Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(18)

“Then you don't blame me for the murder?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“It's not my place to judge you. But I understand why you did it.” Her bare hand rested lightly on his. “I'll keep your secrets, Nikki.”

Nikolas didn't move. His muscles locked against a sudden shiver of feeling. He had no idea why her touch, her words, had such power over him. All he knew was that he wanted to hold her, hurt her, kiss her…he wanted to bear her down to the ground, here, and tug her red hair loose, and take her in the field as if she were a peasant girl. Instead he drew back and pulled his hand from hers. His voice was pleasant, friendly, as he replied, “I believe you will, Emelia.”

She gave him a cautious smile and began to walk again, her skirts brushing through the clods and wheel ruts on the dusty path. Nikolas kept pace with her, his hands jammed in his pockets. She hadn't reacted as he'd expected. She had accepted his story too easily. Her family had sheltered her too much, allowing her to live her life as if it were something out of a novel. She was even more unworldly than he'd suspected. You poor little fool, he thought, glancing at her through the amber screen of his lashes. Why must you make it so easy for me to take advantage of you?

“May I see you again tomorrow?” he asked.

Emma hesitated, her teeth catching on her bottom lip. “No,” she finally said. “I'll be in London for the rest of the week.”

“A social engagement?”

“Actually, I'm attending a meeting of the R.S.H.T.A. I've been asked to say a few words about the most recent animal protection laws.”

“Will your family be accompanying you?”

Emma's jaw hardened. “No. They have no interest in my crusades, and even if they did, I wouldn't want them there.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “So you haven't yet made peace with your father.”

She shook her head. “My father drove away the love of my life. If someone did that to you, I doubt you'd be so quick to forgive them!”

“Perhaps not. But I need no one, whereas you…you've lost your love and your family all at once.” Nikolas watched for a reaction from her, but she concealed her emotions well. He made one more soft-voiced comment, well timed and carefully aimed. “It's not easy to be lonely, is it? Emptiness, silence, unwelcome solitude…it can turn a palace into a prison.”

Emma turned a wondering gaze toward him, her blue eyes wide. Heedless of where she was walking, she stumbled on the edge of a deep wheel rut. Nikolas reached for her immediately, lending her his balance. Before she could protest, he grasped her hand and drew it through the crook of his elbow. An easy smile curved his mouth as he stared into her flushed face. “Take help when it's offered, cousin. It's just a temporary arm to lean on.”

The Royal Society for the Humane Treatment of Animals conducted its annual general meeting at a lecture hall in London, not far from Covent Garden. The small building had been converted from an old hotel located on a street of auctioneers, booksellers, and publishers. Looking around the room, scored with light that came from the half-shuttered windows, Emma felt a sense of kinship with the crowd of two hundred Society members. Middle-aged men, most of them, some of them slender and stiff in their mahogany chairs, some of them plumply overlapping the small, square seats. There was a sparse peppering of women, the youngest of them exactly twice her age.

Emma knew that they all didn't have the same motivation for being there. Although some shared her passionate concern for the well-being of animals, others were there merely because it was a popular political concern. But that didn't matter, as long as they were working together for an important cause.

Feeling someone's gaze on her, she looked down the row to her right. A young man with a narrow face and lively dark eyes was sitting several places away. While they exchanged a discreet smile, Emma tried to remember his name. Mr. Henry Dowling, or maybe it was Harry. They had spoken once or twice before. If she remembered correctly, he held a position at a publishing company, but his real interest was collie dogs. He was known as one of the foremost breeders of collies in England. His charmingly sharp-featured face reminded her of Presto, her fox. Emma's smile widened for a second before she looked away. She still felt that he was staring at her, however, and a warm blush burned at the tops of her cheeks.

The meeting progressed through several speakers. There was a great deal of rustling paper as the members took notes or prepared their own speeches. The wooden chairs squeaked as legs were crossed and uncrossed. Once in a while there were interruptions as members sought to clarify certain statements or information. After the fourth speaker, it was Emma's turn. Lord Crowles, the president of the Society, asked for a report on the manual for animal-protection laws, and Emma's mouth went dry.

All at once the room seemed very quiet. Carefully Emma made her way to the front of the room, holding a thick sheaf of paper in her arms as if it were a shield. Her stomach flip-flopped with excitement and nerves. Hunching her shoulders defensively, she gripped the papers tightly and stared at the rows of faces before her. She was surprised to hear her voice come out clear and steady.

“Gentlemen, I have brought the proposed revisions for the animal-protection manual. It has been rewritten according to many wise and helpful suggestions from the distinguished officers of the Society. If the manual is found to be acceptable, then a large-scale printing will be ordered and distributed to the public.”