“I’m afraid it definitely needs mending.” Ariadne said, shaking her head, apparently shamefaced. “It’s entirely my fault. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Well, it was an accident,” Mercedes said. “Of course there is nothing to forgive.”
Emma saw Ariadne look quickly away.
“Why do you not run along to the ladies’ withdrawing room and have it mended?” Ariadne suggested. “I am sure the theater must provide a woman who can help repair it with a few pins and a bit of thread.”
She made another regretful moan of apology and wrung her hands. “Baroness, Princess Mercedes cannot go by herself. Surely you will accompany her?” She sent the older woman a hopeful smile. “Princess Emma and I shall be fine for a few minutes until you return.”
The baroness pursed her lips, clearly uncertain. She glanced between the three of them for a long moment, then gave a nod. “Yes, you are right, Princess Ariadne. I shall escort Princess Mercedes to have her gown seen to and return as soon as may be. Perhaps you should both remain here in the box?”
“We’ll be fine together,” Ariadne said. Reaching over, she slid her arm through Emma’s, locking them hip to hip. “We shall only stroll a few feet in either direction. With so many estimable personages present, what harm can there be in getting a little air?”
What harm indeed? Emma thought sourly.
With a few choice words she could ruin Ariadne’s scheme. But it went against the grain to tattle on a friend—even if that friend deserved to be soundly thrashed for her unwanted conniving.
The baroness studied them again. “Stay close to the box,” she warned. Turning, she smiled at Mercedes. “Your Highness? Shall we?”
Mercedes sent them a look of helpless resignation, then set off with the older woman.
Emma held her tongue until they were gone; only then did she round on Ariadne. “You are beyond all bounds. Do you know that? I cannot believe you actually tore Mercedes’s gown. Poor thing. She loved that dress. And worse, you lied to her. She actually believes it was an accident.”
“Well, I am sorry about that, but it couldn’t be helped,” Ariadne defended.
Emma muttered her opinion on that score inaudibly beneath her breath.
Ariadne ignored her, the repentant expression she had worn disappearing from her face. “As for the gown, who cares about that? Mercedes literally has dozens of dresses in her wardrobe and I shall gladly buy her a new one. The important thing is that I needed to get you away from the baroness. I cannot believe you were going to leave the box with her in tow. How can you possibly talk to Nick with her along?”
“I can’t, which is exactly the reason I asked her to accompany me. Good Lord, Arie, how can you be so cruel? Can you not understand that no good will come from me seeing him again?”
Assuming he wants to see me, she thought with a dismal turn of mind. He hadn’t looked as if he’d been glaring at her, but in the low light, how could she be sure? Was he still angry? Did he hate her even now? Her chest was already aching as if she’d taken a kick to the ribs—and that was only from seeing him across the theater. How much worse would it be if they actually met?
“Running away isn’t the answer,” Ariadne countered. “You owe it to yourself, and him as well, to at least meet and be polite. You don’t want him to think you are giving him the cut, do you?”
Emma scuffed the bottom of one slipper against the box’s thin carpeting. “Of course not.”
Hurting Nick is the last thing I wish, Emma thought.
“Well then,” Ariadne continued, “let us proceed out into the corridor and walk toward his box. That way we may give the appearance of having just happened upon each other when we meet him.”
“And if he isn’t coming to find me?”
“Do not be absurd. Of course he is coming to find you. I saw the way he was looking at you. He is probably tossing people aside even as we speak in order to reach you with all deliberate haste.”
A begrudging smile curved over Emma’s lips at the image Ariadne created. “Now who is being absurd?”
Ariadne merely smiled and drew her Emma out into the corridor. Linking arms again, she started them on their way. “I must confess,” she murmured a few moments later, “I am most anxious to make your beau’s acquaintance. Even from a distance, he looked absolutely delectable.”
“Arie! Of all the outrageous things to say.”
But Ariadne merely shrugged, unconcerned. “I only say what I think. Why is that so outrageous?”
“And he’s not my beau,” Emma declared. “My hand is already promised to another, remember?”
“Promised, but not given,” Ariadne corrected. “Your future isn’t written yet and that is what you need to remember. Well now,” she said, her gaze traveling ahead, “if my eyes don’t deceive me, here comes your Nick.”
Emma looked up, finding him as though he were the only person in the corridor instead of one of many meandering within the crowd. Her heart beat wildly up into her throat, as she drank in the sight of his tall, powerful body and masterful stride. Dressed in requisite black-and-white evening attire, he was every inch as delectable as Ariadne had proclaimed. His black coat was smoothed precisely over his wide shoulders, his breeches molded to his heavily muscled thighs, snug as a second skin.
Skin that once had touched her skin.
Muscles that had moved in rhythm with her muscles as the two of them made passionate, intoxicating love.
Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her as he drew near. She fought them off, fought them down, striving to regulate the expression on her face so that she appeared outwardly calm and serene.
As far as the world knew, she and Nick were virtual strangers.
As far as even Ariadne knew—at least not for certain—she and Nick had never even kissed, let alone spent one unforgettable night wrapped in each other’s arms.
She and Ariadne slowly came to a halt.
Nick did as well.
Meeting her gaze, he bent into a low, respectful bow. “Your Royal Highness. Good evening.”
Emma inclined her head in appropriately formal greeting. “My lord.”
She couldn’t help but stare, long and lingeringly, her eyes tracing his features as if she hoped to memorize them. Only when Ariadne gave a faint hmm-hmm did Emma recall the young woman at her side.
“Oh,” Emma said, returning to the present. “Allow me to introduce my companion to you, my lord. This is Her Highness, Princess Ariadne of Nordenbourg. Princess, the Earl of Lyndhurst.”
Nick bowed again, this time to Ariadne, who gave him a warm smile.
“A pleasure,” she said. “I do hope you are enjoying tonight’s entertainment.”
“Yes, it is most”—Nick’s gaze turned to Emma—“enlivening.”
“Well, I would simply love to stay and chat, but the interval grows short.” Ariadne looked over the crowd with a sweeping gaze. “Oh, look now, I see a dear acquaintance with whom I simply must speak. If you will both please excuse me. Carry on.”
“Arie,” Emma said on a protesting whisper as her friend disengaged her arm from her own.
Emma knew that Ariadne couldn’t possibly have a “dear acquaintance” here in London, since she had been to only a few parties and had formed no important new friendships. But Ariadne was clearly determined to give her and Nick as much time together as possible, even if they could not actually be alone.
With anxiety fluttering in her stomach, she watched Ariadne drift away. Slowly she turned back to Nick.
He gazed at her, his eyes unexpectedly hungry. “You are well?”
“Yes. Quite well.” If you don’t count my broken heart, that is. “And you, my lord?” she asked.
“Fine. Well.”
He fell silent and so did she. It was, she realized, the first time they had ever been awkward with each other.
“You are enjoying the play?” he ventured.
“Yes,” she answered, when in truth she couldn’t remember the title and had
no idea what the plot was about.
She stared at his chin, noticing the slight shadow of a beard that was just beginning to darken his jaw. She wondered whether his skin would feel as warm and rough against her fingertips as she recalled. She clasped her hands together at her waist. “I had your flowers. They were from you, I presume? N.”
One corner of his mouth curved upward. “I assumed you would toss them away once you read the card.”
“Oh, I did,” she shot back. “Even so, the violas were lovely.”
His eyes darkened like a shifting storm and bore into hers. “Your favorite.”
Her pulse throbbed in her wrists. “Yes. You remembered.”
“I remember everything,” he said meaningfully.
Another small silence fell. Without conscious awareness, each of them drew fractionally closer so as to afford more privacy while still appearing to be engaged in nothing more important than small talk.
“Are you still angry?” she ventured.
“I should be, I suppose,” he said, “but somehow I find that particular emotion eludes me at present.”
Another moment’s pause.
“Would it be permissible for me to write to you?” he asked.
Her gaze flashed to his, her heart giving a quick, joyous leap. But seconds later the traitorous organ resumed a slower beat when she recalled Rupert and what he would have to say if she started getting letters from Nick. “It would be better if you did not.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I see.”
She watched his withdrawal and felt the ache start again inside her chest. She should say nothing, she knew, and let him think the worst, let him believe she felt nothing for him. But she couldn’t. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t like you to write to me. It is just that my family would not approve.”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes as her meaning sank in. “Then I’ll write anyway.”
She shook her head. “Do not. We shouldn’t even be speaking tonight.”
“Why not? Are you forbidden to speak to men?”
“No, but you are not just any man. My chaperone may return at any moment, and she cannot see us together. I have to go.”
“No.” He stretched out a hand to her. “Emma, I must see you again.”
“It is impossible. And do not call me by my given name. Not here.”
A glower of frustration crossed his face. “Very well, Your Highness. But, please, there must be a way for us to meet.”
She looked him full in the face, her cheeks suddenly cold and pale. “There is not. Do not attempt to contact me. If you come to the estate you will be turned away.”
His face turned hard again.
Her own expression crumpled. “I know I told you to hate me,” she whispered, “but I beg you, do not. I cannot bear the idea of you out in the world and thinking ill of me.”
Confusion washed over his handsome features. “Emma.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“Wait.”
But she didn’t, turning away before she could change her mind, before she lost control and let the tears that threatened begin to fall. Not caring who might see, she fled back to the box.
Nick started after her, determined to catch up.
Before he’d taken more than a few steps, however, a soft hand caught hold of his sleeve. “Stop, my lord.”
Turning, he swung around to see who was interfering with his pursuit. His irritation fell away the instant he saw the concerned face of Emma’s friend.
“Your Highness,” he said, meeting Princess Ariadne’s gaze. “I didn’t realize it was you. If you’ll forgive me, I need to go after Emma—Princess Emmaline, I mean.”
A slight smile moved over the princess’s lips as she lowered her hand to her side. “Emma will do nicely. It’s what all her intimates call her,” she said meaningfully. “But it is best if you do not follow her for now. The interval is nearly over and time grows short. The baroness and our other friend, Princess Mercedes, will return at any moment.”
“So Emma said as well.”
He hesitated, wondering how much he could trust the young woman at his side, how much he dare reveal. Yet he knew that she had done him and Emma a favor by deliberately concocting an excuse that would allow them time to speak alone.
Exactly how much did she know about him? he wondered. And what had Emma told her concerning their relationship?
Some of his uncertainty must have shown, since the princess gave him another smile—reassuring this time. “Go home tonight, my lord, and refrain from contacting her for the time being.”
“But I must see her again,” he protested. “If I leave tonight, I may never have another opportunity to say what needs to be said.” Although what that was, he wasn’t entirely sure.
“You will see her again. Trust me,” the princess said. “For now, I urge you to be patient and wait.”
But he had already waited far too long, he realized, wasting precious time with his anger and wounded pride. Seeing Emma again tonight had made everything clear, had reminded him just how much he wanted her and exactly how important she was to him. Nothing had been the same since she’d come into his life and nothing would be right about it again without her.
I love her, he thought, finally admitting the truth to himself. As hopeless as the situation might seem, he had to let her know how he felt, had to find out if she had any feelings for him in return. But if he did as Princess Ariadne suggested and walked away tonight, would he really have another opportunity to speak to Emma? Or would she vanish once again? Disappear—possibly forever?
His insides twisted at the idea. Yet what other choice did he have but to put his confidence in this young woman? She was right that pursuing Emma to her box would do nothing but draw unwanted attention their way. And if her chaperone noticed more than she ought, such scrutiny might prevent him from seeing Emma at all.
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded with sudden suspicion. “You do not even know me.”
“I know Emma,” Princess Ariadne said with an untroubled confidence. “As for why, it is simple enough. I wish to see her happy. Anything beyond that is irrelevant.”
“And you believe I will make her happy? For all you know, I could be a grasping opportunist trying to align myself with royalty.”
She arched a haughty brow. “If you were anything of the sort, you would have attempted to benefit from your relationship with Emma long ago; unscrupulous men rarely keep silent. I watched you tonight, and it is as plain as the nose on your face that you care for her, quite deeply if I do not miss my guess.”
Is it so obvious? he thought wryly. Was he the only one who hadn’t realized until tonight that he was in love?
“Yes, I care,” he admitted in a low voice.
Princess Ariadne smiled. Seconds later, she looked away.
Only then did he notice the fact that the crowd around them had begun to thin as people returned to their seats.
“Quick,” she said, “since time truly does run short and I have no wish to land in the soup broth with the baroness.”
“She sounds a veritable ogress.”
“She’s not, but she reports everything to Emma’s brother. She’s a very well-meaning spy. Now, give me your direction. I shall send a note round by way of my maid and advise you when and where you and Emma may next meet.”
After another moment’s hesitation, he recited his address in Mayfair.
She gave a satisfied nod. “I bid you good evening, my lord. It has been most edifying to make your acquaintance.”
“For me as well, Your Highness,” he replied.
And then, before he could even manage a bow, she was hurrying away, her skirts swaying around her trim shape.
Aware he would be wise not to linger, he melted into the crowd. But rather than return to his box, he made his way down the staircase and outside to seek his coach.
Chapter 22
Emma spent the next week in a state
of agitation. Her unexpected encounter with Nick had shaken her badly, leaving her more distraught than ever about her future—especially since she knew it was not to include him. She’d told Nick not to contact her; even so, she couldn’t help but check daily for some word from him. Yet he sent no letters, and although she continued to receive frequent gifts of flowers from other gentlemen, none of them bore his mark.
Perhaps he has decided to wash his hands of me for good, she thought despairingly. That night at the theater, he’d said he had to see her again and yet he’d made not the slightest effort to communicate with her since. What had he wanted to say and why had he changed his mind? Had he reconsidered and decided that she really was nothing but a bad bargain?
He was right, of course; she was a thoroughly lost cause. What was the point in his seeing her again when she was promised to another man? They’d already gone beyond any hope of simple friendship; there was too much simmering passion remaining between them—at least there was for her.
Nick was better off severing all ties with her. After all, she’d already sworn never to see him again. Why should their chance encounter the other night make any difference? Perhaps Nick had thought over the situation and come to the same conclusion. Perhaps he had decided it was best to be done for good.
Still, irrational as it might seem, she couldn’t help but feel betrayed, abandoned, and unspeakably alone as a result of his silence. Seeing him again had reopened every badly healed wound and left her as raw and bleeding as the day she’d forced herself to run from his house and from him.
Obviously aware of her less than satisfactory meeting with Nick and her subsequent unhappiness, Mercedes and Ariadne did their best to rally her spirits. With that goal in mind, they dragged her along with them to London on a variety of excursions that ranged from a private viewing at the Royal Academy, a trip to Hatchard’s Bookshop, and a variety of shopping expeditions.
Sigrid frequently joined them for the last, since she almost never turned down an opportunity to acquire a new gown or piece of jewelry for herself, or to buy a pretty new doll or amusing game for one of her daughters.
It was during one such trip that Ariadne bought not one but two new gowns for Mercedes as recompense for having ruined her evening dress. For despite the best attempts of Sigrid’s lady, who was an expert seamstress, Mercedes’s gown had proved beyond salvation. Awash with genuine remorse, Ariadne had been exceptionally generous and told Mercedes to purchase any two gowns she liked. Being Mercedes, she’d ordered fabrics and notions she loved for the gowns but did not add anything unduly expensive or unneeded.
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