No spark.
No excitement.
Not like with Nick, whose mere glance was enough to send her bursting into flames.
Trembling, it was all she could do not to yank her hand from Otto’s grasp.
She was saved by Rupert, of all people, when he stepped forward to introduce the king to Sigrid. Giving Emma a small pat on the arm, Otto let her go and turned to her sister.
Sigrid sank into a beautiful curtsy, then rose just as smoothly to begin conversing with the king. She smiled as if she really was pleased to meet him and soon had Otto laughing that dreadful braying laugh of his again.
Careful not to call attention to herself, Emma moved several steps away. Rupert, who was in conversation with their host, took no apparent notice of her defection.
She fought to maintain the numbness, knowing she would need its protection if she had any hope of getting through the rest of the evening.
As for the rest of my life…
The thought was enough to chill her to the bone.
To her relief, Ariadne and Mercedes soon appeared to receive their own introductions. They both sent her probing glances before being compelled to turn away.
Once everyone in their small party had been officially received by King Otto, the duke suggested they proceed into the main drawing room where the rest of the guests were assembled.
More introductions to be endured, Emma thought.
Buoying up the smile on her frozen face, she strolled with the others into the next room; Ariadne and Mercedes were unfortunately detained from making their way to her side.
The room was filled with perhaps fifty people—nearly a third of them visiting members of Rupert’s and Otto’s courts. The rest of the assemblage were various important, wealthy, and highly placed Englishmen and -women—the British prime minister among them.
Emma made perfunctory greetings to the various dignitaries and aristocrats who passed her way, her inner detachment making it all that much easier to perform her duty.
She had just finished speaking with a white-haired older gentleman who was so hard of hearing she’d been compelled to repeat all her answers twice, when she turned to meet the next person.
Her numbness shattered like a frozen river cracking wide in a spring thaw as she looked up at the man standing before her. She swayed, fearing she might swoon on the spot, her heart beating so hard and fast it was a miracle it didn’t burst.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” Nick said as he bowed. “What a pleasure to see you again.”
Chapter 23
Nick met Emma’s wide hyacinth blue gaze, her expression dazed.
She is so beautiful, he thought, his memory of her a mere fiction when set against the reality. Her petal-soft lips were slightly parted, her skin as pale as cream, the upper curve of her cheekbones dusted the luminous pink of a new dawn.
His hand flexed at his side and he ached to touch her. But he held himself steady, knowing he did not dare, not here in this drawing room, surrounded by so many others. For now he would have to content himself with a look and a few banalities.
Later, he promised himself. Later he would find a way for them to be alone.
He had missed her so much, more than he’d thought possible in the two weeks since their encounter at the theater. But he’d forced himself to be patient, to wait until the right time to seek her out again. Now they were together once more. He only hoped her heart hadn’t turned against him, assuming it had ever been his at all.
But he had assurances that she was not impartial to him, or so he had been led to believe by her friends, with whom he had been corresponding. Their words had given him hope that all was not lost in spite of the impossibility of his and Emma’s circumstances. He knew that fate was not on his side, but he couldn’t stand by and do nothing; he had to try before it was too late.
Emma swayed slightly, and instinctively he reached out to steady her with a gentle hand, earning his longed-for touch, after all. “Are you well, Princess?”
She blinked, and his words seemed to penetrate her brief shock. “Y-yes, of course.” She straightened with an indomitable will whose depth he was only beginning to understand. Incredible that he once had thought her an ordinary governess, but then he’d always known there was nothing ordinary about her. The blue blood ran deep and pure in her veins, her dignity and bearing something few possessed—and not simply because of her heritage.
Reluctantly, he forced himself to withdraw his hand, his palm aching again the moment he let go. “Might I procure you a refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?”
She looked at him, and he knew she was remembering the last time he’d given her liquor and everything that had happened afterward. She glanced away. “No, thank you.”