“We would be immensely relieved if you did not,” Nick told him in a voice Emma knew to be strictly truthful this time.
She couldn’t help but stiffen again. An interview with the local constabulary, or worse, a conversation with the magistrate himself, was the last thing they needed. And if the county authorities happened to have spoken to her brother or his guards and found out who she was—
Mein Gott im Himmel!
In her abandon over Nick’s kiss, she’d completely forgotten about Rupert’s men—astonishing considering she’d initiated the kiss for the express purpose of avoiding the guards’ detection. Although perhaps a part of her had also simply wanted to kiss him whatever the excuse. Mercy knows she’d thought about it often enough over the past couple of weeks.
But that was of no moment right now, she told herself. What mattered was whether her diversion had been successful or not. Were Rupert’s men still searching for her somewhere just outside in the crowd, or had they given up and gone on their way?
Obviously sensing her agitation, Nick rubbed a soothing palm over her back. “If you would be so kind as to give us a moment,” he said, addressing the stall owner, “my bride needs to compose herself. I promise we shall not trespass upon your good nature and forbearance for too much longer.”
The man puffed out a breath as if he weren’t certain he should leave, but then he turned and shuffled away.
“You can relax,” Nick told her a few moments later. “He’s gone.”
Yes, but have Rupert’s men gone, too? she wondered.
She raised her face from his shoulder and gazed into his eyes, not sure what expression she would find there. A swift inhalation caught in her throat at the warmth and tenderness she found.
“I must say,” he remarked with an unmistakable note of amusement, “that was all rather unexpected. Particularly”—he paused and slid a fingertip along her cheek—“the reason why it all began.”
She stayed silent. After all, how could she possibly explain?
“Just remember. The next time we kiss,” he said in velvety tones, “it’s my turn to take you by surprise.”
Her pulse leapt, then fell into a wild, jagged rhythm. “Will there be a next time?” she couldn’t keep herself from whispering.
His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Oh, I think you can count on it.”
This time, she couldn’t catch her breath.
On a quiet chuckle, he hooked her arm over his. “Shall we call it a day and go home?”
“Yes.”
He led her forward, but she stopped him again. “Nick?”
He raised a dark eyebrow inquiringly.
“Do you suppose we could go out the other way?” With a nod of her head, she indicated the light-filled opening at the rear of the stalls. “I’m not ready to face the crowds again.”
Nick nodded and led her out.
To her relief, the area proved to be a mostly deserted field with only a handful of people roaming about. Keeping close to Nick with her head bent low, she walked at a quick, purposeful pace. Nick made no comment about her hurry, his long legs effortlessly eating up the distance to the carriage.
It wasn’t until she was seated next to him in the vehicle and they had driven well away from the fair that she finally relaxed.
Nonetheless, her uneasiness remained. She’d avoided Rupert’s guard today, but they would continue searching for her. Eventually, she would be found. It was only a matter of time; Rupert would never give up. He would be thorough and relentless—she knew him well enough to count on that.
She would have to make a decision soon about going home.
She only wished her heart wasn’t going to break once she did.
Chapter 11
“It certainly sounds as if you two had a lively time on your outing today,” the dowager viscountess remarked later that evening, as Emma, Nick, and his aunt sat around the long dining room table in Lyndhurst House.
Emma stared down at the roast guinea fowl, whipped parsnips, and chestnut soufflé on her plate, careful not to look at Nick for fear of what might be revealed on her face if she met his gaze.
Of course, neither she nor Nick had said anything to his aunt about the ardent kisses they’d shared that afternoon. Instead they had confined their discourse to stories of the entertainers, merchants, and food vendors they had seen at the fair.
If only his aunt knew the half of it; although even Nick didn’t know it all, she reminded herself.
For her part, Lady Dalrymple was content to chatter away, her own observations taking up far more of the conversation than any remarks Emma or Nick chose to volunteer.
Emma was actually relieved at not being required to contribute, too preoccupied to add much of any real import to the discussion. As it was, she could barely eat, picking at each dish as it was served in spite of the excellent efforts of Nick’s cook.