And now they were having apple fritters to finish off the meal with something sweet.
“Good?” he asked.
“Exceptional,” she said, blowing on a section of the filling before taking another bite.
Apparently impervious to the heat, Nick polished off his pastry in a few considered mouthfuls, then reached for a handkerchief to wipe a spot of grease from his fingertips.
“More to eat?” he inquired once she had finished and he’d tossed away their used wrappers. “Or shall we visit some of the merchant stalls to inspect their wares?”
“Merchants, please. I could not eat a single thing more.”
“Not even some of that treacle toffee I saw you eyeing earlier?”
She paused. “Hmm, it did look awfully good. Maybe just a few to take home with us.”
Nick let out a laugh, took her arm to slip through his own, and wheeled her around for the walk to the candy stand.
She supposed it was very wrong of her, but she was happy that she and Nick were alone today, the dowager viscountess having declared an autumn fair to be far too inclement and full of rascals for her old bones to endure.
And so she’d waved them off after breakfast, promising an eagerness to hear all about their outing upon their return.
Exactly as Nick had told her, his aunt had been happy to remain in residence at Lyndhurst House so that Emma might stay awhile longer. At first, Emma had told herself she would remain only a few days more, just long enough to visit some of the sites about Town with which Nick had lured her.
But as each new day arrived, there was something else that had to be seen or done, a fresh reason to put off her departure yet again.
Without entirely knowing how, one week became two and she had not still written to Mrs. Brown-Jones. By now, her former teacher must have returned to the city. But as much as Emma realized she ought to contact her, she knew that once she did, the other woman would expect her to leave Nick’s town house and move into her own.
Or else return to the estate and her chaperone, and to her brother once he arrived from Rosewald. Quite likely Mrs. Brown-Jones would be sympathetic about her decision to run away, but in the end, Emma suspected, her old teacher would advise her to return home. That she would tell her to honor her family and work matters out with them.
But she knew what her family would say, having heard their sentiments expressed her entire life.
Being royal was a sacred honor that must be upheld at all costs, the duty that comes with it a necessary burden.
With privilege and power comes obligation. Individual wishes, most especially love, are unimportant.
The stability and strength of the kingdom and their royal lineage must come first, last, and always.
Which was why she did not write Mrs. Brown-Jones. Instead, she chose to push thoughts of her real life from her mind while she reveled in the pleasure of her newfound freedom.
And the even greater pleasure of being with Nick.
The more she knew him, the more she liked him. Each morning she rose from her bed with a smile on her face as she thought about seeing him again. And in the evening, she wished that they need not be parted by the necessity of separate rooms—or individuals beds.
Such thoughts always made her flush, her body growing warm with longings she could not deny.
He had not kissed her again; he hadn’t even tried.
Yet sometimes she got the distinct impression that he wanted to. Every once in a while she would catch him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t watching, an expression of intense yearning on his face, his gray eyes nearly black.
If he desired her, why did he not say?
If he wished to kiss her, why did he not try?
Because, she thought, he is an honorable man and does not wish to do me harm.
For, in spite of his aunt’s presence in the house, he could have tried to seduce her any time he liked. And were she honest with herself, she knew she would have let him. She didn’t like to let herself dwell on it, but in the deepest, most hidden part of her soul, she had already confessed to herself that her heart was lost.
She was in love with Nick Gregory.
But she said nothing and neither did he, each of them seemingly content to let the days slip by as they enjoyed the deep pleasure of each other’s company.
Smiling up at him now, as he passed her a small paper cone full of toffees, she felt her heart flip up and over beneath her breasts. His expression was tender, solicitous, and something more.
Suddenly she found herself wondering, Could he be courting me?
Her heart flipped again, the idea too wonderful to imagine and too impossible to entertain.
Looking away, she stared at the candies in her hands as if she were thinking of choosing one, when in reality they barely registered in her sight.
“Th-thank you, my lord,” she said quietly.