Prince of Dreams

  “If you became my wife, all doors would be open to you. You would have ten times more wealth and influence than you have now. I would give generous support to your causes and charities. You could spend all your leisure time with your animals if you desire. I'm offering you a life without rules or limits. You'll have anything you want with one snap of your fingers. Think about it, Emma.”

  Emma's heart beat violently. She stared at him in amazement. A long time passed before she could form words with her stiff lips. “Why me? You could have anyone. Anyone.”

  His hand drifted over her bare chest, one knuckle dipping gently into her cleavage. “You remind me of the women I knew in Russia…fiery, blunt, completely without artifice. I respect your honesty. I enjoy your beauty. Why shouldn't it be you?”

  “How long have you had this crazy idea?”

  Nikolas took a long curl of her hair and coiled it around his finger. “Since you were thirteen,” he said casually.

  “My God.”

  “I had never seen a child with such strength of will. You were magnificent. I've watched you mature from a headstrong girl into a beautiful woman. You're the one person who's never bored me. I want you to be my wife.”

  Emma shook her head in disbelieving wonder. “A real wife?”

  “In every way,” he agreed, staring into her eyes.

  “What if I refuse you? Will you try to punish me? Will you threaten to tell someone about…” She waved a feeble hand at the rumpled bedclothes around them. “About this?”

  He looked amused. “Is your opinion of me that bad?”

  “Yes,” she said promptly, making him laugh. “But even if I wanted to marry you, I couldn't. My father would never allow it.”

  “I know how to handle your father,” Nikolas replied. “The decision is yours alone. If you agree to marry me, you shall.”

  She frowned skeptically. “I've never met anyone who could handle my father.”

  “You'll consider it, then?”

  “I'll consider it, but I don't believe—”

  He shushed her with his lips. “Later,” he whispered. “Give me your answer later.”

  “But—”

  He scattered kisses over her face and throat, ignoring her faint protest. Emma quivered and fell silent as he made love to her with astonishing gentleness. She pressed her hands against the scarred velvet surface of his back, and felt the lithe movements of muscle and sinew as he moved over her. For a while it seemed as if she no longer belonged only to herself. Her body was his to pleasure and possess, and he was a tender caretaker, patiently coaxing a response from every nerve. She had never been held so long by anyone. Nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of someone else's naked skin against hers. There were no more thoughts or worries or pangs of conscience…only the exquisite sensations of being cradled and stroked, until passion gripped her in endless waves.

  When they were both sated, Nikolas turned onto his stomach and slept, his face half-buried in the pillow. Only one faintly gleaming brow and one crescent of heavy lashes were visible. Emma reached over to smooth the hair that curled on the back of his neck, touching him so lightly that his sleep wasn't disturbed.

  She felt sorry for any woman who would be foolish enough to love him—and there must have been more than a few. A man as beautiful and unattainable as Nikolas could easily break someone's heart. Not to mention his being powerful, mysterious…and so very much alone. Confused, Emma pillowed her head on her arms. Damn Adam for deserting her, and for letting her end up in this unimaginable situation. But he was gone for good now, and Nikolas Angelovsky wanted her. Would it be so terrible living as his wife? People married without love all the time.

  She tried to imagine what kind of relationship they would have. She knew that he wanted her, but he wasn't the kind of man who could ever love someone. “You're not very good husband material,” she whispered, watching his peaceful face. “But then, I'm certainly not anyone's idea of a perfect wife.”

  His fingers twitched as dreams pervaded his sleep, and a tiny frown settled between his brows. Emma realized that Nikolas had never seemed quite human to her until now. More like one of her exotic creatures: safe to admire from a distance, dangerous to come within arm's length. But Nikolas Angelovsky was just a man. He wasn't invulnerable. He was lonely, just as she was.

  All at once the choice seemed easier.

  She touched the side of his face, stroking the roughness of his night beard until he stirred. “Nikolas,” she murmured. “I have to go home now, while it's still dark.”

  He raised himself on his forearms and shook his head to clear it. “I'll accompany you in my carriage.”

  “No, I can ride—”

  “It's not safe. I'll go with you.”

  Emma considered the statement thoughtfully, then nodded. “I don't need time to think about your proposal, Nikki. I can give you an answer now. I…I will accept your offer.”

  Nikolas showed no surprise or even happiness, but she sensed his satisfaction. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers. “I knew you would,” he said, so calmly that Emma almost laughed.

  “I think I'd better be the first to break the news to my family. My father's first impulse may be to kill you.” Emma shivered in apprehension at the thought of her father's reaction. He would be furious. He would move heaven and earth to keep her from marrying Nikolas. He might even disown her.

  “I've dealt with your father before,” Nikolas replied, his voice touched with irony. “He won't be a problem.”

  Emma blinked at that and remained silent. One thought was foremost in her mind—that after she married Nikolas, no one would ever try to tell her what to do again.

  Four

  E MMA AWOKE IN her own bed the next morning, dream-fogged and puzzled. Daylight streamed in through the parted drapes, until its growing brightness made her head ache. Her body was sore in unaccustomed places. The confusion lasted for a second more, and then memory came flooding back. “God…” she whispered, her heart beginning to pound. She felt sick and giddy and afraid. She could not have done those intimate things with Nikolas. It must have been a dream.

  But she remembered too many details…her desperate flight to Nikolas's home, his lovemaking, his marriage proposal…

  She had said yes. Emma swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Had Nikolas really meant to propose? Had she been crazy to accept? Fearfully she thought of ways to make it all disappear. She would tell Nikolas she had been drunk, that she hadn't known what she was doing or saying. She would beg him, if necessary, to keep last night a secret. What had possessed her to do something so irresponsible? She had lost her innocence, and given Nikolas Angelovsky the power to ruin her life. “Oh, no,” she muttered, feeling nauseated. “Oh—”

  “Miss Emma?” There came a discreet knock on the door, and Katie poked her head around the corner. The maid's expression was a study in bewilderment, and she stared at Emma as if her mistress were a stranger.

  “What time is it?” Emma asked, rubbing her bleary eyes.

  “It's eight o'clock, miss.”

  Emma rolled onto her stomach. “I want to sleep for a while.”

  “Yes, miss, but…His Highness Prince Nikolas is waiting downstairs. He arrived not a quarter hour ago, and sent me to wake you.”

  Emma jerked upward with a gasp. Her body protested the sudden movement, and she closed her thighs against the unfamiliar ache. “Tell him to go away—no, no, wait. Tell him I'll see him. Have him wait in the parlor.”

  Katie nodded and left the room, while Emma scrambled out of bed. Her hand trembled as she poured water from a porcelain jug into a flowered washbasin. She scrubbed herself until her skin was pink, then dressed in fresh underclothes. Wincing at the throbbing ache in her head, she dragged a brush through her hair and braided it in a thick rope that hung down her back. The maid returned to help her into a skirt of pale blue lawn and a delicate white blouse with a sapphire bow at the throat. Emma glanced at her flushed
reflection in the mirror and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

  Did Nikolas intend to take back his proposal? Her mouth tightened in offended pride at the thought. Whatever he had to say, she would be ready for him. She would be cool and composed, and if he made any threats or jeering remarks, she would laugh disdainfully.

  Squaring her shoulders, she strode briskly out of the room and down to the parlor, where Nikolas waited. She hesitated just before crossing the threshold and turned back to the maid, who had followed her. “You may leave us alone, Katie.”

  The maid opened her mouth to argue, but as she met Emma's determined gaze, she nodded in resignation.

  Emma took a deep breath, closed the door, and turned to face Nikolas. He rose from a chair and stared at her intently. He looked as handsome and remote as ever, his eyes as bright as topaz. Emma had intended to speak first, but suddenly she couldn't say a word. Meeting in such restrained surroundings, after she had shared his bed the night before, was hard to bear. She stood there in silence, her color rising, her pulse racing.

  Nikolas approached her and took her cold hand in his warm one. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked softly.

  “I…I thought you might have,” Emma blurted out.

  A gleam of amusement showed in his eyes. “There's no chance of that. Not when I've waited so long for you.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “How can that be true? I could believe it if I were beautiful, or accomplished, or gifted in some way, but I'm only—”

  Nikolas slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him. His kiss was deep and warm, reminding her of the dizzying passion of last night. After a long moment, he lifted his head and stared into her dazed blue eyes. “I want you. I'll never stop wanting you, even if you decide to turn down my proposal.” His hand slipped down the length of her back, coming to rest on the lowest point of her spine. “Consider this, Emma…there are many reasons why people decide to marry. Love, loneliness, convenience, necessity…and sometimes, as in our case, friendship. That's not such a bad reason, is it?”

  His words unlocked an unexpected wellspring of relief inside her. The impulse to take his help, to lean on him, was impossible to resist.

  “No,” she said breathlessly. “I mean, I'll still marry you. I haven't changed my mind.”

  “Good.” He kissed her again, pulling her hard against his aroused body, letting her feel exactly how much he desired her. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips parting beneath the pressure of his. She had never felt so overwhelmed by a man, not only by his physical appeal but by the sheer force of his personality. And yet she was not afraid of him. She wanted to meet the challenge he offered, to know and master him as effortlessly as he did her. With an odd little shock, she realized that she wouldn't mind at all if he dragged her upstairs and climbed into bed with her right now.

  Nikolas drew back his head and smiled slightly, as if he could read her thoughts. “Shall we go to Southgate Hall and inform your family?”

  “They won't give you their blessing,” Emma warned.

  He laughed, and gently fingered the blue bow at her throat. “I don't intend to ask for it, ruyshka.”

  They spoke very little on the carriage ride to the Stokehurst country estate. Emma was occupied with her own thoughts, while Nikolas was filled with triumph. He stole swift glances at her determined profile as she stared out the window. The sunlight gave her skin a luminous glow and made her freckles gleam like a sprinkling of gold. He thought of the way her hair felt in his hands, soft and vibrant. Emma had given him more pleasure than he had ever imagined—not to mention the first taste of peace he'd had in his life.

  He suppressed a grim smile as he imagined Lucas Stokehurst's reaction to the news of the impending nuptials. He and Stokehurst had always disliked each other, not only on a personal level but also on a cultural one. Emma's father openly mistrusted the fatalism and mysticism of Russian ways, considering anything different from Western civilization as barbaric. Stokehurst loved his wife, Tasia, but that love didn't extend to her native country, a country that Nikolas represented at its savage worst. And now Stokehurst's daughter would marry a Russian. Nikolas smiled with a trace of devilish enjoyment.

  “I'm not sure I like the look on your face,” Emma commented. “Like a cat with a mouse beneath its paw.”

  He met her gaze and grinned openly. “Who is the mouse? Not you, certainly.”

  “I feel more like one with every mile that brings us closer to my father.”

  His gaze narrowed perceptively. “You're not afraid, are you?”

  Emma lifted her shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug. “No, but…it's not going to be easy.”

  “Of course it is. There won't be a battle, if that's what you're dreading.”

  She gave a scornful laugh. “How can you say that, knowing my family?”

  “Have some faith. I'm a very persuasive man.” There was a sly gleam in his eyes as he added, “You should know that by now.”

  Emma bristled and glared at him, but he just smiled mockingly.

  At last they reached the Stokehurst estate. One footman proceeded to help them from the carriage, while another hastened to alert the butler to their arrival. Emma took Nikolas's arm, her fingers tightening on his sleeve as they ascended the front steps.

  She gave the butler a tense smile. Seymour's face was as blank as usual, but Emma thought she detected a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Seymour, where are Papa and Tasia?”

  “I believe they are in the library, miss.”

  “Are they entertaining guests?”

  “No, Miss Emma.”

  Words tumbled through Emma's mind as she and Nikolas passed through the great hall and approached the library. How could she tell her family what she had decided? How should she defend herself against their arguments? This is what I want, she told herself stubbornly. Besides, it was far too late to back out now.

  Her father was at his desk, reading aloud a passage from a letter. Tasia sat nearby with needlework in her lap. They both looked up at Emma's unexpected entrance, a touch of surprise on their faces. It was impossible not to recognize what a well-matched couple they were, both of them attractive and dark-haired. Their closeness was evident even now, as they exchanged a glance that conveyed their thoughts to each other. That's what I might have had with Adam, Emma thought, and felt a sudden burst of anger in her chest. This is your fault, Papa. I'm going to marry a man I don't love, because you wouldn't let me have the one I really wanted.

  “Emma,” Tasia said with a bewildered smile, setting aside her needlework. “Why have you returned early from London? What—” Her gaze fell on Nikolas, and words seemed to fail her.

  To Emma, it seemed that the frozen tableau lasted for an hour, though it was only a few seconds. Tasia's blue-gray eyes were piercing as she stared at the two of them. Emma sensed that her stepmother, with her uncanny perception, understood that some momentous change had taken place.

  “Papa and Belle-mère,” Emma said in a stifled voice, “We have something to tell you.”

  Luke's face turned as hard as granite. He shook his head slightly, already denying what she intended to say.

  “Nikolas and I…” Emma continued awkwardly, “we want to—” She stopped as she felt Nikolas's light touch on her elbow.

  “Allow me,” he murmured. He focused on Luke, his gaze unblinking. “Recently the friendship between Emma and me has developed into something quite…significant. I have told your daughter of my desire to make her my wife, and she has graciously accepted—”

  “No.” The word was clipped and final. Luke didn't spare a glance for Emma, only stared at Nikolas. His face had paled beneath its usual bronze. It was clear that his reaction had come straight from the heart, before conscious thought had even registered. “I don't know what the hell is going on. I don't want to know. Get out of my home, while I deal with my daughter.”

  Emma's temper exploded. “You're not going to deal with me, Papa! I'm a
grown woman, and I'll do what I want—and if Nikolas leaves, I'm going with him! This time you won't win—”

  “Emelia,” Nikolas interrupted quietly, turning her to face him. “There's no need to quarrel. Why don't you leave with Tasia and explain things to her? Your father and I need a few minutes alone.”

  “What should I tell her?” Emma whispered, her cheeks flaming scarlet.

  He smiled slightly. “Whatever you like, dushka.”

  Emma nodded and glanced at her stepmother. Tasia's face was blank except for the pinched line of concern between her eyebrows. She walked with straight-backed grace as she preceded Emma from the room. Emma followed her small form with a more uncertain stride.

  As soon as the women had left, Stokehurst's demeanor changed, shock giving way to fury. “Why my daughter?” he barked. “You conniving Russian bastard—I should have ripped your throat out years ago, when you first started sniffing around my home and my family!” He gestured with the silver hook on his arm, which shone with lethal brightness. Most men would have been terrified by the sight of Lucas Stokehurst in a fury. Even Nikolas was affected, his smugness fading several degrees.

  “I won't let you have her,” Stokehurst snarled.

  Nikolas stood his ground. “I'm afraid you have no choice. If you don't allow this, you'll lose Emma forever. She won't forgive you. Believe me when I say the marriage will take place, with or without your consent. You may as well give us your blessing.”

  “My blessing?” Stokehurst repeated, and laughed harshly.

  “You need not fear for Emma,” Nikolas continued. “I swear to you, I will never raise a hand to her. She'll have more money than she'll ever be able to spend. I will never interfere with her charities, her social causes, her menagerie. She'll have freedom—which, as you know, is the thing she needs most.”

  “What she needs is a husband who loves her. You can't offer her a good enough substitute for that.”

  “But I can,” Nikolas said softly. “Ask her. She'll tell you what she wants.”