Chapter Twenty-Four

Emma was nervous, and she didn't like it one bit. It was just a ball, and a private one at that. Tabitha and Alvaro were both with her—Miss Barton was still feeling poorly—and Tabitha had assured her that the host and hostess were good and kind people. Emma supposed she was nervous because she had yet to hear whether anyone had seen her last night outside of Nick's rented room, and she had no idea what gossip she might be walking into.

Her nerves had absolutely nothing to do with Nick himself.

Nick. She had been thinking of him by his preferred name again ever since his thumb had brushed across hers when she shook his hand, as if that brief touch had suddenly made them become dear friends. He had touched her far more when he'd rescued her, wrapping his arm around her and holding both her hands, but she hadn't felt anything then.

Then again, her fear from the attack had left her numb, hardly the circumstances to notice the way heat had spread through her hand upon contact with Nick's fingers the following day.

As their carriage rolled across the streets of London, Emma clasped her hands in her lap and told herself she was being ridiculous. She had barely become friends with the man, if even that, and it would hardly do to entertain thoughts of his smile.

She groaned when his smile popped into her mind like it had been doing since he'd left Harstone House that morning. He had no right being that handsome when their friendship was so precarious. Emma would have to take careful steps when sending women his way to avoid injuring any of the ladies who became part of her scheme and prevent them from falling for his charms. Even with all the gossip surrounding him, his merits were not as limited as he seemed to think.

Perhaps she needed a different strategy, one that did not involve others.

When the carriage slowed to a stop, Emma was more than ready to climb out and stretch her restless legs, but neither Tabitha nor Alvaro moved. They seemed to be waiting for something.

"Just waiting for Mr. Forester," Tabitha said, as if sensing her confusion.

Emma glanced out the window. This was not the Hatton Street apartments. Instead they had halted outside a stately town house that clearly belonged to someone quite wealthy. For a moment, she thought she may have been mistaken when she showed up to the other place last night, but then she remembered it was her brother-in-law who had told her where Nick lived. Whose house was this?

Before she could ask, Nick stepped through the front door, laughing at something—and looking far more attractive than Emma wished—before he turned back to the door. A butler appeared, fixing Nick's cravat and handing him a hat as he said something with a smile. Laughing again, Nick clapped a hand on the butler's shoulder and then made his way down the walkway to the waiting carriage.

"Harstone. Lady Harstone. Miss Mackenzie." As he settled beside Emma, filling the small space with his broad shoulders, Emma couldn't help but remember the last time they had been in such close quarters. They had still been enemies then, though that had been their first truce. Now they had agreed to be entirely civil with one another. At least, Emma had decided upon that. If she wished to avoid adding to her guilt, she couldn't keep treating the man as an adversary.

Especially when he'd promised her an independent life regardless of the outcome of their battle.

"You are looking rather lovely this evening," Nick murmured, leaning close to her as the carriage began moving again.

Goodness, why did that make her blush? She would hear the same thing from every one of her dance partners tonight, assuming she still had some admirers, and she doubted any of them would affect her.

"You are in a good mood," she whispered back. Why she didn't want her sister and brother-in-law to be privy to their conversation, she did not know.

"I believe I have thought of the perfect man to be your husband."

Her stomach twisted itself into a knot at the thought. "I beg your pardon? That is the reason you are grinning like a fool?"

His eyebrows rose high. "Like a fool, you say?"

No, that wasn't really accurate, but it had been several days since she had seen him this relaxed and happy, if she had ever seen him quite like this. Either their truce had taken a weight off his shoulders, or the collapse of his reign of lies had actually been good for him. This seemed more like the man Miss Barton claimed him to have been.

"Whose house was that?" Emma asked instead of trying to find any clarification on the man's mood. "Is it yours?"

He barked a laugh, finally sitting up straight again. "You think I would fight so hard against you if I owned a house like that?"

"I suppose not."

"It belongs to Lord Calloway."

"It's about time you used it," Alvaro said with a chuckle, telling them that their conversation had not been as private as Emma had believed. "The number of times he has complained to me about your stubbornness and pride would astound you."

Nick scoffed. "Calloway never complains about anything. He suffers in silence."

"Yes, which should tell you just how frustrated he has been with you." Then Alvaro muttered something to Tabitha in Spanish, and she pressed a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle.

Nick leaned close to Emma again, filling her nose with his clean scent. "Please tell me you've been around him long enough to know what he just said about me."

Snickering, Emma shook her head. "I am afraid my genius does not extend to Spanish, though that hasn't stopped me from trying. I am convinced they have purposefully prevented me from learning."

"Of course we have," Tabitha said as she brushed her fingers through her husband's hair, adjusting the dark waves. "It was the only way to stop you from eavesdropping when you were little." She muttered something in Spanish that prompted Alvaro to press a kiss to her temple, his eyes bright with happiness.

"I think now is a good time to throw myself from the carriage," Nick said, reaching for the door.

Laughing, Emma grabbed his hand. "I find it sweet that they still have affection for one another after all these years."

"All these years?" Alvaro said in mock offense. "I am hardly older than Forester."

Nick groaned in protest. "Five years is more than hardly ."

Emma hadn't fully known Nick's age, and he was older than she'd expected. At five years younger than Alvaro, that put him at thirty, more than nine years her senior. Not that it mattered, as they were certainly never going to be a match... Still, she was surprised he had gone this long without finding himself a wife.

For the first time, she wondered if he had actually been trying . Or had whatever happened three years ago hurt him enough that now he saw only the flaws of a match rather than the potential?

"I am going to be sick," Nick grumbled, but he was smiling at the couple in front of him.

A romantic with little hope for his own chance at romance? Oh, but Nick Forester was quite the mystery Emma suddenly wanted to solve.

It was only when the carriage came to a stop outside the brightly lit mansion that hosted the evening's ball that she realized she hadn't released Nick's hand. And neither had he pulled away.