Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(16)

She looked down at herself, wrinkling her nose at her usual combination of trousers, boots, and white shirt. She preferred to ride astride, in men's clothes. It was far more comfortable, not to mention easier for controlling the horse. But for some reason she didn't want to appear in front of Nikolas Angelovsky in her outlandish breeches today.

She returned to her armoire and opened a gleaming paneled door, pushing back layers of garments until she found her blue riding habit. The smartly tailored jacket and broadcloth skirt were dyed a shade of indigo that matched her eyes. Rummaging deeper in the armoire, Emma located a pale blue veil to wear with her high-crowned black silk hat.

She turned and grinned at her attentive dog. “Prince Nikolas is waiting. What do you think, Samson? Should I surprise him by dressing like a lady?”

If Nikolas was surprised or pleased by her appearance, he gave no sign. He waited in the great hall, half-sitting on the edge of an octagonal stone table with casual elegance. He held a riding whip in one hand, tapping it lightly against his fawn breeches and polished boots. Sunlight poured in from the solar windows at the top of the hall, turning his hair to a golden blaze. As he watched Emma descend the grand staircase, there was an insolent glint in his eyes, as if they shared a secret. And they did, Emma reminded herself with sudden discomfort. Somehow Nikolas had known that she wouldn't tell anyone he had kissed her.

She had considered it, of course. But there seemed to be no point. And the thought of her father's reaction, the reprimand he would try to give Nikolas—no, it would all be too humiliating.

He smiled as she approached him. “I'm glad you agreed to see me, cousin.”

“I was bored,” she said flatly. “I thought you might provide some diversion.”

“How fortunate for me that you had no better offers.” His tone was light, almost cheerful.

As she studied him, Emma realized that he was pleased at the prospect of riding with her. Smug, actually. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What do you want, Nikki?”

“To provide some diversion for you.” He crooked his arm invitingly.

Emma ignored the courtly gesture. “I don't need to be escorted to my own stables,” she said, motioning for him to follow her. “And if you dare lay a finger on me today, I'll cripple you.”

Nikolas smiled and matched his legs to her brisk stride. “Thanks for the warning, cousin.”

The mount that Emma chose, a supple and energetic chestnut, was a good match for the black stallion Nikolas had brought. They rode in perfect balance, after the stallion's fretful temperament had been worked out. Emma couldn't find fault with the way Nikolas rode. He was patient with the animal, using just the right amount of discipline to keep him under control. But she sensed the contest of wills between them, the way Nikolas dominated the stallion. Almost all men rode that way, as if one had to be superior and the other inferior. Emma treated her horses as equal partners. Because she worked with them and communicated with them, they were far more responsive to her commands.

Emma and Nikolas rode from the broad hill that Southgate Hall was founded on, down to the outskirts of the busy town below. The day was bright and warm, the air stirring with a pleasant breeze. After crossing a small creek, they cut through the oak forest that bordered Southgate, and raced across a wide green meadow. The stallion easily overtook Emma's chestnut, and she slowed the horse's pace, laughingly acknowledging defeat.

“I would give you some real competition if I weren't riding sidesaddle,” she called.

Nikolas reined in the stallion and grinned back at her. “You ride like no other woman I've ever seen, Emelia. Like a swallow in flight.”

“Is that the Russian version of my name?”

He nodded. “My distant grandmother was named Emelia. It suits you.” He circled the stallion around her. “Shall we walk for a little while?”

“All right.” Emma dismounted easily, before he could offer to assist.

Nikolas slid from the saddle, clicking his tongue against his teeth as if she were a willful child. “You're independent to a fault, ruyshka. Is it such a crime to take a man's arm every now and then? To let someone help you down from a horse or climb a flight of steps?”

“I don't need help. I don't want to depend on anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might get used to it.”

“Is that so terrible?”

She shrugged impatiently. “I do much better on my own. I always have.”

They left the horses grazing beneath the branches of an ancient oak tree, and walked across another wide green meadow. The grass was alive with the drone of bees harvesting pollen from a carpet of wildflowers. Emma glanced at Nikolas frequently, struck by the sight of him walking beside her with the grace of a prowling cat. In her whole life she had never known such an unpredictable man. The first time she had ever seen him, he had torn her family apart. They had all hated him. But somehow in the following years he had stolen his way into their lives. If not exactly welcomed into the Stokehurst household with open arms, at least he had become a tolerated visitor.

“I never thought we would be walking together alone like this,” she commented.

“Why not?”

“To begin with, my father doesn't like you, my family doesn't trust you, and everyone I know says you're a dangerous character.”