The Princess and the Peer(9)

Except someone had chosen to help, she realized, as she once again met the silver-eyed gaze of the man before her.

Lord Lyndhurst had risen to the call.

“How do you do, my lord?” she said with ingrained politeness after he straightened from his bow of introduction.

He waited, obviously expecting more of a reply from her, but she said nothing.

“And you are?” he asked, after a brief silence.

She frowned.

She hadn’t thought about having to give him her name. It was a natural enough request, she supposed, yet she wasn’t certain that she ought to reveal her identity to him. Despite his recent gallantry, he was, after all, a stranger. She had been planning to remain anonymous during her stay with her old teacher. There was her reputation to consider, for one. For another, should word get around that she was here in the city, Duchess Weissmuller would have her back in hand and locked inside the country estate before she had time to blink.

No, no one must realize who she was—and at present that was the entire populace of London. Except for Miss Poole… Mrs. Brown-Jones, that is, she corrected herself for the dozenth time. She knew she could trust her old teacher with both her presence in the city and her secrets.

But first she had to locate a hackney and travel across Town to find her. And how was she to do that when she no longer had so much as a shilling to her name?

Looking up, she once again encountered Dominic Gregory’s expectant gaze.

My name? What should I say?

“Emma,” she answered truthfully, or as truthfully as she could. “I am Emma.”

Taking her hand in his, he executed another short bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Emma.”

A flutter tickled somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, rather like the brush of tiny butterfly wings. “And yours, my lord.”

Little lines fanned at the corners of his eyes as he smiled anew. After a long moment, his expression cleared, turning serious. “So,” he said, “if I might inquire, what did the thieves take and are you truly certain you are all right?”

Slowly, she pulled her hand away, curling her fingers tightly at her side, aware of the way they were suddenly tingling from his touch. “Yes, I am quite well, physically at least. As for what they took—” She paused, swallowing hard against a sudden knot in her throat. “They took my money. I haven’t a coin left to my name!” Anger burned inside her again.

Sympathy turned his eyes the color of a stormy sky. “Is there anyone to whom I can send word? Have you family in the city?”

She shook her head. “No, no one. I am here to visit my… that is, to see a friend. I am not sure how I shall make my way to her residence though, since I can no longer afford a conveyance.”

His expression cleared again. “That much is easy. I shall take you.”

“You? But—”

“I have a carriage. It’s no bother to drive you.” He extended his arm, clearly expecting her to lay her hand on it.

She hesitated. What did she really know about this man? Practically nothing, other than his name and the fact that he was brave and impetuous enough to come to a lady’s aid. She wasn’t so naive as to imagine those qualities alone made him trustworthy. Then again, if she refused his assistance, how would she be able to find her way to Miss Poole’s house?

“Give me that case of yours,” he stated in a commanding tone, reaching out to take her valise. “Then we can be on our way.” When she didn’t immediately comply, he smiled again, reassuringly this time. “I don’t bite, I promise. Not much at least,” he added with a wink.

She raised an eyebrow at his flirtatious remark, then, quite to her own surprise, began to laugh.

Suddenly, she relaxed. He might not be harmless, she decided, but she didn’t believe he intended to hurt her either.

Passing him her valise, she accepted his arm.

“I’m ever so sorry, miss, but the mister and missus ain’t at ’ome right now,” a maid informed Emma nearly half an hour later as Emma stood on the doorstep of her former teacher’s town house in Gracechurch Street.

As promised, Nick Gregory had driven her across town, confining his conversation to interesting but inconsequential matters along the way. After assisting her from the carriage, he’d knocked on the front door, then stepped back to let her proceed.

“When do you expect them to return?” Emma asked, hoping it would not be more than an hour or two. Even so, she was confident the servant would let her inside to wait.

“Not for some while,” the girl said. “They left last Tuesday for a visit with family in the north and won’t be back for a sennight at least.”