Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(23)

Her encounters with him had become more and more confusing. She had never experienced so many conflicting feelings about one person. He was challenging, charming—and frightening. She had heard the rumors of his affairs, a multitude of discreet, short-lived relationships with society women. That was the kind Nikolas liked—cool, elegant creatures who were bored with their lifeless marriages. Why had he decided to bother with her? What could his motives be?

Well, it was over now. Nikolas was out of her life, just as surely as Adam Milbank was. She lifted one long, soapy leg and viewed it with a critical eye. If she were petite and fragile, would Adam have stayed with her? Emma dropped her leg with a splash and sighed. If only she had been beautiful enough, Adam wouldn't have let anything stand in the way of having her…not her father, not money, not anything. “If only I were like Tasia,” she said aloud. Tasia was small and delicate, with an exquisite beauty that fascinated men. Suppressing a twinge of envy, Emma scooped handfuls of hot water over her neck and shoulders.

Now that she had lost Adam, she would become a dried-up old spinster, never knowing what it was like to be with a man, to give herself to him in passion and fall asleep in his arms. She could take a lover, but the thought of that filled her with melancholy. How lonely it would feel, sharing a bed with a man she didn't love, a physical exchange in which their emotions and souls were left untouched.

“Miss Emma?” A voice interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at the doorway, where her maid, Katie, stood with an armload of freshly warmed towels and a white linen robe. “Finished with your bath yet, miss?”

“I suppose I am.” Emma stood up and reached for one of the towels, wrapping it around her body as she stepped from the tub.

Katie blotted her shoulders with another towel, and helped her into the robe. “Shall I run downstairs and tell Cook what you'd like for supper, Miss Emma?”

“I'm not very hungry tonight.”

“Oh, but you must have something, miss!”

Emma smiled and nodded reluctantly. “All right, I'll have tea and toast in my room. And I'd like something to read. Please bring a copy of the Times.”

“Yes, miss.”

Emma walked barefoot into her suite of rooms and sat at her dressing table. She pulled the pins from her hair and unbraided it, luxuriously massaging her fingers over her sore scalp. Methodically she worked a brush through her long, curly hair, smoothing out tangles and snarls until her arm was tired. After placing the brush in one of the dressing table's intricate compartments, she stared at her reflection in the gold-framed mirror.

An ordinary face, she thought. Pale skin with freckles, a straight nose, a sharp chin. The only thing that pleased her were her blue eyes, identical to her father's, except that her lashes were auburn instead of black.

Nikolas Angelovsky had said she was desirable. He had called her beautiful. Had Adam ever said such things to her? Emma couldn't remember such an occasion. Frowning, she went over to her silk-covered bed and curled up on the blue counterpane. She propped her back against a brocaded pillow, lost in thought until Katie arrived with the tea tray.

“Here, Miss Emma…tea, toast, and the Times.”

“Thank you, Katie.” She watched as the maid set the tray beside her on the bed.

Katie gave her a look of friendly concern. “Everything all right, miss? You seem a bit peaked tonight.”

“I'm fine. It was a very long day.” Picking up a slice of buttered toast, Emma managed to produce one of her usual impish grins, then took a large bite of toast. Looking reassured, the maid left the room.

Emma poured tea from a tiny porcelain pot into a flowered cup and stirred in a heaping spoonful of crushed sugar. She took a sip, relishing the strong tea. Flipping open the paper, she scanned the long columns and lingered on items of interest.

Her attention was snared by something near the bottom of an inside page, an announcement nearly hidden in a sea of lines and letters. She started at it in mild surprise. As the words began to make an impression on her mind, the ink seemed to grow blacker and spread before her eyes like a bloodstain. A brittle sound left her lips. The teacup shook in her hand, until there were splashes of burning liquid on her fingers and wrist. Somehow she set the cup in its place, and arranged it on the saucer with unnatural concentration. She looked at the paper again…no, it couldn't be true; it was some horrible joke, a lie. During his recent travels abroad, Viscount Adam Milbank became betrothed to Miss Charlotte Brixton, renowned as the American enamelware heiress…

“You couldn't have, Adam,” Emma whispered. “It's only been a few weeks. You wouldn't forget me that quickly…you wouldn't betray me like this.”

But the printed words loomed crazily in front of her, and the pain in her chest kept growing. She needed help. She needed someone…some rational voice to keep her from going mad. She had never felt such pain in her life. She couldn't bear it alone. Blinding tears dropped from her eyes. Stumbling from the bed, she rubbed her shaking hands over her wet face, and searched for her trousers and shirt. When she was finally dressed, she pulled on a hooded cloak and strode from her room.

Katie passed her in the hall leading to the main staircase and stopped in astonishment. “Miss Emma, what are you—”

“I'm going out,” Emma said hoarsely, keeping her face hidden in the deep hood of the cloak. “I don't know when I'll return. And if you say a word to anyone that I've left, I'll have you dismissed.”