The Princess and the Peer(75)

Nick looked as thunderstruck as she felt, his lips parted on a silent inhalation, his tall, athletic body held in a rigid stance, as if he too had been stunned into immobility.

Only her years of training saved her from crying aloud and dissolving into a quivering puddle of jelly at his feet.

Or else fainting dead away.

If she wasn’t careful, she might well end up lying insensate on the marble floor, ladies rushing forward to wave hartshorn under her nostrils as the entire assembled company witnessed the scene.

Instead, she continued to stare, absolutely unable to look away.

Nick stared back.

How long they stood there, unspeaking, gazes locked, she had no idea. It couldn’t have been long, however, since her brother and the Austrian ambassador continued their conversation and Sigrid exchanged pleasantries with another guest. On the far side of the room, the majordomo’s voice boomed once more above the crowd.

Abruptly, as if the sound had brought him out of his momentary trance, Nick’s jaw snapped tight, his eyes narrowing. She could almost see his mind working as he tried to reconcile everything he thought he knew about her against the reality of her presence at tonight’s ball.

What must he be thinking to find the young woman he’d believed to be a poor governess standing in a receiving line in the midst of royalty?

To encounter as one of tonight’s guests of honor the girl whose virginity he had claimed on his library sofa one cool autumn evening four weeks ago?

To unexpectedly come face-to-face with her after she had fled from his house without a proper explanation, leaving nothing more behind than a carefully worded note?

She lowered her gaze abruptly, afraid of what she might glimpse on his face.

And worse, what he might see on hers.

Without warning, Sigrid turned toward her, having apparently become aware of her silence. “Emmaline?” her sister murmured in a soft undertone. “Is all well?”

It took her a few seconds to reply.

“Of course,” Emma said casually, managing by some miracle to force the words past the tightness wrapped like a strangling hand around her throat. Her heart continued to pound, so furiously she was surprised everyone within fifty feet could not hear it. Yet her voice sounded calm, faintly cool, her well-practiced demeanor seeming every bit as serene and untroubled as always.

At least she prayed that was how she appeared, fearing suddenly that her sister might see more than she ought, might read a hint of the truth about herself and Nick in her gaze.

No one must know, she thought, most particularly Sigrid and Rupert. Should they even suspect there was anything between her and Nick, she could not contemplate the volcanic magnitude of their response.

“I was just making the acquaintance of this gentleman,” she informed Sigrid with a studied indifference. “Lord…? You’ll forgive me, but I was unable to hear your name when it was called.”

Drawing on every ounce of her fortitude, she met Nick’s gaze as if they were strangers.

For an instant, she thought he might betray her, his eyes widening slightly, his nostrils flaring as he drew in a sharp, quick breath. Then he recovered, a mask of emotionless civility lowering over his face.

“Lyndhurst, Your Royal Highness. I am the Earl of Lyndhurst.” Taking a single step back, he made her a perfect, graceful bow.

“A pleasure,” she replied, holding out a gloved hand.

He took it, his grip tightening with an almost painful pressure.

The lightest of shivers ran along her spine. Perversely, she relished the sensation of his touch despite the punishing quality of his hold. A little more force and he could easily have broken her bones.

Instead, he released her without harm, behaving for all the world as if this were their very first meeting.

With a pang, she let her arm lower to her side.

To her relief, she saw Sigrid nod with apparent satisfaction that all was well, then turn back to the older woman with whom she had been conversing.

Emma cast about for something innocuous to say. “Your prince keeps his rooms quite comfortably warm. Such a blessing on a cold night as this.”

Nick quirked a dark eyebrow as if to say, So we are going to talk about the weather, are we?

Silently, she pleaded with him to follow her lead.

His jaw clenched in a way she recognized, one that never boded anything good.

Still, when he spoke again, he made no effort to steer the conversation into more dangerous territory. “Indeed, it is a chilly night, even for November,” he said. “Thankfully you are right that Carlton House is a most comfortable edifice. Although you may find yourself wishing for a few open windows once the dancing begins.”

She sent him a little smile.

“Might I request the honor of a dance, Princess? A waltz perhaps?”