Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(102)

Nikolas—

I want to discuss a matter of great importance with you. It involves Emma. Meet me at the old gatehouse at Southgate Hall, at four o'clock this afternoon. I would prefer that you mention this to no one.

Stokehurst

“What the hell…?” Nikolas muttered, reading the note once more. The cryptic message didn't seem in Stokehurst's usual straightforward style. But perhaps that was because the man was concerned about his daughter. Nikolas had no choice except to comply with the summons. He wanted to be on good terms with Emma's family. And if that meant going to extra lengths to please her father, it was worth it.

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.