by Lisa Kleypas
“Your timing was impeccable. You picked the perfect opportunity to worm your way into her life, when she was vulnerable and hurt…” Stokehurst paused as a new thought occurred to him, and his rage seemed to double. “Have you dared to touch her? By God, I'll kill you!”
Nikolas kept his face expressionless. “Emma turned to me because she was unhappy. The life you've provided for her at Southgate isn't enough anymore. She's a woman, not a little girl. It's time for her to be married.”
“Not to you,” came the guttural reply.
“She won't agree to anyone else.”
Stokehurst's jaw twitched violently. “I'll find a way to stop this.”
“The harder you try, the faster she'll slip through your fingers.”
Nikolas watched him in the appalled silence that followed, knowing that of all the suffering Stokehurst had endured in his life, this blow was the hardest to take. Almost, Nikolas was tempted to feel a flicker of sympathy for the man. But life was full of unfairness. He himself had experienced a lion's share of it. “As I said, you have no choice,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Why are you doing this?” Stokehurst asked through his teeth. “Do you intend to use Emma as some sort of bargaining chip later on? Are you marrying her as revenge for something I've done?”
Nikolas laughed shortly and spread his hands wide in a gesture of openness. “I'm doing this for a simple reason. I want her. Dah sveedáhneeya, Stokehurst. Please inform your daughter I'll be calling on her in a few days.” He left the room without another word, satisfied that at last he would get his way.
Emma sat with Tasia in a nearby parlor, both of them occupying gilt chairs upholstered in slick rose damask. Tasia had been calm so far, but Emma could tell that her stepmother was desperately worried. She felt guilty about causing Tasia such distress, but it couldn't be helped. She would marry Nikolas, and eventually Tasia would agree that it had been the best decision.
“…I'm certain Nikolas must seem like a very romantic figure,” Tasia was saying. “He's experienced with women. He has a way of making them feel so desirable that they decide to trust him in spite of their better judgment. But he's not worthy of anyone's trust, Emma. Nikolas is a dangerous man. You don't know about the horrible things he has done, the things he's capable of—”
“Don't tell me,” Emma said abruptly. “There's no point. It's too late to change what's already been done.”
“What's already…” Tasia blanched. “Oh, Emma,” she faltered, “you haven't let him…you haven't…”
Emma's gaze lowered. “That's not important.” She didn't look up, even when she heard Tasia's swift intake of breath. “The fact is, I want to marry Nikolas. I want my own life. Whatever I'll have with him will be more than I've got now.”
“Don't be so certain. You've been accustomed to living with people who love you, and that's not something to take for granted. You're right—it doesn't matter if you slept with him. We'll never tell anyone. The important thing is to protect you, take you away—”
“I'm not going anywhere—”
“Let me speak,” Tasia said with such unusual sharpness that Emma quieted. “Nikolas is a different kind of man from any you've ever known. He'll betray you in a hundred ways without ever stopping to think about it. Everything he does is for his own pleasure, his own needs.” Tasia took Emma's hand and held it tightly. “Nikolas wasn't exiled from Russia because of treason, Emma. He killed a man in cold blood. And when he was questioned by the government officials and tortured to the point of death, I believe he lost the last part of his soul. No one can help him. Some things are damaged beyond anyone's ability to repair.”
Emma shrugged uncomfortably. “I know about the man he killed. I don't care what Nikolas has done in the past. I'm going to marry him.”
Tears sparkled in Tasia's eyes. “Please don't go through with this. You don't have to throw away all chance of happiness when you're still so young, when you have so much to give—”
Emma pulled her hand away. “I don't want to talk anymore. I've made my decision.”
Tasia's pale eyes were so intense that Emma almost flinched from their brightness. “You're doing this to punish Luke, aren't you? You want to pay him back for keeping you apart from Adam. But you'll end up hurting yourself more than anyone else.”
Emma hardened her jaw. “Papa made a mistake about Adam.”
“What if he did? Oh, Emma, you have so much to learn about forgiveness. Only the young can afford to feel so betrayed, so self-righteous, when their parents make mistakes. What if your father was wrong? Can you claim that you've never hurt or wronged him?”
“I never denied Papa someone he loved. I never took away the one person who would make him truly happy.”
“By removing yourself from his life, that's exactly what you will be doing. If you don't know how necessary you are to his happiness, then you don't understand anything about him.”
“All Papa needs is you, Tasia. Everyone knows that.”
Shock crossed her stepmother's face. “You know that's not true! Emma, what in heaven's name has happened to you?” At Emma's mulish silence, Tasia shook her head and sighed deeply. “We'll talk again later, when we've both had a chance to think.”
“I won't change my mind,” Emma said defiantly, watching Tasia walk out of the room.
Tasia returned to the library and saw that Nikolas had left. Her husband was standing at the window, staring out at the bright summer day. Sensing her presence, Luke spoke in a voice stripped of emotion. “He said I couldn't stop the marriage without losing her. He was right. If I don't allow it, they'll elope.”
“What if you send her away for a while?” Tasia suggested. “Perhaps she might stay with your sister in Scotland. Or your mother could take her on a tour abroad—”
“Nikolas will follow wherever I send her. The only way I can prevent this is to kill him—or lock my daughter in a room for the rest of her life.”
“I'll keep talking to Emma. Somehow I'll make her understand what kind of man Nikolas really is.”
“You can try,” he said tonelessly. “I don't think it will do any good.”
“Luke…” She approached him from behind, trying to slide her arms around his waist, but he stiffened.
“I need some time alone,” he said, facing away from her. “I need to think.” He shook his head and made an agonized sound. “My God, how I've failed Emma's mother. All the things Mary would have wanted for her daughter…and I've let it come to this.”
“You haven't failed anyone. You've been the most loving and generous father imaginable. This isn't your fault.” Tasia stroked the rigid line of his back. “Emma was born with so much spirit. She's stubborn and hot-tempered, but she has a loving heart, and she does learn from her mistakes.”
Luke turned to her then, his blue eyes glittering. “Not this mistake,” he said hoarsely. “This one will ruin her…and I'll be damned if I can do anything about it.”
After returning to the Angelovsky estate, Nikolas spent the afternoon reading the latest reports on his financial investments, then settled in for the evening with a bottle of chilled vodka. Wearing a gray silk dressing robe, lounging on the amber leather settee in his private suite, he paged idly through a volume of writings by Lermontov.
There was a hesitant tap on the door, and the muffled voice of his servant Karl. “Your Highness, there is a visitor from the Stokehurst household.”
Nikolas was mildly surprised by the news. “Is it Lady Emma?”
Karl peeked around the edge of the door, his fair Russian face drawn in perplexed lines. “No, Your Highness. Her stepmother, the duchess.”
Surprise deepened into astonishment, and Nikolas raised his brows inquiringly. Tasia hadn't paid him a private visit since his illness seven years ago, when she had nursed him back from the brink of death. “This should be interesting,” he said. “Bring her to me.”
He watched the door intently until Tasia appeared. Her face was as fragile and
pale as porcelain. As always, she was perfectly composed, her expression serene, every strand of her shining dark hair pinned smoothly in place. The lavender gown she wore was a perfect foil for the silvery blue of her eyes. She had looked exactly this way at age eighteen, with an otherworldly quality that had never failed to intrigue him.
“You're dressed in the color of mourning,” Nikolas said with a touch of mockery, standing as she entered the room. “But this is a time for celebration, Cousin Tasia.” He gestured to the refreshments beside him. “Vodka? Zakuski?”
Tasia shook her head at the sight of the “little snacks” so dear to a Russian's heart: slivers of buttered bread topped with caviar; tiny meat pies dotted with sour cream; sardines; pickles; all artfully arranged on a silver tray.
“At least have a seat,” Nikolas said.
Tasia remained standing. “You owe me,” she said quietly. “You admitted it all those years ago. You said the debt would last through your children's children. You believed I killed your brother, Mikhail—and of all the people calling for my execution, your voice was the loudest. When I escaped from Russia, you followed me to England, kidnapped me, and brought me back to St. Petersburg. You intended for me to die, to pay for a crime I didn't commit.”
“I was wrong,” Nikolas said impatiently. “I discovered my mistake, and I did my best to rectify it.”
“And then later,” Tasia continued without inflection, “when you were exiled and you came to England half-dead, I took care of you until you were well again. You might have died without my help.”
“I would have died,” he acknowledged gruffly.
“I've never asked you for anything in return—until now.”
“What are you asking, cousin?” Nikolas murmured, although he knew.
“Don't marry Emma. Leave England for good, and never see my stepdaughter again.”
“And what will it do to her, to have been abandoned by two men in such a short time?”
“Emma is young. She's stronger than you think. She'll recover in good form.”
His lips twisted in a half sneer. “Don't be a fool. If I leave her, she'll be devastated. At the very least she'll never trust a man again. She'll hate you and your self-righteous English husband. Is that what you want?”
Tasia's composure faltered, and a flush of rage crept over her face. “That might be better for her than to be destroyed by you, day by day, piece by piece, until nothing's left of her!”
“I'll be a better husband to Emma than any of the men she was likely to get.”
“Oh, a fine husband,” Tasia agreed acidly, “who's done nothing so far but manipulate and seduce her. I can scarcely wait to see what comes next. You may have good intentions, Nikolas—you may even have convinced yourself that you'll be an adequate husband—but in the end, Emma will be hurt by you. Because you can't change your nature. You've been shaped by a past filled with such pain and ugliness that it's warped you forever. Much of it wasn't your fault, but that doesn't matter. You are what you are. I understand why you want Emma. She has all the goodness and innocence and compassion you've never been able to feel. You intend to own her, and to keep her here along with all the other beautiful objects you've collected. But I ask you now to honor the debt you owe me. You must leave Emma alone.”
Tasia's gaze was so bright and searing that Nikolas was forced to turn away. He recognized the justice in her request. He had always paid his debts when the time came. It was a matter of honor, of self-respect. But to give up Emma…no. Anything else he could do, but not that.
His low voice broke the brittle silence. “I can't.”
Tasia smiled coldly, as if he had just confirmed the worst she had ever suspected about him. “You selfish bastard,” she whispered, and left the room.
If surprised Emma, how little her family argued with her about the betrothal to Nikolas Angelovsky. Certainly they made attempts to “talk sense” into her, which she met with stony silence. If she gave way even an inch, it would be an invitation for them to bully her into doing what they wanted. Her stubbornness appeared to be working. Her father and Tasia seemed to understand that she wouldn't settle for anything less than marrying Nikolas. In her heart Emma believed they would have ample opportunity to make peace later, when she was comfortably settled with Nikolas. They would see that she was content, and that their objections to the marriage had been wrong.
The wedding would take place in six weeks, a date which caused a flurry of gossip for its extreme precipitancy. Emma hadn't expected to enjoy the reactions of others so much, especially the jealousy and astonishment of all the women who came to call. They didn't bother to hide their amazement that Emma had landed Prince Nikolas Angelovsky, one of the most desirable catches in Europe.
“But, my dear, however did you manage it?” asked one of the inquisitive callers, Lady Seaford, a society matron whose own daughter was betrothed to a mere earl. “The prince never gave my Alexandra more than the merest glance—and she was quite the most attractive girl of the Season! Did he take an interest in you because of his kinship with your stepmother? Was that it?”
Emma smiled obliquely. “He did mention that I remind him of Russian women.”
Lady Seaford gave her a speculative stare over the rim of her teacup. “I had no idea the Russian women were of such, er, lofty stature. My darling Alexandra apparently never had a chance, being quite dainty and petite.”
Tasia interceded then, as Emma flinched at the remark. “Russian women are known for their spirit and strength of character, Lady Seaford,” Tasia said evenly, staring hard at the other woman. “Perhaps Prince Nikolas perceived Emma to have more of these qualities than your darling Alexandra.”
“Well!” Lady Seaford pursed her lips and settled into an offended silence.
Emma smiled gratefully at Tasia. Although Tasia objected privately to the marriage, in public she was as much Emma's champion as ever. She had even taken Emma to her favorite designer to have the wedding dress made. It would be fashioned of ivory silk, high-necked and trimmed with delicate panels of antique lace. Together Emma and Tasia planned the details of the ceremony, to be held in the chapel of Southgate Hall, and of the reception, in the gold-and-white ballroom.
Many of Emma's days were spent with an architect and a landscape gardener Nikolas had hired. They had designed a set of pens and buildings for her menagerie which would be constructed on the Angelovsky estate grounds. Even Tasia had admitted reluctantly that Nikolas appeared to have gone to great lengths to see to Emma's needs. He was having a suite of rooms redecorated to suit her taste, and had sent a bundle of swatches for her to look at. Emma chose an icy shade of pale blue for the walls, and sapphire brocade for the draperies and bed hangings.
On the days Nikolas didn't come to call, he sent flowers and gifts, ranging from a colored tin of sugar biscuits to an exquisite gold box stamped with the Angelovsky seal. One day he brought a necklace set with twenty diamonds, one for each year of Emma's age. Although Tasia had frowned at the inappropriateness of the gift, she had not suggested that Emma return it.
Emma was bewildered by Nikolas's attentiveness. His manner was utterly respectful as he sat a proper distance from her in the parlor, or watched her tend the animals in her menagerie. He talked to her almost as an older brother would, friendly and gently teasing. But the way he stared at her sometimes, his golden gaze alight with sexual interest as he noted her every move, made her nervous, for she was never certain what he might do. The surface was civilized, but underneath there was a passionate and unpredictable man. She still couldn't quite believe that Nikolas wanted her, but part of her understood the attraction, because she felt it too. Without loving him, she was fascinated by him, with an intensity she had never felt for anyone else.
The morning of the wedding, Emma was tense and terrified. Unwittingly her father provided the final impetus that pushed her past all indecision. Luke came to her room after she was fully dressed in her bridal attire. Emma turned away from the mirror, where s
he had been patting down the rebellious curls that had sprung around her face, and she smiled hesitantly.
She was tall and slender in the ivory dress, her hair gathered into a loose chignon and adorned with creamy white roses. She held her mother's tiny Bible in one hand, along with a lace handkerchief borrowed from Tasia. A necklace of three strands of pearls—a gift from Nikolas which had arrived that very morning—was clasped around her throat. Her father appeared to swallow hard, as if there were a lump in his throat. “You look very beautiful, Emma.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.
“I wish Mary could see you.”
Emma blinked in dismay, wondering if her mother would have approved of the match. She had been so young when Mary died, too young to have any distinct memories…only impressions of warmth, a musical voice, a wealth of red hair just like her own. Papa had always said he and Mary had loved each other. Perhaps her mother wouldn't have wanted her to marry Nikolas.
“Emma,” her father said quietly, “if you ever have regrets…if the time comes when you decide this was a mistake…you can always come back. I'll welcome you with open arms.”
“You're expecting me to regret this, aren't you?” she asked.
He didn't reply, but the way he averted his gaze was answer enough.
“My marriage will be fine,” Emma said coolly. “It won't be the kind you have with Tasia, but it will be quite satisfactory for me.”
“I hope so.”
“Do you?” she asked softly. “I'm not so sure of that, Papa.” Her spine stiffened with pride, and she decided right then that nothing would stop her from marrying Nikolas Angelovsky. But later, when they walked down the aisle together, there were unshed tears in her eyes.
Locked in her own dolorous silence, Emma remembered little of the wedding, except that it was short and devoid of joy. Nikolas was handsome but grave, making her realize that he considered the wedding nothing more than a necessary duty. For Emma, there was little feeling of spirituality in the ceremony, except for the reading of a passage from Ruth:…whither thou goest, I will go, And where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God…The eternal words of love, of commitment, seemed to carry the echo of a heavy door closing shut.