Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(11)

Emma stopped her work and leaned on the rake handle, smiling at him. “No, William, not the way people do. But some kinds of animals mate for life. Wolves, for example. Or swans.”

“What is a mate?”

“It's like your mother and father—two creatures that stay faithful to each other their whole lives.”

“Do monkeys mate for life?” William pushed Cleo's inquisitive hands away and glanced into her soulful brown eyes. The chimp pursed her lips and made a few inquiring grunts, reaching for his hair once more.

“No,” Emma replied dryly, “they're not so discriminating.”

“Do tigers?”

“Not tigers either.”

“But people mate for life.”

“Most people,” she agreed. “When it's possible.”

“And when they don't, they're spinsters. Like you and Cleo.”

Emma laughed as she pulled clinging strands of straw from her clothes. “Something like that.”

All at once a new voice entered the conversation. “Your sister is too young and lovely to be a spinster.”

Emma and William both turned to see Nikolas Angelovsky standing at the threshold, in a patch of blinding sunlight. With a critical glance at the chimp, he added, “I'm afraid I can't say the same for Cleo.”

Cleo squeaked and hooted as William rushed eagerly to the newcomer. It seemed, Emma thought wryly, that no one was immune to Nikolas's potent mixture of charm and mystery. “Prince Nikolas!” the boy said breathlessly. “Zdráhstvuyti!”

“Zdráhstvuyti, William,” Nikolas said, crouching down to the boy's height. He smiled as William repeated the word perfectly. “What a fine accent. Your mother has taught you well. Only a boy with Russian blood like yours could say it so clearly.”

“I have Stokehurst blood too,” William said proudly.

Nikolas looked over the boy's dark head at Emma. “A powerful combination, nyet?”

Emma regarded him stonily. Although it was Nikolas's habit to pay infrequent visits to Southgate Hall, drinking pots of Chinese caravan tea and conversing with Tasia in rapid-fire Russian, he had never made a side trip to the animal menagerie. This was her private world, and no one was allowed here unless specifically invited. “What do you want, Nikolas?”

He gave her an oblique smile. “I've never seen your collection of animals before. I would like to have a look.”

“I'm working,” Emma said curtly. “I'm sure you can find better entertainment than watching me feed animals and rake manure.”

“Not necessarily.”

Her mouth twisted. “Stay if you like, then.” She finished raking a pile of dirty straw from the chimp's pen and replaced it with a fresh scattering. Then she gestured for Cleo to go inside. “Back in there, old girl. Go in.” The chimpanzee shook her head vigorously, baring her teeth. “Yes, I know,” Emma said, pointing to the pen. “We'll play later, Cleo. Later.”

The chimp muttered resentfully as she picked up a rag doll from a small pile of toys. In a flash, Cleo's small, wiry body ascended a ladder bolted to the side of the wire pen. When she reached the top, she seated herself on a wooden perch and frowned down at them. Emma closed the door of the cage and turned to her little brother. “William, it's time for you to go back to the house.”

“Can't I stay with Cleo?” the boy pleaded, staring wistfully at the chimp.

“You know the rule—no visits to the animals unless I'm with you. We'll come to see her later this afternoon.”

“Yes, Emma.”

As the child left, Emma turned her attention to Nikolas. He was dressed in dark riding breeches and a white shirt that emphasized his tawny coloring. His hair looked more brown than blond today. A light sheen of perspiration had given his skin a smooth shimmer, as if he were a sculpture cast in precious metal. The thick lashes that framed his yellow eyes gleamed like filaments of light.

For the first time since Adam's desertion, Emma felt a stirring of something other than anger inside, a mixture of nerves and confusion and awareness. Realizing she was staring, she turned and picked up a metal bucket. She went to the large iron slop sink in the corner and worked the pump until a steady stream of water emerged.

Nikolas came forward, reaching for the pump handle. “Let me help you.”

“No,” she said quickly, elbowing him aside. “I can do it.”

Nikolas shrugged and stood back as she labored over the sink. He watched her intently. The taut muscles of Emma's shoulders strained beneath a sweat-blotched shirt. Snug gray trousers outlined the slender shape of her bottom and thighs. Briefly he remembered her appearance at the ball in London, the cool white dress, the tightly pinned hair. He preferred her this way, strong, capable, flushed from exertion. She was extraordinary. He had never known an aristocratic woman who worked like a peasant. Why did she tend the animals when she could order her servants to do it?

“It's not often I have the chance to see a woman in trousers,” he said. “In fact, this may be the first time.”

Emma straightened in a snap. She gave him a wary look. “Are you shocked?”

“It takes more than that to shock me.” He let his admiring gaze sweep over her. “You remind me of a phrase by Tyutchev…‘the face of beauty flushed with the air of spring.’”