Prince of Dreams

  “It's very odd, isn't it?” Emma asked, watching closely for his reaction.

  Nikolas smiled and pulled her onto his lap, turning his gaze back to the painting. “It's beautiful. Thank you, ruyshka. I'll value it more than any work of art I possess.”

  “I don't know where we'll hang it,” Emma said, leaning against his chest. “Some people would be offended by the sight of a princess in trousers.”

  Gently he drew his hand down her coltish legs. “The only kind of princess I want, ruyshka.”

  She smiled, pleased by the compliment, and began to fiddle nervously with his shirt buttons. “Nikki, I've been thinking…there's something you should be aware of.”

  “What is it?” Nikolas sensed her sudden change of mood. He waited quietly, holding her as she struggled for words.

  “I don't know how to tell you,” she finally got out.

  Nikolas cupped his fingers beneath her jaw and tilted her face upward, staring into her deep blue eyes. Something trembled inside him, a chord of awe and disbelief. He knew what it was, the sudden certainty resounded through his core, but he had to hear the words. “Just say it, Emma.”

  “I…” Her fingers clenched in the soft linen of his shirt. “I think I'm…” She paused and gazed at him wordlessly, unable to finish.

  He moved his hand to the flat surface of her belly, and he held her gaze questioningly. She gave him a small nod in answer, her cheeks turning carmine.

  Nikolas drew in a deep breath. His child with Emma, a part of himself inside her…The thought caused, not elation, but instead a kind of astonished humility that he had been given such a chance. He had been haunted by three children in his life: Misha, the brother he had been powerless to save; Jake, the boy he had failed and denied; and Alexei, the son forever lost to him. To be able to see his child born, to take part in his—or her—life, to wipe away the wreck of his past with a new beginning…Nikolas bent his head over Emma's and buried his face in the vibrant mass of her hair.

  “You're pleased, then?” Emma asked, her arms locked around his neck.

  For a while he was unable to reply. “You're my whole world,” he finally said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  After a lively Christmas morning, during which the servants exchanged presents in the great hall and the Angelovskys held their private celebration in the family parlor, the house was filled with torn paper and ribbons. Knowing that the guests for their lavish Christmas party would arrive soon, Emma changed into a blue silk dress trimmed with narrow black braid. The skirt was simple, with no flounces or ruffles, only a wide trim of black fringe. She wore no jewelry except for the tiger brooch, pinned to the froth of white lace at her throat.

  Maids were dispatched to clean the colorful clutter of discarded boxes and wrappings, while the cook and kitchen staff bustled to prepare a Christmas feast for approximately two hundred guests. Appetizing English smells of roasted stuffed turkey and goose mingled with the Russian dishes of mushrooms and cream, seasoned cabbage, and the rum-soaked yeast-and-raisin cake called baba aurhum. Jake raced around the house in unrestrained glee, brandishing his new toys and asking impatiently when his cousins would arrive.

  “Soon,” Emma promised, unable to keep from laughing at the contrast between Jake's happy expectation and his father's resigned air. She knew that Nikolas wasn't looking forward to meeting with the Stokehursts, especially Luke. The two men had never been on good terms, and since the wedding, Nikolas had been more than happy to avoid his father-in-law.

  Catching Emma's amused glance, Nikolas managed a grimace that almost passed for a smile.

  She went over to him and kissed his cheek. “It will be painless,” she murmured. “Everyone will be in a festive mood, and my parents are quite pleased to be attending. Stop looking as though you're about to have a tooth extracted.”

  “Are you planning to tell your family about the baby?”

  “I'd like to keep it private for a while.”

  He nuzzled the soft tendrils of hair near her ear. Before he could answer, Rashel Sidarova appeared in the doorway. “A parade of carriages is coming along the drive,” she said breathlessly.

  “Thank you, Rashel.” Emma clapped her hands in excitement and pulled Nikolas along to welcome their guests.

  Soon the house was filled with conversation and merriment. A score of children gathered around the large Christmas tree in the central hall, while the adults congregated in the drawing room to sip spiced wine, eggnog, and a Russian beverage flavored with fermented honey. Lord Shepley, a guest with well-known musical talent, played Christmas carols on the piano while others lent their voices in song. Emma relaxed as she saw how well the afternoon was progressing. Her father and Nikolas were polite to each other, keeping their respective distances and taking refuge in watching the antics of the children. Tasia, who looked lovely in a gown of plum silk, caught Emma's gaze and winked.

  Deciding to check on the cook's progress with the first course of dinner, Emma slipped discreetly out of the parlor. She hummed a few bars of “Deck the Halls” as she walked toward the kitchen. Suddenly a hand grasped lightly at her elbow. She whirled around in surprise and saw Nikolas. Her lips parted to ask a question, but he caught her face in his hands and kissed her passionately.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked when she had a chance to speak.

  Nikolas gestured toward the ceiling, to a sprig of mistletoe that someone had hung in the hallway. “I could use that as an excuse. But I would have done it anyway.”

  A smile curved Emma's lips. “You should be entertaining the guests.”

  “I'd rather be entertaining you.”

  She laughed and pushed at his chest, but he tightened his arms around her. “I want to be alone with you,” he said, his mouth descending on hers.

  All at once they were interrupted by an unexpected sound—the naughty giggling of children. Emma stiffened and broke the kiss, turning to the intruders. Hot color flooded up to her hairline as she saw the group of three children: Jake and her half brothers, William and Zack…and they were accompanied by her father.

  Luke's face was expressionless, but one dark brow lifted quizzically.

  Jake broke the silence. “Don't mind them,” he said, rolling his eyes. “They're always doing that.”

  Blushing, Emma wrenched free of her husband's embrace and yanked at the waist of her bodice to settle it in place. “Where are the four of you going?” she asked, trying to cover her discomfort.

  Jake grinned cheerfully. “I'm taking them to see my pony, Ruslan.”

  “Don't let us keep you,” Nikolas muttered.

  Emma pinched him discreetly for the rude remark and cleared her throat. “Perhaps Nikolas will accompany you.”

  Luke regarded Nikolas speculatively. “Yes, why don't you?”

  Jake and the other children began to clamor for Nikolas to go with them, and he complied reluctantly, giving Emma a deadly glance. She smiled sweetly in return, hoping that her father would find an opportunity to say a few private words to Nikolas. At the very least, it would be good for both of them to spend time together.

  Crossing through the central hall, Emma continued toward the kitchen. All at once a strange feeling caused the back of her neck to prickle, and her steps slowed. She felt as if there were something wrong, as if a shadow were descending on the house. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she saw Stanislaus welcome a trio of guests into the hall. The first person she recognized was Mr. Oliver Brixton, the American enamelware manufacturer who had once been a guest at the Angelovsky manor. He was the brother of the woman Adam Milbank had married. Then a small, plain-faced woman appeared, dressed in expensive silk and lace, her hair arranged in a neat, practical style. She was on the arm of a dark-haired man with very familiar features.

  Adam had come to the Christmas party…and he had brought his wife.

  Emma was motionless, while her thoughts raced in wild confusion. How was it possible? An invitation had been sent to Mr. Brixton, more as a
courtesy than as an actual expectation of his attendance. But he had decided to come, and in an astonishing breach of etiquette, he had brought the Milbanks with him. Brixton was smiling easily, clearly having forgotten about Emma's former relationship with Adam. But Charlotte Milbank knew. Curiosity and mistrust shone in her gray eyes as she stared at Emma.

  Emma's heart began to pound so heavily that it seemed to knock against her ribs. A light sweat broke out on her face. Why was Adam here? What did he intend? People would be watching and wondering, holding their breath to see if there would be trouble between Adam and Nikolas. She forced a smile on her lips, and went forward to welcome them. Mr. Brixton's homely but kind face lit up, and he kissed her hand.

  “Happy Christmas, Your Highness.”

  Emma murmured a reply and lowered her gaze to Adam's wife, who was at least a head shorter than she.

  Charlotte Milbank surprised her by speaking first, in a tone that was well modulated but threaded with steel. Her deep voice was incongruous, coming from a small, pudgy woman. “I hope you are able to accommodate an extra pair of guests, Your Highness. I'm afraid I insisted on accompanying my brother to your party. Ever since I moved to England, I've heard everyone talking about Prince Nikolas and his magnificent estate—not to mention his wife and her menagerie.”

  Emma kept her gaze on the woman, not daring to look at Adam. “You and your family are quite welcome to share Christmas with us, Lady Milbank.”

  Even as the name left her lips, it sent an odd feeling down Emma's spine. Lady Milbank—the title she had once longed for more than anything else.

  Charlotte Milbank's face was round and boneless, but her skin was flawless, a beautiful milk white with just a hint of pink in her cheeks. Perhaps if she were possessed of a vivacious personality, she could be considered attractive, but there was accusation in her flint-gray eyes, and her small mouth was tight and unsmiling.

  Emma had the strange urge to console the woman. You have nothing to fear from me, she longed to say. Instead she smiled politely and drew Charlotte toward a nearby group of guests in the drawing room, introducing her to each of them. Brixton and Adam lingered behind, while Brixton admired the huge tree in the central hall.

  Emma left Charlotte Milbank's side and began to mingle with other guests, but her gaze darted restlessly around the scene. Nikolas would return soon—she had to find him. He must be warned that Brixton and the Milbanks were attending. She refused to look at Adam, although she sensed that he was staring at her. Damn you, Adam, she thought angrily. Why must you make trouble for me? What's done is done. You left me and married someone else, and I managed to recover from the hurt. Now let me get on with my life!

  Moving through the crowd, Emma played the part of hostess, and finally took a moment to glance at Adam. He wore a pleasant expression, but he seemed tense, his smile forced. His wife was at his side, her round white hand poised on his arm. Emma overheard a brief portion of their conversation as she walked near them. Adam was attempting to tell a story.

  “…friends of ours employed a rather haughty footman dressed in the most splendid blue livery—”

  “Black livery, dear,” Charlotte interrupted gently.

  Adam continued as if he hadn't heard her. “—and we were walking in their garden, beside the yew hedges—”

  “They were fruit trees, darling,” Charlotte corrected.

  “—when we heard the most frightful yelp, and splash! The footman had slipped and fallen into the fish pond on his way to the carriage house. I've never laughed so much.”

  “It was quite vulgar,” Charlotte added primly.

  Emma felt a touch at her elbow and turned to find Tasia beside her. Tasia's face was soft with concern. She indicated the Milbanks with a flicker of her gaze. “I see you have unexpected company,” she said quietly.

  Emma made a comical face and sighed. “When Nikolas sees them—”

  “Nikolas won't make a scene,” Tasia assured her. “He has too much self-control.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Adam seems rather henpecked,” Tasia observed.

  “Yes, I noticed that.” Adam was a sensitive man with touchy pride. Why had he married a woman like Charlotte? Perhaps she was reacting out of insecurity, trying to assert herself by badgering him. “The poor woman,” Emma said suddenly. “I know what it's like, trying to hold onto an elusive man. I tried for a long time, and finally recognized the folly of it.”

  “Whom are you referring to?” Tasia asked. “Adam or Nikolas?”

  Emma smiled ruefully. “Both, I suppose. But Nikolas has changed, and Adam hasn't. I think Adam thrives on keeping a woman slightly off-balance, never letting her feel that she can entirely depend on him.”

  “And you feel you can depend on Nikolas?” came Tasia's soft question.

  “Yes. Everything I've seen during the past few weeks has convinced me I must take that chance. I've made up my mind to trust and believe in Nikolas, until he proves me wrong.”

  Tasia's gaze was searching. “Have you come to care for him, Emma?”

  Emma hesitated, debating her answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adam disentangle himself from his wife and wander through the crowd, stopping at the French doors that opened onto the garden. He turned and gazed directly at Emma.

  Adam wanted to speak with her privately. Emma looked away from him, her brow marked with a troubled frown. Soon she would slip away and join him.

  “Are you certain that's wise?” Tasia asked, reading the situation accurately.

  “It may not be wise, but it's necessary. I must settle things between us, once and for all.”

  Nikolas returned to the drawing room with a sense of relief. The boys had delighted Jake with their admiration of the pony. Stokehurst had been polite and even marginally friendly, murmuring that he would like to talk with him over a snifter of brandy sometime soon. Nikolas had agreed dutifully, perceiving that Emma had been correct—her father did seem to want peace between them.

  As he crossed the threshold of the drawing room, an unfamiliar woman approached him. She was small and plump, with startlingly hawklike eyes set in her round face.

  “Your Highness,” she said in a deep voice. “I am Lady Charlotte Milbank. Your wife and my husband both seem to be missing. Since I am unfamiliar with your estate, I must prevail on you to help me locate them.”

  The garden was dark and rustling with winter breezes. The ground was hard and the hedges laced with frost. Emma's breath blew in ghost-puffs as she walked through the freezing night air.

  The garden was the only place she and Adam could be guaranteed the privacy they needed. It seemed appropriate that they should meet here, the last place they had truly been together before Nikolas had intervened in their lives.

  She found what she was looking for, a small clearing behind the border of Irish yews. Adam was waiting there, his longish hair blowing gently around his face and neck. He seemed so much older, as if years instead of months had gone by. Emma felt as if she had aged as well. How could it be that they had both changed so greatly?

  She no longer saw them as young and impetuous lovers, and she realized they were separated by more than their marriages to other people. She had never really loved Adam. Real love was accepting people's faults, and forgiving them when they failed. Understanding their weakness, and loving them better for it. What she and Adam had shared was an illusion—it had crumbled at the first real challenge they had faced.

  She stopped a few feet away from him. Her lips trembled from the cold. “Why did you come, Adam?”

  He held out his hand, his palm filled with the white gleam of pearls. “I wanted to give these to you.”

  The earrings she had sent back to him. Emma shook her head and folded her arms across her middle. “I can't accept them.”

  “Why not? Aren't they as fine as the jewels he gives you?” His gaze dropped to the tiger brooch at her throat.

  Emma swallowed hard, uncomfortable at being alone with him. “W
hat do you want from me?” she asked in a mixture of impatience and pleading.

  “I want to go back to the night you and I were here in this garden. I would do it all differently. I wouldn't let myself be intimidated into leaving you this time. I didn't realize until it was too late that you were my only chance at happiness.”

  “That's not true.”

  “Isn't it? People say that Nikolas has changed, that marriage to you has made him into a better man. You might have done that for me had I married you. You would have defied your family and the whole world to become my wife. You would have loved me.”

  Once, this moment might have given Emma great pleasure, seeing how much Adam regretted having abandoned her. But now she didn't want his regrets—she wanted them both to find peace. “Adam, it does neither of us any good to dwell on the past.”

  “What if I can't stop myself?” he asked fiercely, casting the earrings at her feet with such force that one of the loops shattered, sending pearls flying around her skirts. “I wanted to see you wearing these tonight…wearing something of mine.”

  “You should have given them to your wife.”

  “I don't love her,” Adam said, his eyes dark with intense misery. “After I gave you up, I sold my soul. I thought Charlotte's fortune would be adequate consolation. Do you know what I learned?” He laughed bitterly. “My newfound wealth comes with obligations that turn my stomach. Charlotte treats me as if I'm a trained monkey. She expects me to do her will, and she rewards me only when I please her. I've lost all pride, all self-respect.”

  “Oh, Adam,” Emma whispered sadly. “You mustn't tell me such things. I can't help you.”

  “But you can.”