Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(46)

“He's the only one.” A headache pounded in Nikolas's temples, etching lines of pain across his forehead. “Now, if your display of righteous indignation is over, kindly leave me to deal with the situation.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I intend to send the boy away as soon as I find a suitable family to take care of him. Don't worry, you won't be bothered with his presence for long.”

“You mean you won't be,” Emma said, and left the library with rapid strides. “Cynical…heartless…monster,” she said through her teeth.

She had thought more of Nikolas than this. What kind of man would have no feelings for his own son? Her skirts dragged the ground as she went outside. It didn't matter that she wasn't dressed appropriately to go to the menagerie. She didn't care if her clothes were ruined. She needed to be near her animals.

Entering one of the cool whitewashed buildings, she went to Manchu's pen and sat on the floor by the bars. Manchu lay half in, half out of his pool, wriggling like a great tomcat when he saw her. “Hello,” Emma said, resting her head against an iron bar. She closed her eyes and fought back tears. “Tasia was right. I wouldn't admit that to anyone but you, Manchu. Nikolas doesn't care about anyone but himself. And the worst thing is, he's never lied to me. He's never pretended to be anything other than the unfeeling bastard he is.”

Manchu crept closer and watched her, his head slightly cocked as if he were considering the situation. “What's to be done now?” Emma asked. “Just because Nikolas wants to be rid of Jacob doesn't mean I don't owe him something. Poor little boy without a home, no mother…but I'm certainly not fit to be anyone's mother. And I could never look at him without remembering that he's Nikolas's bastard. It's revolting, and unfair. But…if Jacob were an animal, I'd take him in without another thought. Shouldn't I be willing to do at least as much for a little boy? He's as much a misfit as you or I, Manchu. I suppose I feel some sort of obligation to him, even if Nikolas doesn't.”

The house was quiet when Emma went back inside, except for the mournful notes of a Russian dirge being whistled by a footman as he carried freshly polished silver urns to the dining room. “Vasily,” she said, and the footman turned with a start.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Where is the little boy?”

“I believe he is in the kitchen, Your Highness.”

Emma walked down the hallway into the kitchen complex, which included a scullery, a pastry room, several pantries, a servants' dining room, and the kitchen proper, a barn of a place with a rectangular wooden worktable in the center. Kitchen maids worked in the scullery, washing dishes and polishing pots, while others were busy making cakes and biscuits.

Emma felt a twinge of unwanted pity as she saw Jacob's small form at the wooden table, his short legs dangling from the edge of his chair. There was a plate of stew and lamb dumplings before him, apparently untouched. He stared at the cooling stew without expression while he wiggled one small foot.

At Emma's unexpected entrance, the cook and kitchen maids looked up in confusion. “Your Highness,” the cook exclaimed, “is there anything you want?”

“No, thank you,” Emma said pleasantly. “Please, go on with your work.” She approached the table and leaned her hip on it, smiling as she saw the child's gaze flicker over the dirt on her clothes. “Not hungry?” she asked casually. “I'm sure the food tastes a little different from what you're used to. Why don't you try one of those white rolls, Jake? They're plain and soft.”

Solemn golden eyes stared into hers. He picked up a roll, his small fingers digging into the bread.

“It must be frightening, traveling to a new place and not knowing anyone.” Emma watched in approval as he took a bite of the roll, and then another. He appeared to be well nourished. His skin was a healthy golden-pink color, and his teeth were strong and white. What a beautiful child, she thought, noticing the exotic dark slashes of his brows and the bristly crescents of his lashes.

The boy spoke for the first time, in a thick country accent. “‘E doesn't want to be my papa.”

Emma tried to think of some lie, some made-up story to comfort him, but the truth was always best. “No, it seems he doesn't,” she said gently. “But I'm going to make certain you're taken care of, Jake. And I'd like to be your friend. My name is Emma.”

The little boy was silent, picking soft clumps of bread from inside the roll and eating them in little balls.

Emma watched him with friendly sympathy. “Do you like animals, Jake? I have a menagerie on the estate where I keep old and sick animals. There are horses, a chimpanzee, a wolf, a fox—even a tiger. Would you like to come with me and have a look at them?”

“Yes.” Jacob put down the hollowed-out roll and slid off the chair, looking up at her curiously. “You're tall,” he remarked, and Emma laughed.

“I forgot to stop growing,” she replied with a wink. But the boy didn't wink or smile in return, only fixed her with a wary stare. Such a mirthless child, so full of suspicion and isolation. So like his father.

Jacob was an odd child, bright but uneducated, filled with unexpressed emotions. He didn't seem to care for the company of other people, although he tolerated Emma's presence more than anyone else's. After a great deal of effort, she coaxed him to join in one of her romps with Samson, but Jacob was self-conscious, and awkward with the concept of play. He never mentioned his mother or the village where he had grown up, and Emma decided not to push him into talking about his past.