Prince of Dreams

by Lisa Kleypas

  It was only afterward, at the forced cheerfulness of the reception, that Emma began to breathe easier. There was much toasting and dancing, and a wedding feast of English and Russian dishes. The cake was a towering concoction ornamented with flowers, birds, and cherubs all made from sparkling crushed sugar. Finally, as the evening ripened, it was time for the newlyweds to leave, and they rushed to a waiting carriage in a stinging shower of rice and congratulations.

  Once in the carriage, Emma dissolved in a fit of dismayed laughter and shook her head, sending a scattering of rice everywhere. Nikolas combed his fingers through his hair, trying in vain to get rid of the grains caught in his thick blond-brown locks.

  “I think we'll be fertile,” Emma said, and Nikolas laughed at the unmaidenly comment.

  “I never doubted it, ruyshka.”

  His expression made her blush. She ducked her head and asked abashedly, “How many children will you want?”

  “As many as God sees fit to bestow.”

  Emma fingered the ring he had given her, an ostentatious blood red ruby surrounded by diamonds. “Thank you for this,” she said. “It's lovely.”

  “Do you like it? Your expression was rather strange when you first saw the ring during the ceremony.”

  “I was surprised,” she said honestly. “I've never had a jewel this large.”

  Nikolas smiled, reaching for her slender hand and toying with her long fingers. “You'll own many larger than this. Your hands were made for wearing jewels.”

  “Yes, I need them to cover all the animal bites,” she said, pulling her hand away.

  Nikolas bent down and lifted her feet into his lap, forcing her to rest her long legs across his.

  “Nikki,” she protested, squirming as he removed her low-heeled satin slippers. “What are you doing?”

  “I'm making you comfortable until we reach the estate.” He began to knead her silk-covered ankles and feet, ignoring her protests.

  “I don't want to be comfortable. I…” She winced as he gently rubbed her sore arches, and found herself relaxing back against the velvet cushions. “My feet are too big,” she murmured.

  “They're enchanting.” Nikolas pressed the sole of her right foot into the lee of his thighs. Emma started as she felt the hard length of his arousal against her sole, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to move away.

  The blissful interlude ended as they approached the Angelovsky manor, and Nikolas slipped the shoes back onto her feet. Emma was filled with wonder as she realized that this palatial residence was her new home. The huge circular ballroom with its endless rows of columns and mirrors, the spacious rooms lined in gold and precious stones, the countless suites and galleries and glass-paneled rooms…all of it was hers, to wander through at will.

  “Princess Emma,” Nikolas said, as if he could read her mind. “Will it take long for you to get used to the title?”

  “I may never get used to it,” she answered, making a face.

  The carriage stopped in front of the wide staircase leading up to the door. Nikolas assisted Emma from the carriage. There was a sudden flurry of servants: footmen rushing to open the door, the butler waiting to greet them, a view of the maids gathering in the entrance hall.

  Nikolas led her to the threshold and gestured to the waiting butler. “You know Stanislaus, of course, from the other times you've visited.”

  Emma turned crimson at the memory of the last time, when she had stayed the night with Nikolas.

  The butler's face remained reassuringly impassive. He spoke in lightly accented English. “Your Highness, the household offers its sincere wishes for your happiness. We hope to serve you well.”

  “Thank you, Stanislov, er, Stanlisl—” Emma looked up at him apologetically. “I'll practice your name until I can say it right.”

  Before the butler could reply, Nikolas scooped Emma up in his arms, lifting her high against his chest. She gasped in surprise. “What are you doing?”

  “Carrying you across the threshold,” Nikolas replied. “It's an English tradition, yes?”

  “Only when the bride happens to be smaller than the groom! Don't—I'm too heavy! Please put me down—”

  “Stop struggling, or I'll drop you.”

  Emma groaned in an agony of embarrassment as Nikolas carried her inside the manor and through the entrance hall, past the waiting staff. There were a few murmurs and giggles as the servants watched their master proceed to the staircase that led to the upstairs suites.

  “Aren't you going to introduce me to them?” Emma asked, glancing back at the waiting group.

  “Tomorrow. Tonight I want to be alone with you.”

  “I can walk the rest of the way. You'll hurt your back.”

  “This is nothing,” he scoffed. “I've carried deer across my shoulders that weighed twice as much as you.”

  “How flattering!” Emma was silent with mortification the rest of the way. Nikolas brought her to the new suite he had decorated for her, and set her down in the middle of the bedroom.

  “Oh,” she said breathlessly, turning in a slow circle.

  “If you don't like it, we'll have it changed.”

  “Change?” she repeated dazedly. “I wouldn't dream of it.” The suite, with separate rooms for receiving visitors, changing clothes, bathing, and sleeping, was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen before. It was suitable for royalty, decorated in shades of blue and lined with glass columns. Priceless artwork in heavy silver frames adorned the walls. A Russian heating stove covered with rose-lavender tiles occupied a place in the corner. The bed was enormous, covered in dark blue, embroidered silk and piled high with tasseled pillows.

  Opening the door of a mahogany armoire, Emma found it empty except for a few articles of her trousseau that had been sent a few days before. “Where are your clothes?” she asked in surprise.

  “My suite is at the other end of the wing.”

  “We won't be sharing a room?”

  Nikolas shook his head, and Emma blushed at her mistake. Her father and Tasia always shared a bed, beginning and ending each day in each other's arms. Naively Emma had assumed that Nikolas would desire the same arrangement. If he stayed in his own separate suite, they would miss all the little intimacies that made a husband and wife comfortable with each other. But apparently Nikolas didn't want such familiarity. Perhaps it was better this way…or perhaps someday he might change his mind.

  She wandered over to a mahogany table covered with a collection of small, carved figurines. A smile appeared on her face as she picked up one of the objects, a white coral swan with a gold beak and sapphire eyes. There was a malachite frog, a gold lion, an ivory elephant, an amethyst wolf with gold paws, as well as a bear, a fish, and birds, also made of precious metals and stones. She lingered on the most striking figurine of all, a snarling amber tiger with yellow diamond eyes and seed pearls for teeth.

  “The collection belonged to my great-great-great-grandmother Emelia. I thought you might like to have it.”

  Emma turned to face him, her eyes shining. “Thank you.”

  Nikolas gestured at the tiger in her hand. “That particular piece was said to be her favorite.”

  Cautiously Emma approached him and placed a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said again. “You're very good to me, Nikki.”

  Nikolas stared at her, while the place her lips had touched seemed to burn. A odd feeling came over him, and he stood very still. The look in Emma's blue eyes, the sound of her voice, the way she held the amber figurine in her hand…it seemed that it had all happened before. His heart began to thump in a heavy rhythm. The air around him turned hot as an image crystallized in his mind…

  She picked up the tiger, examining it from every angle. “Look, Nikki. Isn't it beautiful?”

  “Very beautiful,” he agreed, his gaze on her glowing face. He broke off long enough to tell the jeweler, “We'll take them all.”

  She laughed exuberantly and threw her arms around him. “Y
ou're so good to me,” she said against his ear. “You'll make me love you too much.”

  He brushed his lips over her soft cheek. “There's no such thing as too much…”

  “What is it?” Emma asked, her brow touched with concern.

  The vision disappeared. Nikolas shook his head and laughed shortly. “Nothing. A strange feeling.” He took a step back, still staring at her. The thumping of his heart was almost painful. Wiping his hand across his forehead, he discovered he had broken out in a sweat. The sensation he had was similar to that of jumping into an icy river after having been steamed to exhaustion in a Russian bathhouse.

  “Are you all right?” Emma persisted.

  “Ring for the maid to help with your dress,” he said brusquely, turning and heading for the door. “I'll be back in a little while.”

  Emma frowned in confusion. Carefully she set the carved tiger back in place on the table, and stroked its back with her fingertip. The amber glowed as if it had a life of its own.

  Nikolas had stared at her so strangely. The expression on his face…the flash of something like fear…his gaze unfocused, as if he beheld some unearthly vision…where had Emma seen that expression before? “Tasia,” Emma said softly. Tasia looked exactly like that whenever she had one of her premonitions. Russians were a superstitious people, Tasia had once explained to her. Their lives were filled with fantasy and mystery, and they believed strongly in omens and signs. What had gone through Nikolas's mind? What vision had he seen?

  Troubled, Emma rang for a maid, and soon a small woman appeared. She was Emma's age, perhaps a little older, with thick, braided chestnut hair and intelligent gray eyes. She spoke English quite well, and identified herself as Rashel Fyodorovna.

  “I like your name, Rashel,” Emma remarked as the maid began to unfasten the complicated scheme of hooks and buttons at the back of her wedding dress. “Is it the Russian version of Rachel?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. My mother named all her children from the Bible. I have two brothers, Matfei and Adamka, and a sister, Marinka.”

  “Matthew, Adam, and…Mary?” Emma guessed.

  “Miriam,” the maid corrected, helping Emma step out of the dress as it collapsed in a heap on the floor. Expertly she lifted the billowing yards of silk and carried it to a nearby chair.

  “Are your brothers and sister still in Russia?” Emma held her breath as Rashel unhooked her stays.

  “No, Your Highness. They are all here, working for Prince Nikolas. We came with him after…after…” The maid paused, searching for a tactful way to express herself.

  “After he was exiled,” Emma said bluntly.

  Rashel nodded, the corners of her mouth curving in a smile. “It is good that you speak so plainly, Your Highness. Russians like directness. Shall I unpin your hair?”

  “Yes, please.” Emma sat down at a dressing table, clad in her linen undergarments. Carefully the maid unfastened the white roses from Emma's ruddy curls and began to unplait her hair, using a silver-handled brush to smooth one section at a time. “Did you want to come to England with Nikolas?” Emma asked. “Or did you have a choice?”

  “Oh, yes, my family wanted to come. We belong to the Angelovskys, you see. Not by law, of course, since the serfs were liberated by Tsar Alexander fifteen years ago. But my family, the Sidarovs, has served the Angelovskys for more than a hundred years. We felt it was right to follow Prince Nikolas wherever he close to go.”

  “I'm sure he appreciates your devotion,” Emma said, although she suspected that Nikolas, with all his arrogance, probably took it for granted.

  Rashel shrugged cheerfully. “We will always stay with him, if it pleases God. Prince Nikolas is a good master.”

  “That's reassuring,” Emma muttered.

  The maid paused in her brushing and sighed thoughtfully. “There are times when I miss Russia. Prince Nikolas never seems to, but I think he must. What a life he had there! He was even richer than the tsar. Twenty-seven palaces, and land everywhere. Once he gave his younger brother, Prince Mikhail, a mountain for his birthday.”

  “A mountain?”

  “Yes, a beautiful one in the Crimea.” Rashel concentrated on a snarl, brushing gently until it was gone. “We had a life in Russia you could scarcely imagine, Your Highness. Sometimes I ache to see it again. But we have a saying…‘It does not matter where you live, just so long as you are not hungry.’”

  “That's true,” Emma said, and laughed. “I'm glad you're here, Rashel.”

  When Emma's hair lay in a blanket of ebullient curls over her shoulders, Rashel helped her change into a nightdress of delicate embroidered linen with a matching robe.

  “You look very Russian, Your Highness.”

  Perceiving it was a compliment, Emma smiled in thanks. “I'm afraid I am a hundred percent English.”

  “My people have very big hearts, and they laugh often. I think you are Russian inside.”

  Emma was about to reply when her stomach growled loudly, making her blush and laugh self-consciously. “I had almost nothing to eat today,” she said, holding a hand to her empty stomach. “I was so nervous…the wedding…”

  “Shall I bring up some soup and zakuski?”

  “Zakuski?” Emma repeated, struggling with the unfamiliar word.

  “Small bites of food. You will like them very much, Your Highness. I will bring some for you to try.”

  The maid left, and Emma wandered through the suite. She shook her head in wonder as she discovered a bathing room fitted entirely with white marble. Four gold spigots shaped like dolphins were poised above the porcelain rim of the tub.

  She wondered if her stepmother had lived in this kind of luxury during her childhood days in Russia. So much of Tasia's past was still private, still unknown. For the first time Emma began to realize how much Tasia had suppressed her Russianness, how much of her native language and customs had been left behind. What a different culture it was…and how difficult it must be to adapt, as Nikolas and Tasia had.

  A soft tap on the bedroom door alerted her to Rashel's return. The maid had brought a large tray loaded with fragrant dishes, including a small tureen of spicy cabbage soup, bits of sausage and smoked salmon, little pies stuffed with mushrooms and ground meat. Enthusiastically Emma followed Rashel into the receiving room, and sat on a small, overstuffed settee. The maid set the food on a nearby table, pointed out a few delicacies she thought Emma might enjoy, and left her in privacy.

  The food was delicious, much of it flavored with garlic, pepper, and nutmeg. Emma tried a taste of everything, washing it all down with sips of hearty red wine. The lushness of her surroundings made her feel cosseted and spoiled. “I could get used to this,” she murmured, leaning back against the plump velvet settee cushions.

  Nikolas's voice came from the doorway. “I certainly hope you will, ruyshenka.” He wore a dressing-robe of golden-brown silk, a shade or two darker than his hair. His legs and feet were bare. Emma wondered in sudden panic if he was wearing anything beneath the robe.

  She tried to camouflage her nervousness with a sunny smile, and raised her wine to him in a toast. “Would you care to join me, Nikki?”

  “As long as you don't smile like that again.”

  “Why not?” she asked, watching apprehensively as he approached.

  “Because,” he whispered, sliding his hand around the back of her neck, “it makes me lightheaded.”

  Emma's eyes fluttered closed as she felt his mouth press lightly against hers. When Nikolas ended the kiss and sat beside her, she reached awkwardly for a tidbit on the tray and offered it to him, trying to act the part of gracious hostess. “Would you care for a pirozhi?”

  “Pirozhki,” he said, correcting her pronunciation, and lowered his head to take a bite of the filled tart in her hand.

  A quick laugh of surprise escaped her. “You're the first man I've ever had eating out of my hand.” She waited until he had swallowed, and offered the next bite. Nikolas smiled and took the rest, nipping the
end of her finger with his teeth.

  Uneasy but intrigued, Emma hesitated before lifting the wine to her husband's lips. He drank from the jewel-encrusted goblet, staring at her over the glittering rim. Slowly he took the wine from her, set it aside, and dipped his fingertip into the fruity vintage. Emma watched him, transfixed. She didn't move as he touched the soft skin of her lower lip, leaving a ruby-colored droplet. Leaning forward, he licked away the bead of wine, gently sealed his mouth over hers, kissed and licked in deepening forays…until Emma trembled and reached for him. Her hands slipped on his amber silk robe, skidding over his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady against him.

  Emma relaxed, dizzy with excitement and pleasure, while his lips moved over hers. It had been six weeks since he had kissed her like this. She had forgotten how good it felt. Suddenly she was hollow with need, wanting to be taken and filled, wanting the same magic she had felt with him before.

  Nikolas took one of Emma's hands and urged it down between their bodies. Following his lead, she reached beneath the silk robe until her fingers closed around the hard, silken-skinned length of him. She gasped and pressed her whole body against his, straining to be even closer.

  Nikolas buried his face in her hair, dragging the soft curls across his cheeks and forehead, winding his fingers tightly in the gleaming curtain. He didn't know why it should be like this with her, when he had known so many women. None of them had ever affected him as Emma did.

  Wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he pulled her to her feet. Emma stood up and pressed her flushed face against his. “Nikki,” she whispered, “are you going to visit my bed tonight?”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  Emma paused in her playful kissing. “Would you like it in writing?”

  “That won't be necessary.” He eased the robe from her shoulders and arms and dropped it to the floor. Lightly he slid his hand down her front. Her body was willowy and warm beneath the thin linen of her nightgown. “Emelia…my wife…” Words failed him once more, and he crushed her lips beneath his.