The Princess and the Peer(51)

When not being directly addressed by his aunt, Nick was quiet too, lingering contemplatively over his food and wine as the meal progressed. He gazed at Emma periodically, as if attempting to decipher her thoughts.

She sent him a halfhearted smile every now and again, otherwise struggling to give nothing away. For, despite the thought she’d given the matter since returning from the fair that afternoon, she was no closer to making a decision about her future than she had been when she’d seen her brother’s guard.

Although deep inside she knew what she must do.

There really was only one option, a single inescapable choice.

A sick ache settled beneath her ribs as she acknowledged that choice, feeling as if she had suffered a blow. Abruptly, she laid down her fork, unable to eat another bite.

Silent relief spread through her when the meal concluded a short while later and the three of them withdrew to the drawing room.

She had only to get through another hour, maybe two at most, she told herself; then she could retire to her bedchamber. There she could break down and give way to the grief that was beginning to spread like an ice floe through her bones.

Nick gave her a quizzical look, clearly sensing her agitation. But he made no comment as he handed a sherry to his aunt, who thanked him with a cheerful smile from where she sat swathed in her usual multitude of colorful shawls—Emma seated beside her.

Brandy in hand, he relaxed into a chair across from them.

Emma raised her teacup to her lips, having refused an offer of spirits. Foolish of her, she supposed, as she let the benign brew slide down her throat. And yet for the present she thought it wise to keep a clear head.

Both she and Nick let Lady Dalrymple continue her commentary, her remarks as wry and unintentionally amusing as ever. But tonight Emma had no trouble suppressing a smile, wishing mightily that the evening would end soon.

“So, where would you like to venture tomorrow, Miss White?” Nick asked when his aunt had finally begun to exhaust herself. “There must be at least one gallery or display we have not yet seen.”

Emma glanced up, then quickly looked away. She set her teacup aside. “I am not sure, my lord. We had such an eventful outing today, perhaps we might remain at home tomorrow. If you do not mind, that is.”

“No, not at all.” Nick shot her another curious look, this one faintly surprised. As they both knew, this was the first time since her arrival that she had expressed an interest in staying at home rather than venturing out to see something of the city.

But now that Rupert was actively searching for her, London was no longer the safe place it once had been. True, the city was immense, but she’d been lucky so far, she realized. It would take only a single sighting of her by one of his men to ruin everything, and so she couldn’t afford to involve Nick any further. If Rupert discovered she had been living in Nick’s town house, his aunt’s chaperonage notwithstanding, she didn’t want to contemplate her brother’s reaction.

As a foreign ruler, Rupert couldn’t go to the extreme of ordering Nick’s detention or arrest—not that he would. Then again, she knew he was more than capable of persuading sympathetic individuals in the British government, perhaps even England’s prince regent himself, to make trouble for Nick in his stead. Then too were the things her brother might personally decide to do to Nick. She shuddered to imagine them fighting or dueling over her.

No, she would just have to throw herself on Mrs. Brown-Jones’s mercy and hope she was willing to lie and say that Emma had been living with her these past three weeks.

If she would not—and her husband would not as well—then Emma would simply have to refuse to tell her brother where she had been during her absence from the estate. Nothing would pry Nick’s name from her lips. She would never do anything to harm him.

So, apparently I have decided what must be done after all, she mused sorrowfully. I must leave and quickly, even if I can hardly bear the thought.

A deep sigh escaped her lips.

Looking up again, she caught Nick studying her over the rim of his glass.

Moments later, the dowager viscountess yawned into her handkerchief, her eyelids beginning to droop. “If you will excuse me, I believe I must say my good nights. I find myself much in need of retiring.”

Nick got to his feet and strode across to assist his aunt.

Emma stood as well.

“Miss White,” he said as she moved to follow Lady Dalrymple from the room, “a word if you would be so good.”

Emma stopped and turned back. She and Nick waited in silence until his aunt’s footfalls could no longer be heard.

“Yes, my lord. What did you wish to say?”

“There is no need to stand on formality. We are quite alone now. Even the footmen have gone,” he said, coming forward. “I just wanted to make sure you are well. You have been very quiet this evening, Emma.”