Prince Of Dreams (12 page)

The morning of the wedding, Emma was tense and terrified. Unwittingly her father provided the final impetus that pushed her past all indecision. Luke came to her room after she was fully dressed in her bridal attire. Emma turned away from the mirror, where she had been patting down the rebellious curls that had sprung around her face, and she smiled hesitantly.

She was tall and slender in the ivory dress, her hair gathered into a loose chignon and adorned with creamy white roses. She held her mother's tiny Bible in one hand, along with a lace handkerchief borrowed from Tasia. A necklace of three strands of pearls—a gift from Nikolas which had arrived that very morning—was clasped around her throat. Her father appeared to swallow hard, as if there were a lump in his throat. “You look very beautiful, Emma.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.

“I wish Mary could see you.”

Emma blinked in dismay, wondering if her mother would have approved of the match. She had been so young when Mary died, too young to have any distinct memories…only impressions of warmth, a musical voice, a wealth of red hair just like her own. Papa had always said he and Mary had loved each other. Perhaps her mother wouldn't have wanted her to marry Nikolas.

“Emma,” her father said quietly, “if you ever have regrets…if the time comes when you decide this was a mistake…you can always come back. I'll welcome you with open arms.”

“You're expecting me to regret this, aren't you?” she asked.

He didn't reply, but the way he averted his gaze was answer enough.

“My marriage will be fine,” Emma said coolly. “It won't be the kind you have with Tasia, but it will be quite satisfactory for me.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you?” she asked softly. “I'm not so sure of that, Papa.” Her spine stiffened with pride, and she decided right then that
nothing
would stop her from marrying Nikolas Angelovsky. But later, when they walked down the aisle together, there were unshed tears in her eyes.

Locked in her own dolorous silence, Emma remembered little of the wedding, except that it was short and devoid of joy. Nikolas was handsome but grave, making her realize that he considered the wedding nothing more than a necessary duty. For Emma, there was little feeling of spirituality in the ceremony, except for the reading of a passage from Ruth:…
whither thou goest, I will go, And where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God
…The eternal words of love, of commitment, seemed to carry the echo of a heavy door closing shut.

It was only afterward, at the forced cheerfulness of the reception, that Emma began to breathe easier. There was much toasting and dancing, and a wedding feast of English and Russian dishes. The cake was a towering concoction ornamented with flowers, birds, and cherubs all made from sparkling crushed sugar. Finally, as the evening ripened, it was time for the newlyweds to leave, and they rushed to a waiting carriage in a stinging shower of rice and congratulations.

Once in the carriage, Emma dissolved in a fit of dismayed laughter and shook her head, sending a scattering of rice everywhere. Nikolas combed his fingers through his hair, trying in vain to get rid of the grains caught in his thick blond-brown locks.

“I think we'll be fertile,” Emma said, and Nikolas laughed at the unmaidenly comment.

“I never doubted it,
ruyshka
.”

His expression made her blush. She ducked her head and asked abashedly, “How many children will you want?”

“As many as God sees fit to bestow.”

Emma fingered the ring he had given her, an ostentatious blood red ruby surrounded by diamonds. “Thank you for this,” she said. “It's lovely.”

“Do you like it? Your expression was rather strange when you first saw the ring during the ceremony.”

“I was surprised,” she said honestly. “I've never had a jewel this large.”

Nikolas smiled, reaching for her slender hand and toying with her long fingers. “You'll own many larger than this. Your hands were made for wearing jewels.”

“Yes, I need them to cover all the animal bites,” she said, pulling her hand away.

Nikolas bent down and lifted her feet into his lap, forcing her to rest her long legs across his.

“Nikki,” she protested, squirming as he removed her low-heeled satin slippers. “What are you doing?”

“I'm making you comfortable until we reach the estate.” He began to knead her silk-covered ankles and feet, ignoring her protests.

“I don't want to be comfortable. I…” She winced as he gently rubbed her sore arches, and found herself relaxing back against the velvet cushions. “My feet are too big,” she murmured.

“They're enchanting.” Nikolas pressed the sole of her right foot into the lee of his thighs. Emma started as she felt the hard length of his arousal against her sole, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to move away.

The blissful interlude ended as they approached the Angelovsky manor, and Nikolas slipped the shoes back onto her feet. Emma was filled with wonder as she realized that this palatial residence was her new home. The huge circular ballroom with its endless rows of columns and mirrors, the spacious rooms lined in gold and precious stones, the countless suites and galleries and glass-paneled rooms…all of it was hers, to wander through at will.

“Princess Emma,” Nikolas said, as if he could read her mind. “Will it take long for you to get used to the title?”

“I may never get used to it,” she answered, making a face.

The carriage stopped in front of the wide staircase leading up to the door. Nikolas assisted Emma from the carriage. There was a sudden flurry of servants: footmen rushing to open the door, the butler waiting to greet them, a view of the maids gathering in the entrance hall.

Nikolas led her to the threshold and gestured to the waiting butler. “You know Stanislaus, of course, from the other times you've visited.”

Emma turned crimson at the memory of the last time, when she had stayed the night with Nikolas.

The butler's face remained reassuringly impassive. He spoke in lightly accented English. “Your Highness, the household offers its sincere wishes for your happiness. We hope to serve you well.”

“Thank you, Stanislov, er, Stanlisl—” Emma looked up at him apologetically. “I'll practice your name until I can say it right.”

Before the butler could reply, Nikolas scooped Emma up in his arms, lifting her high against his chest. She gasped in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you across the threshold,” Nikolas replied. “It's an English tradition, yes?”

“Only when the bride happens to be smaller than the groom! Don't—I'm too heavy! Please put me down—”

“Stop struggling, or I'll drop you.”

Emma groaned in an agony of embarrassment as Nikolas carried her inside the manor and through the entrance hall, past the waiting staff. There were a few murmurs and giggles as the servants watched their master proceed to the staircase that led to the upstairs suites.

“Aren't you going to introduce me to them?” Emma asked, glancing back at the waiting group.

“Tomorrow. Tonight I want to be alone with you.”

“I can walk the rest of the way. You'll hurt your back.”

“This is nothing,” he scoffed. “I've carried deer across my shoulders that weighed twice as much as you.”

“How flattering!” Emma was silent with mortification the rest of the way. Nikolas brought her to the new suite he had decorated for her, and set her down in the middle of the bedroom.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, turning in a slow circle.

“If you don't like it, we'll have it changed.”

“Change?” she repeated dazedly. “I wouldn't dream of it.” The suite, with separate rooms for receiving visitors, changing clothes, bathing, and sleeping, was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen before. It was suitable for royalty, decorated in shades of blue and lined with glass columns. Priceless artwork in heavy silver frames adorned the walls. A Russian heating stove covered with rose-lavender tiles occupied a place in the corner. The bed was enormous, covered in dark blue, embroidered silk and piled high with tasseled pillows.

Opening the door of a mahogany armoire, Emma found it empty except for a few articles of her trousseau that had been sent a few days before. “Where are your clothes?” she asked in surprise.

“My suite is at the other end of the wing.”

“We won't be sharing a room?”

Nikolas shook his head, and Emma blushed at her mistake. Her father and Tasia always shared a bed, beginning and ending each day in each other's arms. Naively Emma had assumed that Nikolas would desire the same arrangement. If he stayed in his own separate suite, they would miss all the little intimacies that made a husband and wife comfortable with each other. But apparently Nikolas didn't want such familiarity. Perhaps it was better this way…or perhaps someday he might change his mind.

She wandered over to a mahogany table covered with a collection of small, carved figurines. A smile appeared on her face as she picked up one of the objects, a white coral swan with a gold beak and sapphire eyes. There was a malachite frog, a gold lion, an ivory elephant, an amethyst wolf with gold paws, as well as a bear, a fish, and birds, also made of precious metals and stones. She lingered on the most striking figurine of all, a snarling amber tiger with yellow diamond eyes and seed pearls for teeth.

“The collection belonged to my great-great-great-grandmother Emelia. I thought you might like to have it.”

Emma turned to face him, her eyes shining. “Thank you.”

Nikolas gestured at the tiger in her hand. “That particular piece was said to be her favorite.”

Cautiously Emma approached him and placed a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said again. “You're very good to me, Nikki.”

Nikolas stared at her, while the place her lips had touched seemed to burn. A odd feeling came over him, and he stood very still. The look in Emma's blue eyes, the sound of her voice, the way she held the amber figurine in her hand…it seemed that it had all happened before. His heart began to thump in a heavy rhythm. The air around him turned hot as an image crystallized in his mind…

She picked up the tiger, examining it from every angle. “Look, Nikki. Isn't it beautiful
?”

“Very beautiful,” he agreed, his gaze on her glowing face. He broke off long enough to tell the jeweler, “We'll take them all
.”

She laughed exuberantly and threw her arms around
him. “You're so good to me,” she said against his ear. “You'll make me love you too much
.”

He brushed his lips over her soft cheek. “There's no such thing as too much
…”

“What is it?” Emma asked, her brow touched with concern.

The vision disappeared. Nikolas shook his head and laughed shortly. “Nothing. A strange feeling.” He took a step back, still staring at her. The thumping of his heart was almost painful. Wiping his hand across his forehead, he discovered he had broken out in a sweat. The sensation he had was similar to that of jumping into an icy river after having been steamed to exhaustion in a Russian bathhouse.

“Are you all right?” Emma persisted.

“Ring for the maid to help with your dress,” he said brusquely, turning and heading for the door. “I'll be back in a little while.”

Emma frowned in confusion. Carefully she set the carved tiger back in place on the table, and stroked its back with her fingertip. The amber glowed as if it had a life of its own.

Nikolas had stared at her so strangely. The expression on his face…the flash of something like fear…his gaze unfocused, as if he beheld some unearthly vision…where had Emma seen that expression before? “Tasia,” Emma said softly. Tasia looked exactly like that whenever she had one of her premonitions. Russians were a superstitious people, Tasia had once explained to her. Their lives were filled with fantasy and mystery, and they believed strongly in omens and signs. What had gone through Nikolas's mind? What vision had he seen?

Troubled, Emma rang for a maid, and soon a small woman appeared. She was Emma's age, perhaps a little older, with thick, braided chestnut hair and intelligent gray eyes. She spoke English quite well, and identified herself as Rashel Fyodorovna.

“I like your name, Rashel,” Emma remarked as the maid began to unfasten the complicated scheme of hooks and buttons at the back of her wedding dress. “Is it the Russian version of Rachel?”

“Yes, Your Highness. My mother named all her children from the Bible. I have two brothers, Matfei and Adamka, and a sister, Marinka.”

“Matthew, Adam, and…Mary?” Emma guessed.

“Miriam,” the maid corrected, helping Emma step out of the dress as it collapsed in a heap on the floor. Expertly she lifted the billowing yards of silk and carried it to a nearby chair.

“Are your brothers and sister still in Russia?” Emma held her breath as Rashel unhooked her stays.

“No, Your Highness. They are all here, working for Prince Nikolas. We came with him after…after…” The maid paused, searching for a tactful way to express herself.

“After he was exiled,” Emma said bluntly.

Rashel nodded, the corners of her mouth curving in a smile. “It is good that you speak so plainly, Your Highness. Russians like directness. Shall I unpin your hair?”

“Yes, please.” Emma sat down at a dressing table, clad in her linen undergarments. Carefully the maid unfastened the white roses from Emma's ruddy curls and began to unplait her hair, using a silver-handled brush to smooth one section at a time. “Did you
want
to come to England with Nikolas?” Emma asked. “Or did you have a choice?”

“Oh, yes, my family wanted to come. We belong to the Angelovskys, you see. Not by law, of course, since the serfs were liberated by Tsar Alexander fifteen years ago. But my family, the Sidarovs, has served the Angelovskys for more than a hundred years. We felt it was right to follow Prince Nikolas wherever he close to go.”

“I'm sure he appreciates your devotion,” Emma said, although she suspected that Nikolas, with all his arrogance, probably took it for granted.