Prince Of Dreams by Lisa Kleypas

him, and she heard the swift rush of air between his teeth. Then he sent her stumbling away with a hard shove.
    For Nikolas, the impact of the chain on his back set off an inner explosion he had never expected. All awareness of the present disintegrated; there was only the past, rushing over him, making him blank and crazed and bloodthirsty. In a flash he relived the agony of being tortured by the tsar's officials, his back shredded by the knout… Won't you confess now, Your Highness ? He found his hands clenched around the man's neck, staring into watery blue eyes that were filled with rage and dawning fear. A black, murderous mist surrounded him.
    “No,” the man whimpered, squirming in fright, his fat little hands coming up to Nikolas's taut wrists.
    Nikolas choked him into silence, his fingers digging into the thick, straining neck. The lust for murder oozed like sweat from his pores. Only one sound reached him…a woman's voice, low and intent, pulling him back from the edge.
    “Nikki! Nikki, let him go!”
    He blinked and shivered, glancing in the direction of the voice. Emma was close by. Her dark blue eyes held his. “Let him go,” she repeated. Somehow the ecstasy of violence faded, and Nikolas relented, giving in to her quiet command. Reluctantly he took his hands from the man's throat.
    Reeling in terror, the man fled into the crowd. He managed to shout hoarse warnings as he clutched his bruised throat. “He's the devil! Look in his eyes—you'll see! The devil himself…”
    Some people dispersed. Others stayed to complain that their way was blocked and they wanted the intersection to be cleared. A few volunteers organized a group to pull the cart of bricks to the side of the street.
    Nikolas's fingers were stiff and coiled. He flexed them, worked the tension from his wrists, only vaguely aware of Emma supervising the unhitching of the donkey from the cart. Her tone was brisk and expert as she directed one of the footmen to tie the scrawny donkey to the back of the lacquered carriage. “We'll bring him to my family's home,” she said in response to the footman's muted question. “I think he'll make it as long as the carriage doesn't move too fast.”
    Nikolas wanted to leave. The confusion of the scene was nothing compared with his inner chaos. He had to be somewhere quiet to think, to compose himself. He sent Emma a commanding look, his gaze boring into her back until she glanced at him over her shoulder. Understanding his silent message, Emma obeyed at once. She seemed calm and unruffled as she made her way back to the carriage. Nikolas entered the vehicle and sat opposite her. To his surprise, he saw that her face was pale, and her fingers were twisted together in a tight knot.
    “I see abuse like this all the time,” she said in an agitated voice. “I'll never get used to it. Why do people have to be so cruel?”
    Nikolas didn't reply, only snapped the curtains shut against the sight of the swarming crowd. Emma stared at him through the darkened interior of the carriage as the vehicle finally began to move. “It must have hurt when the chain hit you,” she said tentatively. “Are you all right?”
    Nikolas nodded once, still consumed with old and dark memories. How could he have lost control so easily? He never allowed his emotions to overtake him…it was a weakness he couldn't afford.
    Emma spoke again while she combed taut fingers through the fallen locks of her hair. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. It seems I'm in your debt again.”
    “Not this time.” His attention returned to her slowly. Although her face was averted, he thought that she seemed to be struggling with her feelings. “Do you want a handkerchief?” he asked abruptly. Emma shook her head in refusal, but he fished for one in his coat and held it out to her.
    “I'm not crying,” she said. “I never do. It doesn't solve anything, and it never makes me feel better.” She took the square of soft white linen and blew