Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(75)

Emelia was too shocked to notice anything outside of her own grief. She obeyed without a word as Nikolas took her home, and she snuggled against him in the sleigh like a frightened child. Nikolas held her securely, occasionally murmuring against her hair. His thoughts and emotions boiled down to numb resignation.

They had been doomed from the beginning, he reflected. The daughter of a strelets rebel and an adviser to the tsar; such a pairing would never have been feasible. But if he had it to do all over again, he would still have married her.

He was no fool, and he was well aware that he was no longer protected by a friendship with Peter. After what had happened tonight, Emelia would soon be forcibly taken to the Kremlin and interrogated about her past and her political beliefs—which would most likely involve some form of torture. Nikolas would kill her himself before letting that occur. Complicating matters was the possibility that by now Emelia could be pregnant. He had to ensure that she would be safe, even if he were unable to protect her himself.

The thought of a baby—his child—filled Nikolas with anguished wonder. A small, perfect being, so much hope and innocence contained in one helpless package…

“My God,” he whispered soundlessly, for the first time letting himself think about Jacob. His son, alone and unloved in the future, needing a father's protection…“My God, I made such a mistake.” He had never allowed himself to feel anything toward his illegitimate child, and all of a sudden he ached to hold the boy, to reassure him that he was safe, that he belonged somewhere.

Nikolas kissed his wife's temple, his lips brushing past the wispy red curls. He pressed silent words on her skin. If we meet again in the future, I'll make it up to you. And to him. I'll love you both, I swear it.

When they arrived home, Nikolas paused in the entrance hall long enough to inform Sidarov about what had occurred. The steward was stricken, his face turning pale with fear and regret. “Your Highness, I never intended to cause trouble—”

“It's all right,” Nikolas said. “You were only trying to serve my wife. Besides, it would have come to this no matter what you did. It's all in God's hands, Feodor.”

“But what will happen now?”

“I believe they'll come for us soon,” Nikolas replied, feeling Emelia's body tense against his. She shivered and looked at him with startled eyes. He kept his attention on Sidarov. “Listen to me, Feodor. I will help my wife pack some of her belongings, and then I want to you leave with her immediately. Take her to the Novodevichy Convent, understand? The same one where the tsar's sister Sophia was exiled. They will offer Emelia refuge.” Nikolas turned to his wife. “You'll be able to leave there when it's safe. Sidarov will help you to find a place in the country to live.”

Emelia's face was horror-stricken. “No,” she whispered. It was the only word her shaking lips could form.

Nikolas glanced at Sidarov. “You'll do as I ask?”

The servant nodded and turned away with an inarticulate sound.

Emelia spoke frantically as Nikolas brought her upstairs to their room. “Nikki, please don't send me away! This isn't necessary—”

“If it isn't, then I'll come to the convent and bring you home myself.” He kept his hand at the small of her back. “But we're in trouble, ruyshka. I want you to be safe.”

She began to cry as she trudged up the stairs. “If only I hadn't asked Sidarov to find my family—”

“That has nothing to do with this. I have enemies, led by Menshikov, who have influenced the tsar against me. Perhaps my marriage to you made things a little easier for them, but it would have happened sooner or later. It's fate, Emelia.” His own emotions surged in a wave of denial and longing, but he managed to control them. He had to help his wife accept what would happen, or she would blame herself forever.

“I won't go anywhere without you,” Emelia said in a low voice. “You can't make me leave.”

“What good would that do?” he asked softly. “I can bear anything as long as I know that you're all right. And there is a chance that we've conceived a child by now. Would you put our baby at risk?” He knew from the sound of her indrawn breath that the possibility hadn't occurred to her. “If you are pregnant, the baby will be in danger. As the offspring of a suspected traitor, not to mention the heir to the Angelovsky titles and holdings, he'll be a target for everyone. No one must know about him, not even the rest of the family, until he's old enough to protect himself—”

“Why are you talking like this?” she burst out, weeping angrily. “If you're trying to frighten me, you've succeeded very well! I'm sorry for everything I've done—I'm sorry I ever came into your life and ruined it!”

“No, no…” Nikolas drew her into their room and closed the door. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight, comforting hold. “Don't ever say that. You're the only thing that gives my life meaning. Emelia…don't regret loving me.”

Still crying, she returned his embrace fiercely.

“We have to pack your things,” Nikolas said after a moment. “We don't have time—”

She turned her face and pressed her mouth to his, her lips tasting of tears. His thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, and he responded involuntarily, clasping her body against his until her br**sts flattened between them. It was only then that he realized how fast his heart was pounding, had been pounding ever since the Christmas ball. He was terrified for her sake, and equally afraid of the moment when he would have to part from her. He cupped her face in his hands, savoring the shape of her determined chin, her delicately angled cheekbones.