Prince Of Dreams (32 page)

“Try it on,” he said.

Emma watched as he slid the enormous sapphire onto her finger. The ring fit perfectly, a ball of blue fire balanced on the surface of her hand. “Why did you buy this for me?” she asked in awe.

“Because it matches your eyes.”

“It's so incredible, but…” She stroked his chest, tracing the hard curve of muscle. “Why did you buy this for me?”

“It gives me pleasure to see you wearing beautiful things…almost as much pleasure as seeing you with nothing on at all.” He whispered endearments to her, lightly fondling and stroking her body, unfastening the neck of her dress. His lips caressed her exposed throat, his tongue tickling the hollow where her pulse fluttered.

Emma sighed and closed her eyes. “Nikki, don't—”

“Let's go upstairs.”

“Not before supper,” she exclaimed, blushing.

“I want to see you naked—except for the ring.”

“You're impossible,” she said, letting him tug her from the room.

A week before Christmas, Emma was busy decorating the mansion with bells, acres of red ribbon, holly, and mistletoe. The Sidarova sisters and two footmen climbed ladders to hang ornaments on a towering pine tree situated in the central hall. As they worked, they entertained Emma by singing Russian Christmas carols.

“If only this place weren't so large,” Emma lamented, tying clumps of holly to the banister. “It takes three times as many decorations to make any sort of impression.”

“Yes, but it looks so wonderful,” Rashel exclaimed, carefully affixing a gingerbread man to one of the pine branches. They had baked gingerbread in a variety of shapes, and were already having problems with encroachers daring to nibble at the spicy treats. Samson was a constant threat, venturing forth to gobble the gingerbread hanging from the lowest branches of the Christmas tree. He reclined beneath the fragrant boughs, occasionally scratching at the festive red bow tied around his neck.

The butler approached Emma with a perplexed expression on his hawklike face. “Your Highness,” he murmured, “I just discovered this package on the doorstep.”

Abandoning her work on the banister, Emma came down the steps and took the object from him. It was a small white box with a red bow, bearing a card that read, simply,
Emma
.

A smile flitted across her face. “I wonder who would deliver a gift in such a way.”

She untied the ribbon and opened the cold, slightly damp pasteboard box. It contained a scrap of velvet, a fresh bloodred rose, and a small card with the initial
A
on it. Her smile vanished, and her forehead creased. Who would send her a gift like this, and in such a mysterious fashion? Could it possibly be from Adam Milbank? Once, long ago, he had given her a red rose just like this one. She touched the rose, and jerked her hand back as a thorn pierced the tip of her forefinger. “Ouch!” She sucked on the sore spot, tasting the salty tang of blood.

Stanislaus's black brows drew together. “Your Highness, if you will permit me…” He took the box from her and unrolled the velvet scrap, dropping its contents into Emma's palm.

She gasped as a pair of pearl earrings, strung in loops, fell in a cool, heavy tumble into her hand. The Sidarova girls came to view them, exclaiming in admiration. “Very beautiful,” Rashel said.

Emma was aware of a cold, uneasy feeling. She had once read that pearls meant tears. A box with a red rose and pearls…blood and tears. She dropped the earrings back into the box. “It's a good thing Nikolas isn't here,” she murmured. “I don't think he'd appreciate my receiving gifts from other men.”

“No, Your Highness,” Stanislaus agreed.

Emma glanced at the gift distastefully. “Please return that to Lord Milbank. I suspect he is the one responsible for sending it to me.” She paused and looked at the servants around her. “There's no need to mention this to Prince Nikolas. He would be jealous or angry, and I would prefer our first Christmas to be free of trouble.”

They all agreed immediately and went back to work, trying to recapture the light mood of a few moments before. Emma was disturbed by the unexpected gift, but she resolved to put it out of her mind. What could Adam have meant by his gesture? To let her know that he still cared? That he wanted something from her, perhaps even an affair? How silly some men were, only desiring what they couldn't have. Or perhaps the gift was intended to express a heartfelt good-bye. It didn't matter—she intended to concentrate on the future, not on the past. She had a good life with Nikolas, and it only promised to get better. Nothing would spoil their chances. She would make certain of that.

Twelve

I
N THE MORNING
Stanislaus came to Emma while she was taking tea in her private sitting room.

“Your Highness,” the butler said, and paused, as if wondering how to continue. His black brows were drawn together, and his mouth was tight.

“What is it, Stanley? You have the strangest expression on your face.”

He ignored her nickname for him. “Your Highness,” he answered, “I have discovered this on the front doorstep.” He held out the object in his hand.

Emma set her teacup aside and stared at it in astonishment. It was the same bloodred rose that had been delivered to her yesterday. “Didn't you send it back?”

“Yes, Your Highness, along with the pearls. Apparently the flower was left by itself this time.”

She shook her head, staring at the slightly bedraggled blossom. “Whoever the giver is, he's remarkably persistent.”

“Shall we tell Prince Nikolas?”

Emma thought for a moment. She was certain the rose had come from Adam. Mischief-making, probably. He would be glad to provoke Nikolas, and cause trouble between them. “No,” she said brusquely, “It's just a silly gesture. Please dispose of the thing—we'll forget all about it.”

It was Christmas Eve, and the scent of pine emanated from the small tree in the corner of the family parlor, a cozy room lined with tapestries and golden oak paneling. Hangings of burgundy velvet framed the windows, and were parted to reveal a trace of the evening starlight. A fire in the fireplace burned with crackling vigor, sending out a wavering yellow glow to relieve the darkness of the room.

Nikolas lounged amid a pile of velvet pillows on the floor, watching his wife stir about the room. Jacob was asleep in his bed in the nursery, dreaming of the morning to come. And they had the whole night ahead of them.

“Come here,” he said lazily, drinking wine from a glass-lined goblet, its silver and gold exterior glittering with inset diamonds and rubies.

“Soon,” Emma replied, adjusting strings of cranberries on the tree. “I'm not finished yet.”

“You've done nothing for two days except retie ribbons and move garlands up or down a mere inch—”

“With nearly two hundred guests coming tomorrow, I want everything to be perfect.”

“Everything
is
perfect.” Nikolas poured more wine and admired the shape of his wife's bottom as she bent over in her trousers. “Come here now—I have a present for you.”

“I have one for you too,” she replied pertly. Reaching behind the settee, she pulled out a large, square object that was the right size and shape to be a framed picture. It was covered with a length of dark cloth.

Nikolas sat up straighter, eyeing the object with interest. “Is that your portrait?”

“Yes, Mr. Soames worked night and day to have it finished in time.”

“Let me see it.”

“My present first,” she said, coming to sit beside him. She crossed her long legs Indian-style and accepted a goblet of wine.

Obligingly Nikolas slid a wrapped package from beneath one of the tasseled pillows. Emma reached for the first-sized box with childish glee. “Oh, good, I like the small ones best.” She tore the paper and opened the velvet-lined box and stared at the object inside with delight. Carefully she lifted it out, and it glittered richly in the firelight. Nikolas had commissioned a brooch to be fashioned in the shape of a tiger, with stripes of black onyx and yellow diamonds. “Thank you,” she said, flashing a smile at Nikolas. “It reminds me of you.”

“It's supposed to remind you of Manchu.”

“You and he aren't so far removed,” she commented, reaching out to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. “You're both solitary creatures who have been wounded in the past, and neither of you will ever be completely domesticated.”

His eyes were bright yellow gold as he looked at her. “You wouldn't want us to be.”

Smiling wryly at the truth of his statement, Emma retrieved the nearby picture. “Now for your present.” She paused before unveiling the painting and frowned. “It's rather…unconventional.”

Silently he gestured for her to proceed.

“All right, then.” With a flourish, she whipped the cloth from the portrait. “What do you think of it?”

Nikolas stared at the portrait in silent absorption. Robert Soames had painted Emma half-sitting on a windowsill. She wore a white shirt open at the throat and light beige trousers—and in an oddly sensuous touch, her feet had been left bare. The length of her red hair, made brilliant by the filtering sunlight behind her, cascaded to her hips. A dreamy, slightly serious expression on her face was the perfect counterpoint to the abandon of her posture. Nikolas found the portrait riveting and erotic.

“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.”