Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(64)

“Oh.” She frowned nervously and plucked at the sleeves of her peasant dress. “I…I have nothing to wear except a sarafan.”

“That will be fine.”

“It's not modern. It's not fashionable.”

“We'll have some gowns made for you. In the meantime, wear the sarafan.”

“Yes, Nikolai.”

His gaze remained on her face as he noticed that her skin looked strangely pasty. “Come closer,” he said abruptly.

Emelia obeyed with shuffling footsteps, coming to stand by his desk. Nikolas rose to his feet and inspected her face. A heavy application of powder had covered the soft, natural blush of her skin, rendering it dull and chalky. Gently Nikolas drew a finger across her cheek, leaving a silken trail in the white coating. A few grains of powder were caught in the auburn crescents of her lashes.

“Prince Golorkov's wife gave it to me,” Emelia said. “All the court ladies use powder. It's to cover my spots.”

“Spots?” Nikolas repeated, bemused. “You mean these?” He drew another trail at the crest of her cheek, uncovering a scattering of golden freckles. “I like your freckles. Don't try to cover them.”

She gave him a dubious glance. “No one likes them. Including me.”

“I do.” Smiling slightly, Nikolas nudged her under the chin with his finger.

“May I stay and watch you for a while?” Emelia asked impulsively. “Everyone is so busy, and I have nothing to do.”

Nikolas sensed that she shared the same trapped, restless feeling that had plagued him all morning. “Would you like to take a ride through the city? I thought I might go to Kitaigorod.”

Emelia's eyes brightened at the mention of the Kremlin-area marketplace, where all the finest retail shops were located. “I've never been there before!”

He was amused by her excitement. “Then hurry and find your cloak. And wash your face.”

Emelia bounded away enthusiastically, while Nikolas instructed the servants to ready the carriage-sleigh. When Emelia met him at the front entrance, she was bundled in old, heavy shawls that were wrapped around her in bulky layers. Nikolas reached out to draw one of the garments more closely around her neck. “Don't you have a cloak, child?”

“No, but these are very warm. I'll hardly feel the cold at all.”

Nikolas frowned as he surveyed the collection of tattered shawls. “We'll add a cloak to the list of things you need.”

“I'm sorry, Nikolai,” she said earnestly. “I have no dowry, no clothes…I've come to you with nothing.”

“I wouldn't say that,” he replied softly, staring into her brilliant blue eyes. The backs of his fingers accidentally brushed against the downy skin of her throat. Nikolas paused, his fingers tingling from the contact. He was achingly aware of the slim, elegant form hidden beneath the layers of cloth. He wanted to take her upstairs and undress her, and hold her na**d body against his. His blood raced uncontrollably. But he couldn't make love to her, no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn't risk making her pregnant, or the ill-fated future of the Angelovsky family would repeat itself.

“Come,” he murmured, escorting her to the carriage outside. “Let's have a look at Moscow.”

Emelia hesitated only briefly before agreeing to share the fur blanket with him in the carriage. Tucked together in a snug cocoon, their feet warmed by hot stones, they rode through the city toward the Kremlin. Nikolas was amazed at the differences he saw in the ancient fortress. Although the familiar red brick walls were there, as well as the cluster of onion-domed towers, the Grand Kremlin Palace had not yet been built. The Tsar Bell, the largest in the world, had not yet been cast or even designed. Huge icons hung over the gates of the steep red brick walls, in an appeal for God's grace and protection.

“It's quite amazing,” Emelia remarked, following his gaze out the window. “To think of what goes on in there…” Her face hardened for a moment. “The tsar and the government officials can sit safely behind those walls, and with one stroke they can change the life of everyone outside. Peter wants a war, and so thousands must die in his service. Peter wants a new city by the Baltic Sea—and men like my uncle and brothers are conscripted to work on it. So many have died, doing the tsar's will. My uncle and brothers will probably die there too.”

“You can't be certain of that.”

“Petersburg is a very dangerous place. There are accidents, disease, even wild animals. Wolves roam the streets at night there, you know. The tsar was wrong to make my family go there against their will. He may be a wise and great man, but I think he's also very selfish!” Emelia stopped and darted a wary glance at him, wondering at his reaction to her impulsive speech.

“That's treasonous talk,” Nikolas said quietly.

“I'm sorry—”

“Don't be. You may say anything you like to me, as long as no one else overhears. People are arrested and executed for any hint of rebellion.”

“Yes, I know.” She stared at him curiously. “You won't punish me for saying things against the tsar?”

Nikolas snorted, thinking of all the suffering he'd received at the Imperial government's hands. “Hardly. Everyone—male or female—is entitled to an opinion.”