Prince of Dreams

by Lisa Kleypas

  “Not another word from you!” Adam shouted, his eyes gleaming with hatred. His tormented gaze returned to Emma. “I never understood how I really felt until I lost you. I must do this. I can't let him win. I'll never feel like a man again, as long as I let him go unpunished. No one has ever believed that I loved you, Emma—not even you. This is the only way I can prove it. Then you'll know.”

  “You don't need to prove anything,” Emma said. “I do believe you.” She felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, while a voice inside cried with terror, Please don't hurt him, please…She blinked the tears back and kept the gun steady on Adam. “But I didn't love you, Adam. I was lonely, unsure of myself, and you flattered me and made me feel wanted. Through my own immaturity I mistook that for love—”

  “He's tricked you into believing his lies,” Adam said hotly.

  “You and I were friends who cared about each other. That's not the same as love. Now we've each made a good life for ourselves with other people. You don't have to destroy all of that. You'll accomplish nothing by doing this. Just put the gun away and we'll leave. I-I'll go with you somewhere and we'll talk—”

  “No,” Nikolas said swiftly.

  “You have no say in this,” Adam sneered. “I'm in control, not you!”

  “Put it down now,” Emma said. “I mean it, Adam.”

  “I can't,” came his stubborn reply.

  “Now.”

  Adam didn't appear to hear her, his gaze locked on Nikolas. “It's too late.”

  For the rest of her life Emma would remember the events taking place outside of time, seconds turning into hours, each move slow and visible and understandable. Whatever Nikolas saw in Adam's eyes, it convinced him that he was about to die. He turned his face toward Emma for one last look, his eyes pale and piercing.

  She squeezed the trigger of her revolver. The shot seemed unnaturally loud, echoing repeatedly through her mind. “Nikolai!” came a high-pitched scream, and much later she realized it had been hers. Adam was twisted around by the blow, the upper part of his shoulder opening with a red burst. His pistol went off, the shot flying wide. Instantly the bullet buried itself in the wall behind Nikolas.

  Nikolas didn't move as Adam fell in front of him. He was frozen, his mind still numb with the expectation of death. He was curiously blind and deaf, lost in a dark void. Gradually his senses were restored, and he found himself still kneeling on the floor, with Emma crouched before him. Her hands were on either side of his face, and her breath was warm on his skin.

  “Nikki,” she whispered, her blue eyes glittering with tears. “God, I love you!” She kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. “Look at me,” she said, weeping openly. “I can't ever lose you, do you understand? I love you.”

  Nikolas wrapped his arms around her as the roaring of blood in his ears subsided. He glanced at Milbank's prone body. The wound seemed to be located in the upper arm or shoulder; the bastard would probably live. Returning his attention to Emma, he tried to wipe at the tears that streamed down her cheeks. She seemed so vulnerable, a tigress suddenly cowed and seeking comfort. There were no more defenses between them. They clung together, whole at last, while the past fell away in vanquished tatters.

  “How did you know—” he managed to ask.

  “I saw the note. I knew it was Adam's handwriting, and that he meant to harm you. I had to come find you.”

  His hold became punishingly tight. “Don't ever put yourself in danger like that again. Not for any reason.”

  A wobbling smile touched her lips. “You can't tell me what to do,” she said, blotting her face with her sleeve.

  “Don't cry,” he whispered. “It's over now. We're both safe.”

  “When I realized Adam might kill you, I knew how empty my life would be without you. I need you.” Her jaw trembled as she tried to master her emotions. “So you'd better stay with me forever, Nikki…or I'll make your life hell.”

  “You called me Nikolai,” he said, stroking the curve of her wet cheek.

  “Did I?” Emma looked startled at that, and thought for a moment. “Yes, I did,” she said slowly. “I wonder why. Perhaps…I'm beginning to believe in your dream.”

  He didn't care about that anymore, not when the future was hanging ripe and sweet before them. “It doesn't matter. Just as long as you love me now, ruyshka.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, pulling his head down to hers.

  Epilogue

  I N THE MONTHS following Lord Adam Milbank's formal indictment and trial for attempted murder, his wife, Charlotte, found the scrutiny of the public, as well as the disdain of high social circles, too much to bear. She fled to her family and home in America, where the other Brixtons closed their protective ranks around her. Found guilty by a jury of his peers, Adam was sentenced to a brief term of imprisonment, and the loss of most of his land and property.

  In her private moments Emma thought about Adam with a feeling of guilt, wondering if she could have done or said something that would have kept him from making an attempt on Nikolas's life. Like her, Adam had fallen in love with an illusion, and he had blamed others for his disappointments in life. Thank God she had finally learned better, or she would never have been able to find her hard-won happiness with Nikolas.

  During the last months of her pregnancy, Emma's world was narrowed to her own estate and the homes of family and close friends. Women in her condition were discouraged from appearing in public, except in the early stages when they could conceal their bodies with shawls and heavy shrouding. Tasia and a few other women came to visit her regularly, easing the boredom of confinement, but still, there were no trips to the theater, no parties or dances, no riding through the park or walks through London; and worst of all, her work in the menagerie was all but forbidden.

  Nikolas had almost carried her bodily from the stables on the afternoon a new horse had been brought there. The bad-tempered animal had been mistreated by his previous owner until he had no trust left in humans. After he had kicked a stablehand who had tried to attend to his festering foot, Emma had gone to try to calm the animal. Nikolas, who had been alerted by a tattletale servant, came to the stables immediately.

  Emma had first been guilty and then defiant as her husband had locked his arm around her back and steered her out of the building. “Just let me have a few minutes to gentle him,” she said angrily. “I do it all the time with other animals—you've seen me!”

  “That damn horse has bitten and kicked everyone who's come near him,” Nikolas replied curtly, pulling Emma along too fast for her to dig her heels in.

  “I can make decisions for myself,” she persisted, although she knew he was right.

  “Not while you're carrying my child.”

  It had taken a long time for her temper to cool that afternoon. Her anger was directed mostly at herself, and at the fact that for the first time in her life, she was physically dependent on others. She tired so easily these days, and her usual free stride was now beginning to resemble the waddle of a duck.

  “It won't last forever,” Nikolas murmured, coming to rest beside her as she settled in bed for an afternoon nap. He cuddled behind her spoon-fashion, his hand sliding gently over her burgeoning stomach and breasts. Emma felt him smile against the back of her neck. “Soon you'll be back at work in the menagerie, getting bitten and scratched, and happily raking up manure.”

  She sighed longingly at the thought. “It's not easy, you know, having the servants do the things I want to do myself. Not only that, but I'm getting so awkward and fat—”

  He laughed softly, his palm settling high on her abdomen. “You're slender everywhere but here, ruyshka. Not fat, but pregnant. Russians believe there is nothing more beautiful than a woman in your condition.”

  “We're not in Russia,” she grumbled. “We're in England, where an expectant mother is decidedly out of fashion.” Nikolas began to knead the lowest point of her spine, finding sore places and massaging the stiffness out, until Emma sighed in cont
entment. “Oh, I do love your hands,” she murmured, arching slightly.

  “Only my hands?”

  “Well, your hands are all I can feel at the moment.”

  “What about this?” He pressed his loins against her backside, making her aware of the hard length of his arousal. “I find you enchanting, beautiful…and very desirable,” he said, kissing the side of her neck. “What do you think of that, little mother?”

  Emma smiled and wriggled slightly. “I think you're a strange man with perverse tastes.” She eased onto her back and circled her arms around his neck. “And I'm very lucky to be your wife.”

  Two months later, Emma sat in bed and cuddled her infant daughter, while Nikolas sat beside her. With the tip of her forefinger, Emma brushed back the tiny fluff of red hair on the baby's head. The crescents of her red lashes fanned the pink curves of her cheeks. “What shall we call her?” she asked. “Somehow not one of the names I considered seems appropriate.”

  “I have one to suggest.” Nikolas's hand settled on the blankets, covering the shape of Emma's knee. “I'd like to call her Mary, after your mother.”

  Emma was silent for a moment, bending her head over the baby. When she looked back at Nikolas, her eyes glittered with tears of happiness. “Yes, I would like that. Her name will be Mary Nikolaievna Angelovsky. God knows she'll never learn to spell it.”

  They were interrupted by a gentle tap on the bedroom door. “Yes?” Nikolas asked, turning to regard the maid who had appeared in the doorway.

  “Your Highness, a parcel was delivered for you not five minutes ago. Mr. Stanislaus said it was from Sir Almay. Shall I leave it in the library, sir?”

  Emma watched as a peculiar blankness came over her husband's face.

  “No,” he said. “Bring it here.”

  “What is it?” Emma asked when the maid had left. “Who is Sir Almay?”

  Nikolas seemed not to hear, but after a few moments he replied distantly. “The historian I hired to research the Angelovsky records in Russia.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze traveled from his expressionless face to the restless clenching of his fingers in the bedclothes. Then she understood. “You asked him to find out about Emelia.”

  “I had to.”

  “Yes, of course.” Emma reached for his hand, stroking the taut backs of his fingers. She could only guess what this meant to him. That time was still so real to him, affecting him in countless small ways; he would certainly grieve if he discovered that harm had come to Emelia Vasilievna. “Nikki, whatever happened to her…it wasn't your fault. You know that, don't you?”

  Nikolas didn't answer, staring at the door as if he half-expected a ghost to appear. The maid returned with the parcel, coming forward to hand it to Nikolas. At Emma's gesture, the maid took the baby and carried her to the nursery for a nap.

  Slowly Nikolas slid the strings from the parcel and parted the layers of brown paper. Emma leaned forward in eager curiosity. The package contained a folded letter, two or three volumes with Cyrillic characters on the covers, and another object Emma didn't have a chance to see. Nikolas reached for it and turned his back to her, staring at whatever it was he held. Silently he rose and walked to the window. She saw him lift a hand to his face, whether to blot sweat or tears she couldn't tell.

  Emma picked up the letter and saw that it was written in English.

  To His Highness Prince Nikolas Dmitriyevich Angelovsky:

  Having completed the research you requested, I would like to thank you for the experience of traveling to Russia. The accommodations were superb, and I found the translator, Mr. Sigeyov, most effective. Should you have questions regarding the materials I have sent, I would be happy to meet with you and provide further details. Most of the information regarding the fate of Emelia Vasilievna was contained in personal correspondence written by her son, Prince Alexei Nikolaievich Angelovsky. The letters were in the possession of your oldest sister, Katya, a charming woman who gave them to me along with her affectionate wishes for your well-being. There was also a mention of Emelia's residence in her latter years, a small Moscovian estate which Empress Elizabeth reputedly visited in the company of Alexei—”

  “What happened to her?” Nikolas asked hoarsely, still facing the window.

  Emma scanned the letter rapidly, jumping forward a page or two. “Emelia left the convent seven years after you…after Nikolai died,” she said. “Angelovsky relatives kept her and the child with them in St. Petersburg for a brief time. They were harassed by city officials and agents of the Imperial government, until Emelia virtually disappeared with her son for the next ten years. It's possible they lived in her former home of Preobrazhenskoe—one year the village church listed an unidentified woman and her fatherless child in its register. That could have been Emelia.” Emma found another significant passage from Almay's report and read it aloud.

  Two years after Tsar Peter's death in 1725, Emelia and her son finally came out of hiding. At that time Alexei was around nineteen or twenty years of age. He claimed complete ownership of all Angelovsky holdings, and assumed his place as Nikolai's rightful heir. Apparently no one in the family was able or willing to contest him. Alexei established Emelia in a palace outside Moscow, where she lived in comfort for the rest of her days. For the next twenty years, he applied himself to increasing the Angelovsky fortune. There are several letters preserved from this period, written in Alexei's own hand and addressed to his mother at her home. These are included in the materials I have sent. From this correspondence it is apparent that Emelia objected to her son becoming the private consort of Empress Elizabeth, Peter's daughter. However, she lived long enough to see her son marry a Russian noblewoman and produce two children, Sergei and Lida. Emelia's death was recorded in 1750. She was sixty-three years of age. Among your sister Katya's collection we discovered a miniature of Emelia Vasilievna, painted not long before her death…

  Emma's voice faded as she realized what Nikolas was holding. “Nikki?” she said quietly, setting aside the letter. She rose from the bed and joined him at the window. At first the glare of daylight made the image impossible to see. She touched his hand, and he tilted the miniature until the face became clear.

  Emma stared at the tiny portrait of an old woman with silvery-peach hair. Her face was weathered but regal, her mouth unsmiling, her eyes of an indistinguishable color. She looked as though she were staring wistfully at something—or someone—very far away. “Does she look like me?” Emma asked, her fingers curving around Nikolas's. Her throat became very tight. “Yes, I suppose she does.”

  “She never married again,” he murmured.

  Emma looked up and saw the glitter of tears on his cheek. “No, it appears she didn't.”

  “She had no one.”

  “She had her child,” Emma said. “She took comfort in Alexei, as well as her memories of Nikolai. Most of all, she knew they would meet again…and they did.”

  Emma sensed an easing in him, a relief that made his fingers unclench. “Did they?” he asked, turning to her with the miniature clasped in his hand. “How can you be certain?”

  Emma smiled and leaned against him, until his arms closed around her. “I just know.”

  Nikolas rested his face against her hair, whispering his love to her, while they stood together in the healing warmth of the morning sunlight.

  About the Author

  Lisa Kleypas is the author of nineteen historical romance novels that have been published in twelve languages. In 1985, she was named Miss Massachusetts and competed in the Miss America pageant in Atlantic City. After graduating from Wellesley College with a political science degree, she published her first novel at age twenty-one.

  Her books have appeared on bestseller lists such as the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and WaldenBooks. Lisa is married and has two children.

  Please visit her at www. lisakleypas.com.

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  By Lisa Kleypas

  SECRETS OF A SUMMER NIGHT

  AGAIN THE MAGIC • WORTH ANY PRICE

  LADY SOPHIA’S LOVER • ONLY IN YOUR ARMS

  ONLY WITH YOUR LOVE • WHEN STRANGERS MARRY

  SUDDENLY YOU • WHERE DREAMS BEGIN

  SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME

  STRANGER IN MY ARMS • BECAUSE YOU’RE MINE

  SOMEWHERE I’LL FIND YOU

  PRINCE OF DREAMS • MIDNIGHT ANGEL

  DREAMING OF YOU • THEN CAME YOU

  And the Anthologies

  WHERE’S MY HERO?

  THREE WEDDINGS AND A KISS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  PRINCE OF DREAMS. Copyright © 1995 by Lisa Kleypas. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.

  PerfectBound™ and the PerfectBound™ logo are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

  Microsoft Reader October 2004 ISBN 0-06-079199-3

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