With an impatient tug at his cravat, he loosened the linen a couple of inches. He supposed he should seek his bed. Yet he knew there would be no rest, not for a good long while.
Brandy and a book, he decided. His usual at-home means of escape.
Climbing to his feet, he picked up his snifter and crossed the room to refill it.
Chapter 9
Three evenings later, Emma descended the final steps of the town house’s main staircase, then continued into the entry hall where Nick and his aunt were already gathered.
“It seems far too chilly an evening to attend the theater,” Aunt Felicity remarked as she let the butler assist her into a thick lavender cloak that was more suited to a raw January day than a mild September night. “But since you young people have your hearts set on attending,” the dowager viscountess continued, sending a smile toward Emma when she joined them, “who am I to curtail your pleasures?”
“You are exceedingly forbearing to indulge us, Aunt,” Nick said, as he finished pulling on a pair of white dress gloves. “In return, we shall do our utmost to see to your comfort on the journey. I’ve asked Bell to place a warm brick in the coach, along with a lap blanket, to keep you nice and toasty.”
His aunt’s smile widened and she reached over to pat his sleeve. “Oh, you are too good to me, dear boy. Truly you are.”
From beneath her lashes, Emma studied Nick, finding nothing remotely boyish about him; he was far too much of a man. As for the way he looked in evening attire—handsome didn’t begin to describe him. He was sleek and powerfully urbane in a black cutaway coat and evening breeches, his crisp white shirt, starched cravat, and understated waistcoat only enhancing the effect.
His cheeks were smoothly shaven. Nevertheless, the grain of his whiskers left a barely visible shadow along his jaw, one that made her wonder what it would be like to glide her fingers over his skin to feel its texture and warmth.
Abruptly, she looked away, grateful when Symms approached with her evening wrap. She busied herself by fastening the top button of her deep blue merino crepe mantle. The color provided a cheerful foil for her ecru silk gown, the same one she had worn the night Nick had kissed her.
In the days that had passed since then, he hadn’t made an attempt to repeat their passionate embrace, his silence on the subject absolute.
When she’d come down for breakfast that morning after their kiss—her first kiss—she hadn’t been sure what to expect. Would their initial meeting be awkward or easy? Would he give her an intimate smile or a frown of regret? For her part, she had thought of nothing but their kisses during the night, her dreams as full of him as she had predicted.
To her dismay, he’d offered her a pleasant greeting, then gone back to his newspaper and toast. After a few moments, she attempted to engage him in conversation, and although he answered easily enough, the closeness of the evening before had vanished.
“My lord,” she’d said when he had finished his breakfast and was about the leave the table. “I had hoped that we might see more of the city today.”
She watched his face for any revealing emotion but there was none.
“Your aunt does not seem inclined to long excursions, and I thought you might continue to show me the sights.”
He looked down at the table. “I have business. I believe I mentioned that already.”
“Yes, but surely you could postpone your work for another day or two? I would be no trouble.”
One dark brow went skyward, and for a moment she thought he was going to offer some arch rejoinder. Instead, he leaned calmly back in his chair. “Well, if that were indeed the case and I was no more than a host offering his guest escort to the places everyone comes to London to see, then I might perhaps be able to find a few hours. If there was no further trouble.”
She met his gaze, momentarily puzzled by his words. Then she realized two things at once: that he intended to treat their passionate interlude as if it had not happened at all; and that so long as she agreed to ignore what had passed between them, he would agree to continue escorting her around the city.
It was a well-veiled bribe, but a bribe nonetheless. For a long moment she considered tossing it back in his face.
But pride kept her silent.
What did she care if he regretted last night? It had been a kiss, an experiment that satisfied her curiosity and fulfilled the requirements of their wager. Now it was over and the two of them could go on as before. She was here in London to see the city and he was offering to show it to her; only a simpleton would have cause to complain.
Besides, what had she expected? It wasn’t as if anything could come of their association. She was a princess destined for life as a queen and he was only a peer—and an English one, to boot. It wasn’t as if she had feelings for him. It wasn’t as though she might fall in love and want to spend the rest of her life inside his arms.