Prince Of Dreams Read Free Page B

such things aloud,” Tasia cautioned, her fine brows drawing together. “You always like to tempt fate.”
    Luke grinned suddenly. “You and your superstitious Russian nature. I meant what I said. Who could possibly be a worse son-in-law than Milbank?”

    Left to her own devices, Emma wandered over to the wall and leaned her back against it. She sighed fretfully, wishing she could leave the ball, or at least meander by herself through the Angelovsky manor. It was filled with ancient Russian treasures, magnificent works of art, intricately carved furniture, priceless panels thickly covered in jewels. Nikolas had brought it all with him—along with an army of family retainers—when he had come to England.
    Nikolas's home was like a museum, breathtakingly opulent, intimidating, richly gloomy. The central hall was lined with fifteen towering gold pillars—an extra having been added in deference to the Russian superstition that even numbers were bad luck. A grand staircase with blue-and-gold spindles arched delicately up to the second and third floors. Dove-colored walls were highlighted with rich stained glass, rising from black-and-gray marble floors.
    The manor was set in the middle of fifty thousand acres of cultivated land just to the west of London, covering territory on both sides of the Thames. Nikolas had bought the estate three years before, and had decorated it to his taste. It was a splendid setting worthy of a prince, but it must be small compared with the palaces Nikolas had owned in Russia. He had been permitted to take a tenth of his fortune with him in exile, and that fraction alone was estimated to be thirty million pounds. Nikolas was one of the richest men in Europe, and by far the most eligible. A man with all that wealth should be very happy, yet Nikolas seemed like one of the least happy people Emma had ever met. Was there some elusive thing he wanted but couldn't have, or some private desire that had never been fulfilled?
    A delicately brittle voice interrupted her thoughts. “Why, look, Regina, it's our friend Emma, standing at the wall as usual. I'm surprised they haven't put a plaque there to mark your special place…‘Here Lady Emma Stokehurst has waited thousands of hours in hopes of an invitation to dance.’”
    The speaker was Lady Phoebe Cotterly, accompanied by her friend Lady Regina Bradford. Phoebe was the success of the Season, possessing the magical combination of gleaming blond beauty, a revered family name, and the assurance of a generous dowry. Her only problem was deciding which of her legions of suitors she would marry.
    Emma smiled uncomfortably, feeling like a towering giant as she loomed awkwardly over the two of them. She slumped her shoulders and retreated until her back was plastered against the wall. “Hello, Phoebe.”
    “I know why she looks so out of place,” Phoebe said to Regina. “Our Emma feels much more at home in a barnyard than a ballroom. Isn't that right, Emma?”
    Emma felt her throat tighten. She glanced across the room at Adam, who was involved in a conversation with friends. Taking courage from his distant presence, Emma told herself that Adam loved her, and therefore this girl's snide comments shouldn't matter one bit. But they still hurt.
    “What a wholesome, unaffected girl you are,” Phoebe purred, digging her claws in deeper. “So unique . You should have men flocking around you. I simply don't understand why they don't appreciate your rustic charms.”
    Before Emma could reply, she was startled to discover that Nikolas Angelovsky had suddenly appeared at her side. Blinking in surprise, she looked up into his inscrutable face.
    “I believe it's time for the dance you promised me, cousin,” he said softly.
    Emma was temporarily speechless, as were the other girls. Here in the glittering splendor of the ballroom, dressed in severe black-and-white evening clothes, Nikolas was too extraordinary to be real. The light gleamed on his austere