Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(9)

Luke lounged on the hearthrug, staring into the fireplace while Tasia leaned back against his chest. They shared a brandy, sipping from the same glass, occasionally kissing to share the flavor. The sitting room, attached to their private suite, was filled with golden fireglow.

“Where are the children?” Luke asked.

Tasia swirled the brandy in the snifter and offered him another sip, gently tilting the crystal rim against his mouth. “The boys are playing in the nursery. It's almost time for their baths…I suppose I should go up to them now.”

“Not just yet.” His large hand closed over her arm. “This is my favorite part of evening, when I have you all to myself.”

Tasia laughed and nuzzled the soft spot beneath his bristled jaw. “I really must go help Nurse, or the boys will splash water everywhere. And I want to check on Emma. She's been closed up in her room all day. I had Cook send up supper for her, but I don't know if she touched it.”

Luke scowled slightly. “Probably pining over Milbank.”

“Probably.”

“I was certain Emma would have gotten over him by now. Can't we do something to hurry it along?”

“Obviously you have never suffered the pangs of unrequited love,” Tasia said dryly.

“I did with you.”

“Hardly! You decided you loved me, and two days later you came to my bed.”

“It was the longest two days of my life.”

Tasia laughed at his heartfelt tone. She set aside the brandy and slid her arms around his waist. Her hands settled lightly on his muscled back. “And we've been together almost every night since.”

“Except for Nikolas Angelovsky's interference,” Luke said darkly.

“Shhh.” Tasia pressed her lips to his. “We agreed to forgive and forget about all that. It's been seven years.”

“I haven't forgotten.”

“And you don't seem to have forgiven either.” Tasia stared into his narrow sapphire eyes and shook her head slowly. “You, my darling, are the second most stubborn person I've ever known.”

“Only the second?”

“I think Emma may actually surpass you by a narrow margin.”

Luke leaned over her and grinned. “The Stokehurst blood,” he informed her. “Neither one of us can help being stubborn.”

Tasia giggled, turning her face to avoid his kisses. “The Stokehurst blood is your excuse for everything!”

He used his weight to hold her down, and nibbled amorously on her throat as she squirmed beneath him. “Stubborn and very passionate…Let me show you.”

“I've already had ample demonstration,” she said, gasping with laughter.

All at once their play was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Tasia looked in that direction and had an upside-down view of Emma's tall figure. She drew apart from her husband, struggling to a sitting position. “Emma, dear…” She paused and blinked as she saw the girl's face, white and brittle, as if she'd received some dreadful shock. Luke must have seen it at the same instant, for he sat up and said his daughter's name in a questioning tone.

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Emma said coldly.

“What's the matter?” Tasia asked in concern. “Has something happened? You look upset—”

“I'm all right.” Opening her fist, Emma tossed a sheet of crumpled paper at Luke's feet. The firelight played across it in flickers of red and gold. “I hope this pleases you, Papa.”

Silently Luke picked up the letter, while his eyes remained on his daughter's drawn face.

“Read it,” Emma said tersely. “It's from Adam. He's given up any hope of marrying me. He's leaving the country for a while. Thanks to you, I'll never have anyone.” The tiny muscles of her cheeks twitched violently. “I'll never forgive you for taking away my only chance to be loved.”

There was a troubled look on Luke's face. “Adam Milbank didn't love you,” he said quietly.

Emma's mouth curved in a bitter twist. “Who are you to decide that? What if he did? What if it was real love? Can you be so certain you haven't made a mistake? My father, so noble, so wise…so bloody damn perfect that you can see inside a man's heart and judge him in a glance! It must be nice to be absolutely infallible!”

Luke didn't answer.

“You don't want me to be married,” Emma continued in rising vehemence, “unless it's to some spineless puppet whom you can control as you do everyone else—”

“That's enough,” Tasia interrupted.

Emma's anguished gaze turned on her. “You don't think I've hurt my father, do you? You have to love someone in order to be hurt by their words—and I'm not privileged to be on the very short list of people Papa cares about.”

“That's not true,” Luke said, his voice rusty. “I love you, Emma.”

“Really? I thought loving someone meant wanting them to be happy. Well, you can keep your so-called love, Papa. I've had enough of it for a lifetime.”

“Emma—”

“I hate you.” A visible shudder of emotion ran through her body. In the blanket of silence that descended, she turned and walked away.