Prince Of Dreams (34 page)

Jake stared at him curiously, while Mr. Robinson looked mildly concerned. “Bad news, Your Highness?”

“No,” Nikolas said thoughtfully. “Just unexpected.” He doubted that Emma knew anything about the message her father had sent. She was gone today, attending a meeting of the Royal Society for the Humane Treatment of Animals. Often such gatherings were an all-day event, so it was unlikely that she would return before supper. If he left at once, he would make the journey to the Stokehurst county seat, meet with Stokehurst, and reach home before Emma did.

Nikolas slipped the note into the corner of his desk. “In-laws,” he commented dryly. “They never seem to be satisfied until they've put a man to a great deal of trouble.”

The older gentleman smiled. “I agree, Your Highness. My dear wife passed away ten years ago, and her family still plagues me.”

Nikolas smiled and ruffled his son's dark hair. “Jake, I must leave now, so perhaps you would show Mr. Robinson the schoolroom.” He turned to the tutor. “Stanislaus will help make the arrangements to move your belongings here by week's end. Give him the list of supplies you'll need.”

“Thank you, Prince Nikolas. It is an honor to be entrusted with Master Jacob's education.”

Jake tugged impatiently at Nikolas's sleeve. “Where are you going, Papa?”

“I'll be back in time for supper.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Not this time. You must stay here, and act as the man of the house until I return.”

“Yes, Papa.” Jake's reply was obedient, but there was a frown of displeasure between his small black brows.

Emma returned from the R.S.H.T.A. glowing with the success of the day. The meeting itself had been routine—dull, really—and with few noteworthy news items and no developments in ongoing projects, it had ended quite early. What had been different was the way she had been treated by everyone. As Nikolas had once promised, her social influence had been multiplied at least ten times, simply because she was his wife.

By now all the members of the Society were aware of the legendary fortune Emma had married into, as well as her impressive new title. Everyone had fawned over her, agreeing to all her suggestions and praising her intelligence and charitable nature. Today she had been declared by the president of the organization as the Society's most prestigious member. Emma had been embarrassed, pleased, and also slightly annoyed that all her previous work had not gained her the recognition that being Nikolas's wife had.

She entered the house and shivered pleasantly at the contrast between the warm air inside and the arctic temperature outdoors. “Hello, Stanley,” she said to the butler, allowing him to help with her cloak. She removed her gray felt hat and gloves. “Where is my husband? In the library?”

“He left the estate a few minutes ago, Your Highness.”

“Really? Why?”

“He didn't say, madam.”

“Emma!” came Jake's voice, and she turned to see him bounding down the grand staircase, an elderly and well-dressed gentleman following at a more sedate pace. “This is my tutor, Mr. Robinson.”

Emma gave the man a wide smile. “My husband told me about you, Mr. Robinson. Have you decided to accept the position?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I'm so glad.” Glancing down at Jake, she asked casually, “Did Nikolas say when he would be back?”

“Before supper.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“Yes.”

When no further information seemed forthcoming, Emma smiled and asked patiently, “Would you like to tell me?”

“I can't
tell
it—I have to show you.”

Puzzled, Emma followed the boy to the library, while the tutor stayed in the entrance hall with Stanislaus. Going to Nikolas's desk, Jake riffled through a few scraps of paper until he came up with a folded note pinched between his small fingers. “Here.”

Emma shook her head reprovingly. “It's not right to look through other people's letters, Jake.”

“But you wanted to know.”

“Yes, but…” She stared at the note, longing to read its contents. “Hell,” she said softly, and took it with a grin. “It's very bad to do what I'm doing, Jake. We must always respect others' privacy.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He watched as she read the note, his eyes as golden and luminous as a cat's.

Emma was immediately confused. “How strange.” It wasn't at all like her father to send such a message. Why would he do it, and why—“But this isn't his handwriting!” she cried. There was a spasm of nerves in her stomach. Something was wrong—this was Adam Milbank's penmanship. Her eyes blurred for a moment, and the black ink seemed to crawl like vermin across the page. She had seen his handwriting before, when he had sent her love notes, and that final letter of good-bye.

Adam Milbank wanted to see Nikolas alone.

The note dropped from Emma's hand, falling gently to the floor. She remembered the things Adam had said about Nikolas, his words tumbling through her mind…

“
I can't stop dwelling on what was taken from me. Your husband slithered into our lives and took everything I wanted
…

“
I'm going to even the score, and I promise you won't have to wait for long. I owe it to you, Emma as well as myself
…

“
My God, someone should do the world a favor and get rid of him—before he ruins any more innocent lives
.”

“No,” Emma said, her fists clenching. “This is crazy. He wouldn't do such a thing.”

But in her heart she knew that Nikolas was in danger. Ignoring Jake's confused questions, she strode to a wooden cabinet where Nikolas kept crystal decanters of liquor and a few valuables. “You were right to show me that note, Jake,” she said, hunting through the cabinet. “Now please go out to the entrance hall.”

“But why—”

“Do as I say, Jake.” She threw a reassuring smile over her shoulder. “It's all right,” she said lightly. Jake obeyed reluctantly, his feet shuffling on the carpeted floor. Emma found what she was looking for, a set of finely wrought pistols in mahogany cases. She pulled out a French pinfire revolver made of gold and silver with ivory grips. Its weight was heavy and reassuring in her palm. She checked to see if it was loaded, and discovered that the chambers were full.

She slipped the revolver into the pocket of her dress, its lump concealed by the heavy folds of her skirts. Walking back into the entrance hall, Emma gestured for her cloak. Although she thought her expression was calm, there must have been some betraying hint of what she was feeling, for the two men looked at her strangely.

“Stanley, have the carriage brought around again,” she said abruptly. “I'm certain they haven't yet unharnessed the horses.”

The butler hesitated, as if tempted to question or delay her, but as his gaze met hers, he nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

A carriage was already waiting at the old gatehouse, the horse's breath puffing white in the cold air. The small, centuries-old gatehouse was located miles away from Southgate Hall. It was poised at the edge of a thick forest, on a winding path that used to serve as the original drive leading to the main residence. Now it was in disuse, after a new gatehouse and a more direct road had been established years ago.

Nikolas left his own one-horse carriage and patted the chestnut's steaming neck before walking to the gatehouse. The weather was cold, but nothing like the wicked bite of the Russian winters he had known for most of his life. Still, he wanted this meeting to be finished soon so he could return to home and Emma. Damn his father-in-law for wanting to be humored this way—yet Nikolas supposed he owed it to the man.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Nikolas walked into the dank structure, illuminated by the daylight that shone through the small, square windows. Adjusting to the change from the brilliant white outdoors, Nikolas blinked several times. “All right, Stokehurst,” he muttered. “Tell me what this is about.”

But the voice that replied wasn't Stokehurst's. It was soft, gloating, hostile. “You're not used to surroundings as humble as these, are you? Only the best for Prince Nikolas. A fine home, luxury, a beautiful wife…but now it's all going to be taken away. By the man whom
you
robbed of everything.”

The speaker stepped forward, and Nikolas recognized the features of Adam Milbank.

Startled, disoriented, Nikolas stared at him without blinking. “What the hell do you want?”

Milbank gestured with his hand, displaying a heavy-barreled pistol. “I want revenge, and I'm going to take it with this. You were jealous of what I had with Emma, and you took her for yourself. You think you're a better man than me, don't you? Well, there is precious little difference between us, Angelovsky. Neither of us is worthy of Emma.” Adam took careful aim with the weapon in his hand, using his thumb to ease back the hammer. “This is Stokehurst's pistol. I'm going to kill you with it and leave you here on his property. You and Stokehurst conspired against me. Now it's time for justice.”

“You fool,” Nikolas said softly, staring at the pistol. It was trembling in the man's grip, betraying his tremendous agitation. “No one will believe that Stokehurst did it.”

“At least it will cast a shadow on the fine name he's so proud of. And the world will be better off without you—selfish Russian bastard!”

“What do you think will happen afterward?” Nikolas asked, switching his gaze to Milbank's sweating face. “You'll only end up in the hangman's noose. And you still won't have Emma. She doesn't want you.”

“She wanted me until you tore our lives apart!” The gun jerked, and Nikolas flinched in reaction. Milbank laughed harshly. “You're right to be afraid, Angelovsky. I mean to do this. I'm going to kill you with no more regret than I would feel swatting a fly. But first, get on your knees.” As Nikolas hesitated, Milbank's rage seemed to double. “Kneel on the floor! For once I want to see you humbled.”

Slowly Nikolas sank down to his knees, staring at the other man while rage and denial rushed through his body.

“I began to plan this the day I heard you had married Emma,” Adam said. “Your life hasn't been worth a shilling since then.”

Nikolas licked his dry lips. “You'd sacrifice your own life for revenge? What about your wife?”

“My wife,” Adam repeated, then laughed bitterly. “Fat little hen, always pecking away at everyone around her. Every time I look at Charlotte, I remember that it's your fault I'm with her. And you have Emma…
you
, who deserve her less than any other man on earth.”

“That I don't deny,” Nikolas said quietly.

“Emma will thank me for the rest of her life for what I'm about to do.”

“No, Adam.” A new voice broke in on the scene, startling them both. They had been so intent on the exchange, neither of them had noticed the slim figure that had slipped through the partially open door. Emma stood there, the hem of her skirts damp from the ground, her face angular in the shadows. Nikolas had never seen her eyes so fixed and brilliant, as if she were in a hypnotic trance. She moved forward, holding a revolver in a grip that was far steadier than Adam's. “This is insane. Stop pointing that thing at Nikolas. If you harm a hair on his head, I'll put a bullet in you.”

“Emma, get out of here!” Nikolas snapped, his entire body cold with sudden terror. His wife, his child…they must not be harmed, no matter what became of him.

Adam barely spared Emma a glance. “I don't want to kill him in front of you. But I will if I have to.”

“For God's sake, why are you doing this?” Emma asked tautly. “Are you trying to frighten Nikolas? Well, you've succeeded in scaring the hell out of both of us. Now put the gun away.”

Adam looked grim and increasingly anxious, the pistol wavering in his hand. “You should be grateful that I'm getting rid of him. Isn't that what you want, Emma? You couldn't love such a monster—you want to be free of him.”

“I don't want this.” Her jaw trembled visibly. “You must stop this nonsense, Adam!”

“Damn you, Emma, please go,” Nikolas said in desperation. Dear God, it couldn't be his fate to be ripped apart from her once again. After all he'd gone through, everything he had learned, would he lose her one final time? The past echoed in his ears, Emelia's grieving whisper…“
I'll never see you again, will I
?”

“
Not in this lifetime
.”

“Emma, get out of here,” he said harshly.

“Not another word from you!” Adam shouted, his eyes gleaming with hatred. His tormented gaze returned to Emma. “I never understood how I really felt until I lost you. I must do this. I can't let him win. I'll never feel like a man again, as long as I let him go unpunished. No one has ever believed that I loved you, Emma—not even you. This is the only way I can prove it. Then you'll know.”

“You don't need to prove anything,” Emma said. “I do believe you.” She felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, while a voice inside cried with terror,
Please don't hurt him, please
…She blinked the tears back and kept the gun steady on Adam. “But I didn't love you, Adam. I was lonely, unsure of myself, and you flattered me and made me feel wanted. Through my own immaturity I mistook that for love—”

“He's tricked you into believing his lies,” Adam said hotly.

“You and I were friends who cared about each other. That's not the same as love. Now we've each made a good life for ourselves with other people. You don't have to destroy all of that. You'll accomplish nothing by doing this. Just put the gun away and we'll leave. I-I'll go with you somewhere and we'll talk—”

“No,” Nikolas said swiftly.

“You have no say in this,” Adam sneered. “
I'm
in control, not you!”

“Put it down now,” Emma said. “I mean it, Adam.”

“I can't,” came his stubborn reply.

“
Now
.”

Adam didn't appear to hear her, his gaze locked on Nikolas. “It's too late.”

For the rest of her life Emma would remember the events taking place outside of time, seconds turning into hours, each move slow and visible and understandable. Whatever Nikolas saw in Adam's eyes, it convinced him that he was about to die. He turned his face toward Emma for one last look, his eyes pale and piercing.