Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(33)

Tasia's gaze was so bright and searing that Nikolas was forced to turn away. He recognized the justice in her request. He had always paid his debts when the time came. It was a matter of honor, of self-respect. But to give up Emma…no. Anything else he could do, but not that.

His low voice broke the brittle silence. “I can't.”

Tasia smiled coldly, as if he had just confirmed the worst she had ever suspected about him. “You selfish bastard,” she whispered, and left the room.

If surprised Emma, how little her family argued with her about the betrothal to Nikolas Angelovsky. Certainly they made attempts to “talk sense” into her, which she met with stony silence. If she gave way even an inch, it would be an invitation for them to bully her into doing what they wanted. Her stubbornness appeared to be working. Her father and Tasia seemed to understand that she wouldn't settle for anything less than marrying Nikolas. In her heart Emma believed they would have ample opportunity to make peace later, when she was comfortably settled with Nikolas. They would see that she was content, and that their objections to the marriage had been wrong.

The wedding would take place in six weeks, a date which caused a flurry of gossip for its extreme precipitancy. Emma hadn't expected to enjoy the reactions of others so much, especially the jealousy and astonishment of all the women who came to call. They didn't bother to hide their amazement that Emma had landed Prince Nikolas Angelovsky, one of the most desirable catches in Europe.

“But, my dear, however did you manage it?” asked one of the inquisitive callers, Lady Seaford, a society matron whose own daughter was betrothed to a mere earl. “The prince never gave my Alexandra more than the merest glance—and she was quite the most attractive girl of the Season! Did he take an interest in you because of his kinship with your stepmother? Was that it?”

Emma smiled obliquely. “He did mention that I remind him of Russian women.”

Lady Seaford gave her a speculative stare over the rim of her teacup. “I had no idea the Russian women were of such, er, lofty stature. My darling Alexandra apparently never had a chance, being quite dainty and petite.”

Tasia interceded then, as Emma flinched at the remark. “Russian women are known for their spirit and strength of character, Lady Seaford,” Tasia said evenly, staring hard at the other woman. “Perhaps Prince Nikolas perceived Emma to have more of these qualities than your darling Alexandra.”

“Well!” Lady Seaford pursed her lips and settled into an offended silence.

Emma smiled gratefully at Tasia. Although Tasia objected privately to the marriage, in public she was as much Emma's champion as ever. She had even taken Emma to her favorite designer to have the wedding dress made. It would be fashioned of ivory silk, high-necked and trimmed with delicate panels of antique lace. Together Emma and Tasia planned the details of the ceremony, to be held in the chapel of Southgate Hall, and of the reception, in the gold-and-white ballroom.

Many of Emma's days were spent with an architect and a landscape gardener Nikolas had hired. They had designed a set of pens and buildings for her menagerie which would be constructed on the Angelovsky estate grounds. Even Tasia had admitted reluctantly that Nikolas appeared to have gone to great lengths to see to Emma's needs. He was having a suite of rooms redecorated to suit her taste, and had sent a bundle of swatches for her to look at. Emma chose an icy shade of pale blue for the walls, and sapphire brocade for the draperies and bed hangings.

On the days Nikolas didn't come to call, he sent flowers and gifts, ranging from a colored tin of sugar biscuits to an exquisite gold box stamped with the Angelovsky seal. One day he brought a necklace set with twenty diamonds, one for each year of Emma's age. Although Tasia had frowned at the inappropriateness of the gift, she had not suggested that Emma return it.

Emma was bewildered by Nikolas's attentiveness. His manner was utterly respectful as he sat a proper distance from her in the parlor, or watched her tend the animals in her menagerie. He talked to her almost as an older brother would, friendly and gently teasing. But the way he stared at her sometimes, his golden gaze alight with sexual interest as he noted her every move, made her nervous, for she was never certain what he might do. The surface was civilized, but underneath there was a passionate and unpredictable man. She still couldn't quite believe that Nikolas wanted her, but part of her understood the attraction, because she felt it too. Without loving him, she was fascinated by him, with an intensity she had never felt for anyone else.

The morning of the wedding, Emma was tense and terrified. Unwittingly her father provided the final impetus that pushed her past all indecision. Luke came to her room after she was fully dressed in her bridal attire. Emma turned away from the mirror, where she had been patting down the rebellious curls that had sprung around her face, and she smiled hesitantly.

She was tall and slender in the ivory dress, her hair gathered into a loose chignon and adorned with creamy white roses. She held her mother's tiny Bible in one hand, along with a lace handkerchief borrowed from Tasia. A necklace of three strands of pearls—a gift from Nikolas which had arrived that very morning—was clasped around her throat. Her father appeared to swallow hard, as if there were a lump in his throat. “You look very beautiful, Emma.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.

“I wish Mary could see you.”

Emma blinked in dismay, wondering if her mother would have approved of the match. She had been so young when Mary died, too young to have any distinct memories…only impressions of warmth, a musical voice, a wealth of red hair just like her own. Papa had always said he and Mary had loved each other. Perhaps her mother wouldn't have wanted her to marry Nikolas.