Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(28)

When they were both sated, Nikolas turned onto his stomach and slept, his face half-buried in the pillow. Only one faintly gleaming brow and one crescent of heavy lashes were visible. Emma reached over to smooth the hair that curled on the back of his neck, touching him so lightly that his sleep wasn't disturbed.

She felt sorry for any woman who would be foolish enough to love him—and there must have been more than a few. A man as beautiful and unattainable as Nikolas could easily break someone's heart. Not to mention his being powerful, mysterious…and so very much alone. Confused, Emma pillowed her head on her arms. Damn Adam for deserting her, and for letting her end up in this unimaginable situation. But he was gone for good now, and Nikolas Angelovsky wanted her. Would it be so terrible living as his wife? People married without love all the time.

She tried to imagine what kind of relationship they would have. She knew that he wanted her, but he wasn't the kind of man who could ever love someone. “You're not very good husband material,” she whispered, watching his peaceful face. “But then, I'm certainly not anyone's idea of a perfect wife.”

His fingers twitched as dreams pervaded his sleep, and a tiny frown settled between his brows. Emma realized that Nikolas had never seemed quite human to her until now. More like one of her exotic creatures: safe to admire from a distance, dangerous to come within arm's length. But Nikolas Angelovsky was just a man. He wasn't invulnerable. He was lonely, just as she was.

All at once the choice seemed easier.

She touched the side of his face, stroking the roughness of his night beard until he stirred. “Nikolas,” she murmured. “I have to go home now, while it's still dark.”

He raised himself on his forearms and shook his head to clear it. “I'll accompany you in my carriage.”

“No, I can ride—”

“It's not safe. I'll go with you.”

Emma considered the statement thoughtfully, then nodded. “I don't need time to think about your proposal, Nikki. I can give you an answer now. I…I will accept your offer.”

Nikolas showed no surprise or even happiness, but she sensed his satisfaction. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers. “I knew you would,” he said, so calmly that Emma almost laughed.

“I think I'd better be the first to break the news to my family. My father's first impulse may be to kill you.” Emma shivered in apprehension at the thought of her father's reaction. He would be furious. He would move heaven and earth to keep her from marrying Nikolas. He might even disown her.

“I've dealt with your father before,” Nikolas replied, his voice touched with irony. “He won't be a problem.”

Emma blinked at that and remained silent. One thought was foremost in her mind—that after she married Nikolas, no one would ever try to tell her what to do again.

Four

E MMA AWOKE IN her own bed the next morning, dream-fogged and puzzled. Daylight streamed in through the parted drapes, until its growing brightness made her head ache. Her body was sore in unaccustomed places. The confusion lasted for a second more, and then memory came flooding back. “God…” she whispered, her heart beginning to pound. She felt sick and giddy and afraid. She could not have done those intimate things with Nikolas. It must have been a dream.

But she remembered too many details…her desperate flight to Nikolas's home, his lovemaking, his marriage proposal…

She had said yes. Emma swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Had Nikolas really meant to propose? Had she been crazy to accept? Fearfully she thought of ways to make it all disappear. She would tell Nikolas she had been drunk, that she hadn't known what she was doing or saying. She would beg him, if necessary, to keep last night a secret. What had possessed her to do something so irresponsible? She had lost her innocence, and given Nikolas Angelovsky the power to ruin her life. “Oh, no,” she muttered, feeling nauseated. “Oh—”

“Miss Emma?” There came a discreet knock on the door, and Katie poked her head around the corner. The maid's expression was a study in bewilderment, and she stared at Emma as if her mistress were a stranger.

“What time is it?” Emma asked, rubbing her bleary eyes.

“It's eight o'clock, miss.”

Emma rolled onto her stomach. “I want to sleep for a while.”

“Yes, miss, but…His Highness Prince Nikolas is waiting downstairs. He arrived not a quarter hour ago, and sent me to wake you.”

Emma jerked upward with a gasp. Her body protested the sudden movement, and she closed her thighs against the unfamiliar ache. “Tell him to go away—no, no, wait. Tell him I'll see him. Have him wait in the parlor.”

Katie nodded and left the room, while Emma scrambled out of bed. Her hand trembled as she poured water from a porcelain jug into a flowered washbasin. She scrubbed herself until her skin was pink, then dressed in fresh underclothes. Wincing at the throbbing ache in her head, she dragged a brush through her hair and braided it in a thick rope that hung down her back. The maid returned to help her into a skirt of pale blue lawn and a delicate white blouse with a sapphire bow at the throat. Emma glanced at her flushed reflection in the mirror and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

Did Nikolas intend to take back his proposal? Her mouth tightened in offended pride at the thought. Whatever he had to say, she would be ready for him. She would be cool and composed, and if he made any threats or jeering remarks, she would laugh disdainfully.