Free The Princess and the Peer by Tracy Anne Warren Page A

Rupert had become regent. In that brief time, he had put in place a set of broader-reaching measures designed to bring their country into the forefront of the modern age, including the establishment of Rosewald’s first true parliament. Her father had been a good king, but she knew her brother would be a great one if only given the means.
    Nick shot her a curious stare. “What do you mean
your parliament
? You speak as if it is not yours as well.”
    Her mouth went dry as she realized her unintentional error. Thanks to the concealing darkness, though, she didn’t think Nick noticed the momentarily stricken expression that must have shown on her face.
    Carefully, she composed her features and her voice. “No, of course not. I meant
yours
only in the sense that, as an earl, you are a member of the House of Lords, and thus one of the men who helps decide the fate of England. Along with the Commons, of course. They decide too, balancing everything, as it were.”
    She closed her mouth at that point, sure she’d said too much and that what she’d said was mostly gibberish. She shot him a quick look, not at all reassured by the continued skepticism on his face.
    “I suppose you could look at it that way,” he agreed slowly. “Then again, I have yet to receive my official investiture as the new earl, so I haven’t done much in the way of lawmaking. Truthfully, I have little interest in politics. That was always my brother’s specialty.”
    He walked a few steps farther along the gallery, then stopped and raised the candelabra higher. “This is Peter, the man who was born to be the earl.”
    Relieved by the change of conversation, Emma moved closer. With sudden curiosity, she gazed up into the face of Nick’s dead brother.
    The late Lord Lyndhurst was handsome, but leaner andless physically imposing than his brother; he bore only a slight resemblance to the man at her side. His chin was more rounded than Nick’s, his hair several shades lighter brown. He had an intelligent yet serious face, his expression completely devoid of the devil-may-care irreverence and humor that made Nick so unique, so compelling. And yet their eyes were the same—a deep penetrating gray that was both clever and compassionate with a piercing quality that seemed capable of divining the inner workings of a person’s soul.
    She trembled at that knowledge, wondering exactly how much of the truth Nick saw in her.
    “He favored our mother,” Nick mused aloud, “while I took after the black sheep branch of Father’s side of the family. There is a highly disreputable great-uncle of whom I am the spitting image.”
    Her mouth curved upward, wondering again if he was teasing.
    “No, it’s true,” he stated, apparently reading her expression. “I would show you except he only merited a very small pencil rendering that is tucked away in a little-used bedchamber at Lynd Park, the Gregory family estate in Lancashire. Mayhap you’ll visit me there someday and I can show you,” he finished, the timbre of his voice turning low and silky.
    Her heart gave a flutter, a sudden vision of standing with him in a small bedchamber inside his country home making her blood grow warm.
    “For now, however,” he said in a smooth transition, “let me show you a portrait of my mother.”
    Mutely she followed, willing her pulse to return to its usual steady rhythm.
    The painting was large and hung in a position of prominence in the center of the gallery. Its frame was feminine, the gold-painted wood carved with sweeping sprays of dogwood blossoms and tiny trailing leaves. As for the subject, she looked serene and young, perhaps newly married then and dreaming of the future as she sat on a stone bench in a well-manicured garden. A small black and tan spaniel lay sleeping,curled next to her pink satin slippers, the hem of her matching gown with its panniered skirts from an earlier era barely brushing the grass.
    Kind.
    It was the first word that came to mind when