Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(85)

“Emma,” he said softly, releasing her hair.

She jerked back and stared at him, shaking her head. Before he could say a word, she strode away rapidly, trying to keep herself from breaking into an outright run.

After midnight, when Emma was sleeping soundly, Nikolas entered her sitting room. He stared at her bedroom door, left partially ajar. He imagined he could hear the soft sound of her breathing. Slowly he sat on a velvet-covered chair and picked up one of the carved animals in the little menagerie he had given her. The amber tiger, its small, sleek body warming in his hands. Drawing his finger along the polished back of the figurine, Nikolas continued to stare into the shadows of his wife's bedroom. He was transfixed with lust and loneliness, knowing her warm body was so near. But he wouldn't take her until she welcomed him, loved him, as Emelia had.

“Emelia, what happened to you?” he whispered in Russian, closing his hand around the tiger in a tight grip. He had questioned the family servants, including the Sidarova sisters, to find out if they knew anything about Emelia beyond the familiar old tale, but they had no more stories to impart. Subsequently he had hired one of the curators of the British Museum, Sir Vincent Almay, to travel to Russia and examine both private and public records to determine the fate of Princess Emelia. Nikolas didn't believe his family would interfere with Almay's search. Perhaps one of his sisters might even help in the quest. Until he knew what had become of his wife, Nikolas would never be at peace.

If only he could have done more for Emelia, protected her…

He forced himself to stay in the chair, though he ached with the need to go to Emma and wrap her in his arms. You promised you would remember, he thought fiercely, staring into his wife's room. You said you would know me.

The next day Emma received a surprise visitor while Nikolas and Jake were away on one of their rambles through London. As she enjoyed a last cup of tea after a hearty breakfast, she was approached by the butler, Stanislaus, who presented a silver tray with a calling card positioned exactly in the center. Emma's eyes widened as she saw Lord Adam Milbank's name on the card.

“Shall I send him away, Your Highness?” Stanislaus asked.

“No,” she said distractedly. “Show Lord Milbank into the drawing room.”

The butler's Slavic features showed no expression, but his black brows inched upward toward his shock of white hair. “Very well.”

Emma smoothed her hair, which had been braided with green silk ribbons and pinned to the nape of her neck. She yanked her forest-green velvet dress into place, straightening the bustle in back and the silk draperies in front as she hurried to the drawing room. Why would Adam call on her, especially considering his loathing of her husband? Perhaps he wanted to discuss the past with her, or even reestablish his friendship with her, though for what purpose she couldn't fathom. It didn't matter—his presence here suited her purposes without a doubt. Nikolas would find out about it, and he would be infuriated. She wanted her husband to feel some of the hurt and wounded pride he had made her feel in the past. Perhaps it was wrong to use Adam toward that end, but she didn't care. She had been used by both of them, Adam and Nikolas, and it was time the tables were turned.

Stanislaus guided Adam Milbank to the drawing room, and inquired if there was anything Emma required.

“Tea, please,” she said, and the butler left them with a quiet murmur. Emma approached Adam, the man she had always considered the love of her life, with outstretched hands. “Adam,” she said with a smile. “I had intended to write you a letter and invite you to tea. How nice to see you!”

Clearly surprised by her welcome, he took her hands and gripped them lightly. His boyish face looked troubled, but his brown eyes were alight with hope. “I had merely intended to leave a card—”

“No, stay and have some tea with me,” she insisted. “If you have time, that is.”

“There could be no better use for my time.” Adam walked farther into the room, carrying his hat and riding whip. He shook his head in wonder as he glanced at his surroundings. “All this luxury, and yet you look quite at home here.”

“It is my home,” Emma said with a light laugh. “But I haven't changed all that much. I spend most of my time in the menagerie with the usual bill of players—Manchu, Cleo, Presto—”

“How are your animals?”

“Oh, they've taken to their surroundings quite well.”

“And you?”

Her smile faded, and she seated herself in a chair with embroidered cushions, carefully arranging her skirts. “I still have some adjusting to do,” she said honestly. “Nikolas is very…confusing. He's not easy to understand, or to live with.”

“Does he make you happy, Emma?”

It was far too intimate a conversation for a man and a woman married to other people to be having. However, their past relationship made it far too easy for Emma to slip back into the habit of talking to Adam comfortably.

“No…but I'm not as unhappy as I thought I might be. It's impossible to explain.”

Adam sat beside her, his brown eyes melancholy as he looked at her. He took a long breath. “I've thought about you quite a lot after our last conversation. There were other things I wanted to tell you, but there didn't seem to be time. All I could think about then was how much I wanted you to know the truth about what your husband did to us. Before I saw you again, I wanted you to have a chance to reflect on it.”