hours later, when the house was dark and quiet, Emma crept downstairs to the drawing room. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating when she saw that a large number of the flowers were gone, the heavy vases carried away as she had so foolishly suggested.

  But then she saw it, the little nosegay lying forgotten and neglected in a corner. Hurrying forward, she reached out and picked it up.

  Without water, many of the delicate wildflowers had wilted, lying shriveled and shapeless against the silk. But a careful inspection revealed a handful that survived, their colorful faces still plump and pretty with life and color.

  Of these she took the best one, sliding it free of its neighbors with a gentle touch. Taking a handkerchief from her robe pocket, she wrapped the flower inside. Once she reached her bedchamber, she would find a heavy book in which she could safely press it. Maybe even the one she had so unsuccessfully tried to read today.

  As for the card, Nick’s animosity radiated from every bold, dark stroke of his pen. Clearly he was still angry. Plainly he had not forgiven her in the slightest for deceiving him. And why should he? she supposed. To his mind, he must be the wronged party in all ways.

  If she had any sense, an iota of pride, she would tear the note to pieces and toss the bits into the fire. She would do the same with the flower she cradled like glass in her palm as well.

  Instead, she traced a fingertip over the elegant, impatient script on the vellum, aware that he had held this paper, too. He had placed the tip of his pen onto its face. He had written words upon it in his ink. Calling herself a thousand times a fool, she lifted the card to her nose and inhaled. And there, ever so faintly, she caught a hint of sandalwood soap and another ineffable scent that was unlike any other on earth.

  Nick.

  Without giving herself time to reconsider, she placed the card inside her handkerchief as well. She laid the rest of the wilted bouquet back where it had been, then turned and hurried from the room.

  Nick drummed his fists in a series of hard one-two punches, slipping beneath his opponent’s defenses to land several punishing blows to the man’s midriff. The man sagged and groaned, blood spattering on the floor as he fell to one knee and held up a hand to signal his defeat.

  Nick huffed out a breath and stepped back, dropping his own gloved hands to his sides. He shook out his arm muscles, sweat dripping down his bare chest as he watched the man stagger toward a corner with aid of a third.

  He ought to be exhausted by now, but he wasn’t. Thumping his fists together, he jogged a few steps in place, ready for the next sparring partner to be brought forward. “Let’s go again, Jackson,” he called to an older, robust man who stood watching the match from his place against a nearby wall. “I’m not done by half.”

  “Oh, I think you are more than done for today, my lord,” Gentleman Jackson called, stepping forward. “You’ve injured half my men, and the others are too sensible to get near you in your current humor.”

  Nick shot him a derisive look. “My humor is not at issue. I’m here to fight and you are here to provide me with a satisfactory opponent. Given your formidable reputation in the ring, I would think you could offer a better challenge than I’ve been given so far.”

  Jackson met his gaze, apparently not the least bit intimidated. “All my men are talented, experienced fighters and they have faced you bravely. What they aren’t is determined to grind their opponent into a bloody mess. If it’s a death match you’re seeking, I know some alleyways with men who’ll be only too happy to do their best to turn you into a puddle.”

  “If I don’t turn them into one first,” Nick shot back with a pugnacious tilt of his chin.

  “Today I might put money on you to win, my lord, even against the meanest ones,” Jackson said with grudging admiration. “But I’d advise a less dangerous way to exorcise your demons, whatever they may be.”

  “My so-called demons, if I have any, are none of your business,” Nick said coldly.

  Jackson gave him an uncompromising stare. “They are when you bring them into my club. Take off the gloves and go home.”

  “You’re tossing me out?” Nick demanded, his eyes narrowed.

  “For today, I am. Come back when you’re not in the mood to maim my employees and patrons.”

  Nick swallowed the profanity that burned like acid on his tongue. Using his teeth on the strings of one of his gloves instead, he yanked the ties free and pulled off the padded covering. He tossed it to the floor, then did the same with the other before stalking out of the practice ring, oblivious to the stares that followed him.

  His muscles quivered, the pent-up frustration that continually simmered just beneath the surface these days rising inside him like water ready to boil over. Despite the physical exertion and punishment he’d received from the few blows his sparring partners had managed to land, he felt no more relaxed or relieved than he had when he’d arrived. He’d hoped the boxing would wipe his thoughts clean, and for a brief while it had. Yet the memories were back now. Without even trying, even against his will, all he could think about was Emma.

  Haunting him.

  Mocking him.

  Reminding him with every breath and beat of his heart what an idiot he’d been. And what a fool he was to want her even now.

  Her Royal Highness, Princess Emmaline of Rosewald.

  His fingers clenched into fists and he wished he had something else to punch.

  Instead, he stalked inside the changing area and accepted the towel offered by one of Jackson’s braver employees. Crossing to a basin, he splashed cold water over his sweat-dampened skin—face, neck, chest, and underarms—then dried himself with a few cursory wipes before flinging the towel aside. The attendant had also laid out his clothes and he strode across to dress.

  Ten minutes later, his body had begun to cool but not his temper as he yanked on his heavy greatcoat and strode from the premises. His tiger, who waited idling next to his curricle, sprang immediately to attention. Nick stopped in the middle of the pavement and regarded the servant and the vehicle.

  He could drive home, he supposed, but he wasn’t ready to return to the town house. There was his club, where he was certain to find a drink and a card game, but he was in no mood for either. As Jackson had so bluntly pointed out, he wasn’t fit company for anyone at the moment. There were a couple old navy friends he could look up, officers who had found themselves in London by one means or another, but he had no interest in chewing over old times. And if anyone dared to ask about the reason for his foul humor… well, Emma was the last person he would be discussing. For in spite of her betrayal, he would not do the same to her. He would never reveal that she had lived in his home, or tell anyone that once they had been lovers.

  “Drive home,” he ordered the servant. “I’ll walk.”

  “But, my lord, are you sure? It looks like it’s coming on rain.”

  “I spent over a decade at sea,” he said tersely, “so a little wet’s not likely to bother me.”

  The younger man flushed. “Of course, my lord. I’ll take the team home.”

  With a curt nod, Nick turned and stalked away, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat as he went.

  He wandered, walking with no particular direction in mind. Without meaning to, he found himself in Hyde Park some while later, staring at the dull gray chop blown up across the usually placid surface of the Serpentine. Instinctively he’d been drawn to the water, even if it wasn’t the rugged swells of the sea that he truly desired.

  By God, he wished he had access to a ship—or a sailboat at least. He always did his best thinking on the water, the salt spray moistening his face and the wind whipping his hair while his mind and muscles stayed occupied trimming sails and correcting tack. As for the
Hyde Park’s famous lake, the man-made body of water might be adequate for rowboats and lightweight skiffs, but it wasn’t suitable for proper sailing. It certainly wasn’t deep enough or wide enough to distract his thoughts.

  Damn her.

  And damn me for caring.

  Though why he still gave a toss about her, he couldn’t say. Everything she’d told him had been a lie. Really, when he considered the matter properly, he’d had a lucky escape. So why didn’t he feel that way? Why couldn’t he just forget her and move on? As she’d said that night at the prince regent’s party, there could be nothing more between them, particularly considering she was promised in marriage to some foreign prince.

  His fists tightened and he spat out a livid curse, the foul words catching on the wind. A nursemaid with a pair of her young charges in tow covered their ears and led them quickly past, throwing reproving glances his way until the three of them disappeared from view. But he was too far from caring if he offended anyone with his sailor’s language. Lately, he didn’t seem to care about much of anything, even if he continued to go through the motions with his estate business and his life.

  Does she ever think of me? he wondered, then mentally kicked himself for the thought.

  Of course she doesn’t, came the harsh inward reply. She probably laughed now to think of her folly and her brief, forbidden dalliance with an English aristocrat.

  Yet he couldn’t get her face out of his mind, or the look of shattered misery in her eyes just before she’d run from the room that night. He’d almost gone after her then, but pride had held him back. Pride and anger and the knowledge that she could not be his.

  She told him he should treat her as a stranger and forget they had ever met. But how could he when he dreamed of her at night? When he woke with her name a whisper on his lips, his arms empty of all but her memory?

  She never had told him why she’d lain with him, why she had decided to risk giving him her innocence. It was the one thing that made no sense out of all of it, the one part that had no logical explanation. Had she simply been overcome by passion that night, by a longing for some last daring adventure? Or had it been more? Had she perhaps felt some deeper emotion for him after all?

  But as she’d said, what did it matter now? She was gone, completely out of his reach. Worse, as a royal princess, her station was now so far above his that even a friendship between them would be impossible.

  And it was that, above all else, that drove him to the brink, that left him furious and frustrated and bleak as the cold autumn wind that beat at the trees and tore the sere leaves from their branches.

  Suddenly sick of his own introspection, he turned for home. As he did, the first fat, icy drops of rain began to fall from the sky. But he offered no defense against them and walked no faster as he made his way to the town house.

  Chapter 19

  “Are you certain you don’t care to go shopping with me?” Sigrid asked four days later. “I would be happy to wait while you run upstairs to change your gown.”

  Emma looked up from her book, which she was somehow managing to read this time, despite a tendency for her thoughts to wander every now and again. “Thank you, but no,” she said, deliberately adding a smile. “I have no need of another new hat or an extra pair of gloves. As for books”—she held up the one in her hands—“I have a more than adequate supply.”

  “Well, if you are sure…” Sigrid paused, a small pout on her pretty lips. “Besides shopping, I was planning to stop by Gunter’s for one of their delectable treats, or so I have heard them described. I thought perhaps you would enjoy the diversion?”

  Emma’s lashes swept down, her lips closed against the need to assure her sister that she would indeed find the fare at Gunter’s most pleasing. But since Emma had gone to the tea shop with Nick, she thought it best not to expound on the topic.

  At the thought of Nick, her chest gave a painful squeeze; ruthlessly, she did her best to ignore the sensation. And here she’d just been congratulating herself for not thinking about him—she’d lasted three entire minutes this time.

  “It sounds wonderful, but I am quite content as I am today. You can tell me all about your excursion on your return.”

  Sigrid gave her another disappointed look.

  Had Sigrid been planning to shop and dine alone, Emma would most likely have consented to accompany her. But she knew that her sister planned to join a group of aristocratic ladies on her rounds. The idea of being required to laugh and smile and act as though she were having a grand time was simply more than she could stand. Bad enough the afternoon gatherings and dinner parties she was forced to endure without volunteering for more.

  The majority of her day was hers to do with as she liked, and although some might say she would be better off not wallowing in her misery by remaining home alone, she could not abide the alternative. Let Sigrid make merry in London. She would stay home with her book.

  “Very well,” her sister said, pulling at the wrist of one of her hand-dyed salmon pink gloves. The color was an exact match for her cool-weather pelisse and an excellent foil for the dramatic gold-and-ivory striped walking dress she wore beneath. Her shoes were a buttery tan leather, her jewelry confined this morning to a simple gold cross and a pair of drop pearl earrings. As always, she looked as if she could have posed for a fashion plate.

  “I shall bring back a selection of cakes for you, so you shan’t miss out entirely,” Sigrid stated. Leaning down, she retrieved her chip-straw bonnet with its salmon pink silk ribbons and white ostrich feather, then tied it on her head at a dashing angle.

  “That is very good of you,” Emma said.

  “Yes, it is,” Sigrid agreed. “Now, don’t stay inside the whole day with that book. If you aren’t careful, you shall turn into a bluestocking.”

  Emma shook her head. “I do not believe there is much chance of that. Have a lovely time poring over silks and satins and feathers.”

  Sigrid sent her a wide smile, then turned to go on her way.

  Two minutes later, the house had grown quiet once again. With the silence, Emma’s spirits fell.

  Sighing, she returned to her book.

  But the story had lost its power to hold her interest and soon she found herself staring out the window, trying hard not to think of Nick.

  What is he doing? she wondered. Was he still in London or had he gone to his country estate as so many of the English nobility did this time of year? Or had he been invited to attend a party at a country house perhaps, and was even now surrounded by interesting, eligible young women, all of whom were vying for his attention? At this very moment, he might be strolling in the gardens with one of them, some beautiful girl who hung on his arm and laughed at every amusing thing he said—laughed together as she and Nick had once done.

  Does he ever think of me, or am I no more now than a faded memory? Does he still hate me for deceiving him? Or does he no longer care?

  Despite knowing there would be no repeat offerings of flowers from him, she had not been able to keep from being disappointed when no further bouquets arrived from N. He hadn’t sent another note either; she would have relished one even if the words had been harsh or condemning. Apparently he had chosen to honor her parting remark and had decided not to contact her again in any way.

  It is for the best, she told herself. But if it is, why does it hurt so much?

  Her chest gave another painful squeeze and she pressed a hand over her heart, faintly breathless. Chiding herself for the reaction, she forced herself to return to her reading.

  The effort proved no more successful than before, however, and soon she found herself considering Sigrid’s advice about going for a walk around the grounds. Before she could act on her decision, she heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway together with a murmur of voices.

  A sharp rap came at the door.

  “Come,” she called.

  Baroness Zimmer entered the room, a faintly harried expression on her face. “Pardon the i
ntrusion, Your Highness, but you have guests. I was given no notice of their impending arrival or I would have made ready to receive them properly.”

  Guests? Who would possibly come here unannounced?

  Emma laid her book aside and stood. “Who is it, Zimmer?”

  But before the baroness could answer, the doors swung wide and in strode two young women Emma had not thought to see again for a very long time.

  “Ariadne! Mercedes!” she called, rushing across to give each of them a long, warm hug. “Where did you come from? How did you get here? I’m… I’m speechless.”

  “Of course you are not, since you seem to be speaking just fine,” Ariadne said on a teasing laugh. “As for the where and how, the answers are Scotland and by coach. Are you surprised?”

  “Very!” Emma exclaimed.

  “And glad, I hope,” Mercedes said.

  “Very, very,” Emma responded, her lower lip wobbling a little as she realized exactly how glad she was that her two best friends were with her again. Until that moment, she hadn’t known just how much she’d missed them.

  “Have tea sent in, Baroness, and see that rooms are prepared for the princesses,” she told her lady-in-waiting. “In my wing. The yellow and rose suites, I think.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” With a respectful bow, the older woman withdrew.

  The three of them waited until she had gone before continuing their conversation.

  “You must be tired from your journey,” Emma said, gesturing with a hand toward the long sofa opposite before resuming her own seat. “I ought to have asked first if you would rather rest and refresh yourselves before the tea arrives. I know just how long a trip it is from Scotland and how weary I felt afterward.”

  Ariadne and Mercedes exchanged looks. “We are quite well. The final portion of the journey was a brief one this morning, since it was too long to push through last night.”

  “The inn where we stayed was quite comfortable,” Mercedes offered. “Much more so than one might have expected. And before that we enjoyed the hospitality of various lords and ladies at their country estates. We had to be quite firm about our need to leave each day and not tarry, since we were coming to see you.”