The Princess and the Peer(53)

She should write her letters tonight, she judged. The first to her old teacher to advise her that she would be paying her a call soon before she hired a conveyance to take her back to the estate. The next missive to the dowager viscountess for her great kindness in relocating from her home to act as a chaperone and for being such an affable and entertaining companion despite her sometimes querulous remarks.

And last, to Nick.

To him, she didn’t know quite what she would say. A polite good-bye seemed too little and a heartfelt confession of her love was clearly too much. She would puzzle over that last, most important, letter once she was alone, she decided, as the two of them came to a halt outside her bedroom door.

Slipping her arm from his, she turned to bid him good night. “Thank you, Nick, I…”

But her words trailed off, her heart full of an ocean’s worth of feelings and explanations she could not allow herself to express. She frowned, her brow drawing tight with suppressed sadness.

“Hurting again?” he inquired in a low voice.

Yes, she was hurting, though not in the way he meant.

Rather than correct him, she gave a little nod.

Unexpectedly, he placed the tips of his long, lightly calloused fingers against her forehead and drew them in a soothing arc across the lines gathered there. She trembled, as a dizzying tingle spread over her skin. His fingers continued their massage, relaxing her frown away.

“Better?”

Her lips parted, but she could not seem to form a reply. Instead she gave another tiny nod and let her eyes slide shut.

If she had really had a headache, she knew his touch would have chased it away. How could anything but pleasure remain beneath the exquisite sensation of his touch?

He glided his thumb over each of her eyebrows in a last, lingering stroke before lowering his hand. “Shall I send the maid up with a headache powder, after all? It would be no trouble, you know.”

Already bereft at the loss of his caress, she forced her eyes to open again. “N-no. I shall be fine without it. In the general way, I do not like tonics and drafts.”

Nor do I require one at present, she added silently.

“If you are sure.”

“Yes, quite sure.”

He brushed the back of one finger across her cheek. “Sleep well, then.”

“And you, Dominic.”

He smiled, then turned away.

Leaning back against the door, she watched him go. Only when she knew he must be far away in another part of the house did she find the strength to still her trembling hands and let herself into her room.





Chapter 12





A little after one o’clock in the morning, Emma roused from a restless sleep, the sensation of fleeing from shadowed figures following her into wakefulness.

A dream, she realized, sitting up in the bed.

Nothing but a dream.

Leaning across the feather mattress, she found the tinder on the bedside table and set the candle to light. A soothing glow spread outward, chasing away a measure of the darkness as well as the dream.

Her mind was playing tricks with her, that was all, chiding her for her worries and fears. Ironic that the real nightmare would come tomorrow in the full brightness of the day when she forced herself to tell Nick and his aunt good-bye.

While preparing for bed a few hours ago she had decided there was no point in putting off her departure. Delaying the inevitable would only make it harder to leave and give her more opportunity to weaken and change her mind. She couldn’t afford to involve Nick and his aunt any further; it wouldn’t be right to repay their kindness with strife and scandal.

And so, once the maid left, she’d seated herself at the lovely secretaire, located paper, pen, and ink and begun to write.

The finished letters now lay in a neat little pile on top of the writing desk. Nearby, a small mountain of wadded-up paper overflowed from the painted wastepaper bin—discards from her numerous attempts at bidding Nick adieu.

Writing to him had proven nearly impossible, but finally she thought she had arrived at an appropriate mix of polite gratitude and casual, friendly affection. Of her true emotions, she had said nothing. She would depart with her pride intact, even if she had no choice about leaving her heart behind.

For whether she’d intended it or not, whether he wanted it or not, her heart now belonged to Nick.

And what of her betrothal, now that she had fallen in love with Nick?

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them, bending her head low. An empty, sick ache filled up her stomach and chest. She tried to shake it off, telling herself she would deal with such matters later.

Once she had returned to her family.

Once she was presented to her future bridegroom.

And who knew? Maybe King Otto would prove to be a good man, a kind sovereign, who wouldn’t mind the fact that his queen would never be able to love him with a whole and undamaged heart.