Prince Of Dreams (28 page)

He moved even closer to her, and picked up a long red curl that lay over her shoulder. “Don't worry about Jake,” he murmured, toying with the lock of her hair. “He'll be fine.”

Emma wet her lips nervously. It felt as though her hair were a living rope, a conductor of sensation. She imagined his hands on her skin, the caress of his fingertips, and her heart beat madly. “I can't help but worry,” she said. “It's been very confusing, watching you spend so much time with Jake when you couldn't stand the sight of him before.”

“Yes, I know.” He wound the red coil around his fingers and held it tightly. “When I first saw Jake, all I could see was how much he looked like Misha. It hurt to look at him and remember my dead brother.” His gaze became shadowed, the thick gold lashes concealing his emotions. “Do you remember when I told you how my father abused us? The worst of it was done to Misha, perhaps because he was more helpless than me. I would try and console my brother when I found him crying and bleeding after my father's attacks. You can't imagine the rage and guilt I felt, seeing such a vulnerable creature being hurt—” He stopped and smiled crookedly. “Well, perhaps you can. Anyway, I could do nothing for Misha. I was too young to protect him. But I can take care of my son, and give him everything he needs to be happy. It's like having a second chance.”

Emma didn't move, imprisoned by the silence between them, the yearning that hung heavy and warm in the air. Nikolas had always known how to make her respond to him. She hated him for this charade, and at the same time she desperately wanted it to be true. He was pretending to be the kind of man she could have fallen in love with, the kind of man she had once dreamed of. And he was so damn good at his performance that every now and then she caught herself believing him for a few moments. Her heart ached from the strain of wanting to love a man who wasn't worthy of it, who would scorn and betray her when it suited him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked in a pained whisper, betraying tears coming to her eyes.

“Emma,” he said softly, releasing her hair.

She jerked back and stared at him, shaking her head. Before he could say a word, she strode away rapidly, trying to keep herself from breaking into an outright run.

After midnight, when Emma was sleeping soundly, Nikolas entered her sitting room. He stared at her bedroom door, left partially ajar. He imagined he could hear the soft sound of her breathing. Slowly he sat on a velvet-covered chair and picked up one of the carved animals in the little menagerie he had given her. The amber tiger, its small, sleek body warming in his hands. Drawing his finger along the polished back of the figurine, Nikolas continued to stare into the shadows of his wife's bedroom. He was transfixed with lust and loneliness, knowing her warm body was so near. But he wouldn't take her until she welcomed him, loved him, as Emelia had.

“Emelia, what happened to you?” he whispered in Russian, closing his hand around the tiger in a tight grip. He had questioned the family servants, including the Sidarova sisters, to find out if they knew anything about Emelia beyond the familiar old tale, but they had no more stories to impart. Subsequently he had hired one of the curators of the British Museum, Sir Vincent Almay, to travel to Russia and examine both private and public records to determine the fate of Princess Emelia. Nikolas didn't believe his family would interfere with Almay's search. Perhaps one of his sisters might even help in the quest. Until he knew what had become of his wife, Nikolas would never be at peace.

If only he could have done more for Emelia, protected her…

He forced himself to stay in the chair, though he ached with the need to go to Emma and wrap her in his arms.
You promised you would remember
, he thought fiercely, staring into his wife's room.
You said you would know me
.

The next day Emma received a surprise visitor while Nikolas and Jake were away on one of their rambles through London. As she enjoyed a last cup of tea after a hearty breakfast, she was approached by the butler, Stanislaus, who presented a silver tray with a calling card positioned exactly in the center. Emma's eyes widened as she saw Lord Adam Milbank's name on the card.

“Shall I send him away, Your Highness?” Stanislaus asked.

“No,” she said distractedly. “Show Lord Milbank into the drawing room.”

The butler's Slavic features showed no expression, but his black brows inched upward toward his shock of white hair. “Very well.”

Emma smoothed her hair, which had been braided with green silk ribbons and pinned to the nape of her neck. She yanked her forest-green velvet dress into place, straightening the bustle in back and the silk draperies in front as she hurried to the drawing room. Why would Adam call on her, especially considering his loathing of her husband? Perhaps he wanted to discuss the past with her, or even reestablish his friendship with her, though for what purpose she couldn't fathom. It didn't matter—his presence here suited
her
purposes without a doubt. Nikolas would find out about it, and he would be infuriated. She wanted her husband to feel some of the hurt and wounded pride he had made her feel in the past. Perhaps it was wrong to use Adam toward that end, but she didn't care. She had been used by both of them, Adam and Nikolas, and it was time the tables were turned.

Stanislaus guided Adam Milbank to the drawing room, and inquired if there was anything Emma required.

“Tea, please,” she said, and the butler left them with a quiet murmur. Emma approached Adam, the man she had always considered the love of her life, with outstretched hands. “Adam,” she said with a smile. “I had intended to write you a letter and invite you to tea. How nice to see you!”

Clearly surprised by her welcome, he took her hands and gripped them lightly. His boyish face looked troubled, but his brown eyes were alight with hope. “I had merely intended to leave a card—”

“No, stay and have some tea with me,” she insisted. “If you have time, that is.”

“There could be no better use for my time.” Adam walked farther into the room, carrying his hat and riding whip. He shook his head in wonder as he glanced at his surroundings. “All this luxury, and yet you look quite at home here.”

“It
is
my home,” Emma said with a light laugh. “But I haven't changed all that much. I spend most of my time in the menagerie with the usual bill of players—Manchu, Cleo, Presto—”

“How are your animals?”

“Oh, they've taken to their surroundings quite well.”

“And you?”

Her smile faded, and she seated herself in a chair with embroidered cushions, carefully arranging her skirts. “I still have some adjusting to do,” she said honestly. “Nikolas is very…confusing. He's not easy to understand, or to live with.”

“Does he make you happy, Emma?”

It was far too intimate a conversation for a man and a woman married to other people to be having. However, their past relationship made it far too easy for Emma to slip back into the habit of talking to Adam comfortably.

“No…but I'm not as
un
happy as I thought I might be. It's impossible to explain.”

Adam sat beside her, his brown eyes melancholy as he looked at her. He took a long breath. “I've thought about you quite a lot after our last conversation. There were other things I wanted to tell you, but there didn't seem to be time. All I could think about then was how much I wanted you to know the truth about what your husband did to us. Before I saw you again, I wanted you to have a chance to reflect on it.”

“Oh, I've reflected on it,” Emma said grimly. “I've also told Nikolas exactly what I thought of his manipulation.”

“He ruined both our lives, Em. I'm married to a woman I don't love. It just seemed to be the only thing to do. I knew I couldn't have you, there was just too much opposition from your family and Nikolas, and then I met Charlotte—”

“Please,” Emma said with discomfort, holding up a hand. “I don't want to talk about her.”

“Certainly. But let me at least tell you…we're not happy together, Charlotte and I. We don't suit. Not as you and I did.” Adam ran a hand through his long, silken sheaves of brown hair, looking impatient and perturbed. There was an edge to his voice, as well as a glint in his eyes, that was unfamiliar to her. “I keep thinking about what we might have had,” he said bluntly. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you and I had married each other?”

“I used to wonder all the time,” she admitted. “But lately…no, I suppose I don't allow myself to think about it anymore.”

“I can't stop dwelling on what was taken from me. Your husband slithered into our lives and took away everything I wanted. I have the damnedest fantasies about the things I'd like to do to him, various ways to cause him incredible pain and degradation—” He stopped in astonishment as Emma began to laugh.

“I'm sorry!” She tried to stifle her gasps of amusement. “It's just…you're not the first, believe me! I think almost everyone who's ever known Nikolas has felt that way about him.”

“I don't think it's amusing,” Adam said with extreme dignity, color etching across his cheekbones.

Emma sobered somewhat, though a few bubbles of laughter were still trapped in her throat. “You're right. Nikolas is an absolute scoundrel.”

“It tortures me to think of you with him—the way he must abuse you, the way he has humiliated you by forcing his bastard son on you—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I
want
Jake to live here. I care about the boy—and so does Nikolas.” She paused as the truth of her remark resounded in her very bones. “I thought Nikolas couldn't love anyone,” she continued in a wondering tone, “but he adores his son. Either Nikolas has changed, or…there's something in him I never noticed before. Either way, he's the most caring father I've ever seen—aside from my own.”

“Your father!” Adam said indignantly. “You're talking about the two people who both managed to keep us apart! Domineering, manipulative men who like to control everyone around them!” He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Em, don't you remember how it was? We loved each other so much, and we were torn apart by those two and their own selfish need of you. They did it so carelessly, so
easily
—” He broke off with a frustrated sound.

“Yes,” Emma murmured. “Why was it so easy? If we truly loved each other, why were they able to separate us?”

They were both silent then, thinking back to that time just six months ago.

Emma didn't feel any of the pain she had expected, talking about the past. No heartache or longing. To her surprise, it was doing her good, helping to free her from the bitterness and hurt. Even more astonishing, Adam had lost some of the magic sparkle that her memory had endowed him with; he was a little less handsome, a little less perfect, than she had thought. In fact, he seemed rather
ordinary
in some ways. The revelation perplexed her greatly. Adam no longer made her heart throb with joy, or filled her with intoxicating delight.

I no longer want him the way I once did
, she thought.

“You've become so beautiful,” he murmured, staring at her. “So queenly and elegant.”

“I haven't changed a bit,” she said self-consciously.

“Yes, you have. You used to have the most endearing touch of uncertainty, a look in your eyes as if you wanted to hide away from the rest of the world. Now that's gone, and you're so polished…mature…indomitable.”

Emma wrinkled her nose and laughed. “Indomitable? That's a word I would use to describe a statue or a big ship—or a mountain!”

Adam smiled back at her. “You're like a full-blown rose. Is that better?”

“Much.”

He seemed to treasure the moment between them. “Both of us smiling and comfortable with each other,” he mused. “Just like it used to be. Do you remember how it was…how happy we made each other? I've never felt like that before or since.”

“Let's look at it honestly,” Emma said, staring at him steadily. “You also wanted me because of my family's money. If I hadn't come with the promise of a significant dowry, you would never have been interested in me.”

“I wanted
you
, first and foremost. If you came with a large dowry, so much the better. Was that such a terrible attitude? Why shouldn't I like having money, and all the security and comfort it brings?”

“You have money now. You've married into quite a nice little fortune.”

A strange look came into his eyes, something hard and bright and pained. “It doesn't make up for losing you. Nothing will.”

Emma tried to think of some comment to ease the sudden tension between them, when she became aware of someone else entering the drawing room. Expecting it was a maid with the requested tea tray, she looked up with a trace of relief. To her dismay, she saw her husband standing a few feet inside the doorway.

She should have been pleased at this bit of good luck. She had never dreamed the timing would be so perfect, having Nikolas see her in the midst of a cozy chat with her former suitor. Instead she was seized with cold worry. She had meant to stir up trouble, and now she wasn't so certain she wanted it.

Nikolas's face was flushed. Strange, he was usually so adept at hiding his feelings—but he looked absolutely furious, as if some demonic frenzy were about to be turned loose. Adam Milbank stood up with his fists clenched, looking not defensive but equally enraged. Hatred seethed in the air like a living thing. Emma was amazed by the explosive silence. Once she might have provoked a fight between the two of them, and taken great pleasure in it, but now she tried to defuse the situation.

“Nikki,” she said with a shallow smile, “you're back early. I was just having a conversation with Lord Milbank, waiting for some tea to be brought in—”

“I'm afraid I don't have time for tea,” Adam interrupted, his gaze locked with her husband's. “I've just recalled a pressing engagement. I must leave at once.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” Emma said instantly, and tried to usher him toward the door. “It was pleasant to see you. Please give our regards to Lady Milbank.”