To her consternation, her path would take her directly past Nick. She regulated her features so they revealed none of her inner turmoil. Yet she couldn’t control the fierce pounding of her heart as she walked closer, his bold silver gaze following her every move.
She drew nearly even with him and was just about to pass him when he stepped unexpectedly into her path. She jolted to a halt, pulse thundering furiously in her ears. As she watched, he bent down and retrieved something from the ground.
“Your handkerchief, Princess,” he said with velvety smoothness. “I believe you must have dropped it.”
She stared, knowing full well she had dropped nothing.
Their gazes met and held, his eyes full of silent portent. Without looking away, he pressed the silk into her palm. To her surprise, some small, stiff object crinkled inside the folds of the cloth. She squeezed her hand around it, realizing that it must be made of paper.
A note, she thought, her heart giving another kick.
His palm lingered against hers only long enough for her to take a solid hold; then he drew away.
She crushed the handkerchief with its concealed message inside her palm. “Oh, how kind of you to have noticed. Thank you, my lord.”
“Your servant, ma’am.” He bowed, his expression impassive.
Then, as if she had already forgotten the entire exchange, she turned and continued on her way, exiting the dining room with the last of the ladies.
The next two hours were even more interminable than the first, since as much as she longed to read his note, there was no good place to do so.
Not without attracting attention.
Not without telling Ariadne and Mercedes, who were finally able to join her and take seats together on one of the sofas.
For reasons she could not explain, not even to herself, she didn’t want to share this particular turn of events with them. Whatever Nick had to say was between herself and him—private and meant for her eyes alone.
And so she said nothing to her friends, merely stuffed the handkerchief and note inside her pocket, then proceeded to drink her tea with the others. Neither did she have an opportunity to discuss Nick’s presence at the party or question Ariadne about her possible involvement in issuing an invitation; the room was far too crowded with ladies for any private chats.
And so she sat, the little piece of paper burning a metaphorical hole in her hip the entire time, as if begging to be taken out and read. Somehow she resisted—even when Nick and the other gentlemen rejoined the ladies after an hour to continue the evening’s entertainment.
For his part, Nick made no attempt to seek her out, nor did he watch her or in any way direct his attention toward her. Instead, he joined one of the groups of card players, pairing himself at a table with a very attractive brunette whose high-pitched laughter seemed to bounce gratingly around the room.
At length the party disbanded, a few dedicated card players, including Nick, staying up to finish their game. Without so much as glancing his way, Emma left the room.
Part of her wanted to immediately question Ariadne and Mercedes to find out what they knew about Nick, but she decided the full story could wait until later. Still, she couldn’t resist giving them a pointed look as the three of them made their way upstairs.
“The pair of you haven’t said a word about Nick, so I presume you knew he was coming,” she hissed in a low voice.
Ariadne met her gaze with a bold lack of repentance, while Mercedes glanced away, guilty color gathering in her cheeks.
“We will talk about this in the morning,” she told them significantly.
Only when she was alone was Emma finally able to read the note.
Meet me in the east wing in the upstairs corridor at 2 a.m. I shall be waiting.
There was no signature, though she hardly needed one.
A quick glance at the clock showed that she had a little over an hour to wait. Tucking the missive inside the book she was reading, she rang for her maid.
Chapter 24
Nick leaned against the wall in a dim corner of the upstairs hallway, careful to keep to the night shadows that provided some small measure of concealment. As far as he was aware, all the other guests were abed, but one never knew when someone might decide to sneak out for a late-night tryst of their own.
The marquess’s wife, with whom he had partnered tonight at cards, had left him in no doubt that she was open to just such an assignation. To her pouting regret, he had turned her down, citing the proximity of her husband as his excuse for not taking her up on her most generous offer.
By the time he’d left the card table, she was already flirting with another man, who seemed far more likely to accept. Hopefully neither of them would happen along and find him there in the corridor while he waited for Emma; he really didn’t want to be put to the bother of thinking up another excuse.