Prince Of Dreams (10 page)

Nikolas clenched his fists while Emma's lips pressed on his skin and her hair flowed over him in a blanket of fire. Some women had been repulsed by his scars, some had been excited by them, but no one had ever shown him such a gesture of tender acceptance. His muscles tensed and knotted. He wanted to shove her away, and at the same time he wanted to hold her close until he crushed her. All his life he had feared nothing, not pain, not even death, but this gentle closeness gave him his first taste of terror.

His voice emerged in a rasping whisper. “Damn you, don't be kind to me.”

Emma stared at him, her eyes like blue smoke. “I'm not being kind.” She lowered her head to his neck once more, and followed the path of the scar to his collarbone.

Nikolas wrenched away in a powerful movement, coming to his feet beside the settee.

For a second Emma thought he was leaving her, but then he extended a hand. She hesitated before taking it. “It's all right,” he said softly.

As if she were an outside observer, Emma watched herself reach for him, their fingers tangling in a hard clasp.

Nikolas led her into his bedroom. The furniture was made of gleaming dark wood, adorned only by touches of carved scrollwork. There were no paintings on the walls, only simple mahogany panels and one icon with the figure of a man riding a chariot drawn by red horses, silhouetted against a huge orange-red sun. The bed was covered in cream silk and white linen. A breeze blew lightly through the netting at the windows.

Nikolas took Emma to the wide bed, through flickering pools of moonlight and shadow. She sat on the edge of the mattress, letting him remove her shoes and stockings. He knew she was frightened. He could feel it in her rigid muscles, hear it in the uneven pace of her breathing. Emma made no sound as he finished undressing her. Finally her pale body was revealed in all its sleek beauty.

Emma half-rolled to her side and managed a shaking whisper. “Nikki, I…I need more vodka.”

He smiled faintly. “You've had enough,” he said, removing his own clothes. Emma's eyes squeezed shut as he joined her on the bed and pulled her stiff limbs against his. Drawing his warm hand down her back, he tried to soothe her shivering. “There's no need to be afraid. I'm going to show you how desirable you are. You said you wanted to feel better.”

“I felt better with my clothes on,” she said in a muffled voice, and he laughed.

“Put your arms around me.”

“I've never done this before.”

“Yes, I know. I'll be careful,
dushka
.” He kissed her shoulder, his mouth opening against her skin. Timidly Emma responded in kind, her tongue tracing a path of moist sensation along his neck.

Nikolas burned with the need to push inside her. Emma's body was slender and firm, her breasts more luxurious than he had expected. Her skin was vibrantly hot, as if she burned with an excess of life.
There is boundless delight in the possession of a young, barely unfolded soul
…Now, for the first time in his life, he understood that line by Lermontov, for he wanted to drown in her innocence, to devour her as a rare delicacy.

He drew his hands over her, skimming the hollows in the backs of her knees, the fragile structure of her ankles, the winged shape of her collarbone. Losing some of her fear, Emma slid her arms around his waist, fingertips digging into the hollows of his spine. Nikolas brushed warm kisses over her breasts and pulled the points of her nipples into his mouth, sucking, biting softly, making her gasp with pleasure. Only then did he touch the soft cinnamon curls between her thighs, combing gently through them. She was virginal and closed, but there was a betraying touch of moisture that made his body throb in anticipation.

The inquiring strokes of his fingers drew forth more dampness, more heat. Gently he pushed his middle finger inside her, stroking the soft, slick inner surface. She whimpered and froze beneath him, her legs stiffening.

“Does it hurt?” Nikolas whispered.

She gave a quick, bewildered shake of her head, robbed of the breath for words.

Nikolas kissed her parted lips and then drew back to watch as she relinquished herself to the rising tension, surrendering to him at last, helpless to whatever he wanted. She arched higher against his hand, inviting more, her head turning to the side as she closed her eyes and let the feeling rush over her. Skillfully he brought her to climax, relishing the involuntary clenching of her thighs around his hand.

When the last delicious spasm had left her, he cradled her face in both his palms. “You're still a virgin, Emma. Shall I stop?”

“No,” she said, her voice shaking. “Go on.”

Although Nikolas had known what her answer would be, he was still relieved. He lifted his body over hers, fitting his knees between hers, pushing them wide. He had never been with a virgin before, and it was more difficult than he'd expected. She was swollen and small, her flesh opposing his invasion. He pushed harder, forcing himself inside the tight ring of resistance. Her choked cry of pain was smothered against his throat. Suddenly it was easy to slide deeper, and he felt her yield to his slow penetration.

As her warmth surrounded him, he buried his face against her throat, overcome by the sweetness of being inside her. “Emelia,” he murmured thickly, “I've always wanted this…always wanted you…”

Her slender hands gripped his head, guiding his mouth to hers. Driven to the edge of his control, he kissed her deeply, while his lower body sustained a steady, driving rhythm. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tightly, and suddenly it became too much for Nikolas to bear. He shuddered and groaned, his senses unraveling, everything consumed in a bonfire of pleasure. Emma hugged him even closer, her palms slipping on his glistening back. Nikolas moved to his side, pillowing his cheek on her hair while they both tried to regain their breath.

Emma wasn't certain how long she dozed. She awakened with her hand resting on Nikolas's shoulder, her fingertips fanning the ridge of a scar. She felt weak and defenseless, yet oddly peaceful. She tried to comprehend what had happened, that she had gone to bed with a man, with Nikolas. Although she waited for a bolt of lightning, a feeling of disaster, nothing happened. She must have no scruples or principles whatsoever, to have this lack of shame.

Sometime while she had slept, Nikolas must have pulled the bed linens up to her shoulders. Clasping the sheet over her breasts, Emma turned to face him. Thoughts raced through her mind. She had to find her clothes, she had to return to the villa…but most importantly, she had to make certain he wouldn't tell anyone what had happened tonight. Secrecy was necessary for both their sakes. “Nikki,” she began awkwardly.

He touched a finger to her lips. “I want you to consider something,
ruyshenka
. I don't require an answer tonight. You need time to think about what you want. For now, just listen to me.”

“All right,” she said cautiously.

“There is no one for you now, is there? That is, no one you are hoping to marry?”

The question provoked a bitter laugh from her. “No, and there never will be.”

“Then your plan is to live with your father and Tasia for the rest of your life?”

“I don't have much of a choice.”

“Don't you?” He used his thumb to smooth away the puzzled crease in her brow. “Why not marry me, Emma?”

“She shook her head as if she hadn't heard him correctly. “What?”

“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.”

“Your timing was impeccable. You picked the perfect opportunity to worm your way into her life, when she was vulnerable and hurt…” Stokehurst paused as a new thought occurred to him, and his rage seemed to double. “Have you dared to touch her? By God, I'll kill you!”

Nikolas kept his face expressionless. “Emma turned to me because she was unhappy. The life you've provided for her at Southgate isn't enough anymore. She's a woman, not a little girl. It's time for her to be married.”

“Not to you,” came the guttural reply.

“She won't agree to anyone else.”

Stokehurst's jaw twitched violently. “I'll find a way to stop this.”

“The harder you try, the faster she'll slip through your fingers.”

Nikolas watched him in the appalled silence that followed, knowing that of all the suffering Stokehurst had endured in his life, this blow was the hardest to take. Almost, Nikolas was tempted to feel a flicker of sympathy for the man. But life was full of unfairness. He himself had experienced a lion's share of it. “As I said, you have no choice,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Why are you doing this?” Stokehurst asked through his teeth. “Do you intend to use Emma as some sort of bargaining chip later on? Are you marrying her as revenge for something I've done?”

Nikolas laughed shortly and spread his hands wide in a gesture of openness. “I'm doing this for a simple reason. I want her.
Dah sveedáhneeya
, Stokehurst. Please inform your daughter I'll be calling on her in a few days.” He left the room without another word, satisfied that at last he would get his way.