The Princess and the Peer(104)

“Lord Lyndhurst,” he supplied smoothly, aware their conversation might easily be overheard by those nearby. “We met at the prince regent’s fete in London. Perhaps you do not recall.”

“That is right. I recall now, my lord,” she said, the last of the glazed look fading from her eyes along with the rush of color that had pinked her cheeks. She was icily pale now, composed, as he had seen her earlier from across the room. He didn’t like the look, as if she had donned a practiced mask that hid the real woman from view.

He had a sudden perverse urge to wipe it away, to force another honest response from her. But he needed to wait, he reminded himself. Now was not the time to press.

He smiled instead. “You are enjoying the country, I hope?”

“Yes, the journey was most pleasant. I arrived only today.”

“As did I. Good that the weather remained clement for traveling. But now that we are all here, I suppose it may snow all it likes.”

“Yes, no reason not to be stranded all together.”

She gazed at him for a long, silent moment, their trivial words hiding what each of them actually longed to say.

Then, before he had a chance to continue their conversation, an older gentleman stepped forward, clearly waiting for an audience with Emma.

Later, Nick promised himself again. He made her a bow. “Your Highness.”

“My lord,” she said.

Turning, he walked away.

Emma had been numb before, but now she tingled, each one of her nerves literally vibrating with heightened awareness and anxiety.

So far dinner had proved to be even more of an ordeal than she had originally feared. Her senses were specially attuned to Nick, even though he sat several yards distant at the end of their host’s long, formal dining table.

She tried her best not to gaze at him or notice what he might be doing, focusing all her efforts instead on carrying on a passably coherent conversation with the gentlemen seated on either side of her. Luckily neither of them seemed to mind her frequent silences and noncommittal remarks.

Lucky too was the fact that she had been spared the necessity of sitting next to King Otto. Since this was the inaugural evening of the house party, the British prime minister had been granted a place of honor on his right, while Sigrid, as the eldest daughter in their family, was accorded the seat on his left.

Yet Emma knew all too well that her reprieve would not last long and she would be required to sit next to Otto at the table, perhaps even as early as tomorrow night. For now, though, she couldn’t worry about any of that, not with Nick eating dinner with apparent calm just a few yards away.

She nearly bobbled her dessert fork as she sent him a furtive glance under her lashes and discovered him looking back. A little smile moved over his lips in a gesture so faint only someone intimately acquainted with him would have noticed it.

But she noticed.

When it came to Dominic Gregory, she noticed everything.

Then he glanced away again, as if he’d never looked at all, and resumed his conversation with his table partner.

She didn’t think it a conceit on her part to assume he was there because of her. Yet why now, when he hadn’t bothered to seek her out before? Then there was the question of how he had managed to obtain an invitation in the first place, since only a select few had been asked to attend.

Her gaze turned to Ariadne, speculating. But no, not even Ariadne could have arranged this since it was impossible that she’d had access to the guest list. Then again, when Ariadne set her mind to something, amazing things had been known to happen.

As for obtaining answers from Nick, she’d had no chance to exchange more than a few inconsequential remarks with him—not with so many prying ears listening nearby. At least no one seemed to have witnessed her initial shock at finding him there. She truly had been on the verge of fainting after his sudden appearance in the drawing room. He’d even reached out to steady her with a hand beneath her elbow, not letting go until he’d apparently deemed it safe to release her.

She’d actually ached with a stitch beneath her ribs when he’d withdrawn his touch, desperate to recall him, wishing she could simply step forward and bury herself inside his arms. But the idea was as impossible as his presence here at the country party.

He should not have come, she thought. Having him here was dangerous, like sipping a draft of chocolate and nightshade—delicious but deadly.

He truly was both her heaven and her hell.

Stealing another glance at him, she wondered what she was going to do and how on earth she was going to find the strength to resist him—again.

Just when she feared she could not endure another moment of the dinner, their hostess called for the ladies to withdraw; the gentlemen were to be given a chance to enjoy port and cheroots at their solitary leisure. The men rose, waiting politely as the women made their way from the vast chamber.