Prince Of Dreams by Lisa Kleypas Page B

efforts to see me. I don't think we should be friends. I can't see that any good would come of it.”
    Perhaps she expected him to disagree, even argue. Instead he shrugged and gave her an oblique smile. “Whatever you wish.”

    Emma escaped Nikolas's presence with blatant relief. With the help of the coachman and stablehand, she lodged the donkey in the stables behind the villa and attended to his abrasions and wounds, discovering that he had infected hooves and a bad case of malnourishment. It seemed likely that the animal would recover quite well. Leaving him in the care of the stablehand, she went into the villa.
    The Stokehurst home was of picturesque Italian design, filled with pale marble columns and floors, elegant tile fireplaces, and several splashing indoor fountains. Emma had always liked to stay here, though the villa lacked the comfortable atmosphere of Southgate Hall.
    Feeling troubled and out of sorts, Emma took a bath in a huge porcelain tub, in a bathing room lined with hand-painted tiles. Idly she traced the designs of tiny exotic birds with a wet fingertip…and thought about Nikolas.
    Her encounters with him had become more and more confusing. She had never experienced so many conflicting feelings about one person. He was challenging, charming—and frightening. She had heard the rumors of his affairs, a multitude of discreet, short-lived relationships with society women. That was the kind Nikolas liked—cool, elegant creatures who were bored with their lifeless marriages. Why had he decided to bother with her? What could his motives be?
    Well, it was over now. Nikolas was out of her life, just as surely as Adam Milbank was. She lifted one long, soapy leg and viewed it with a critical eye. If she were petite and fragile, would Adam have stayed with her? Emma dropped her leg with a splash and sighed. If only she had been beautiful enough, Adam wouldn't have let anything stand in the way of having her…not her father, not money, not anything. “If only I were like Tasia,” she said aloud. Tasia was small and delicate, with an exquisite beauty that fascinated men. Suppressing a twinge of envy, Emma scooped handfuls of hot water over her neck and shoulders.
    Now that she had lost Adam, she would become a dried-up old spinster, never knowing what it was like to be with a man, to give herself to him in passion and fall asleep in his arms. She could take a lover, but the thought of that filled her with melancholy. How lonely it would feel, sharing a bed with a man she didn't love, a physical exchange in which their emotions and souls were left untouched.
    “Miss Emma?” A voice interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at the doorway, where her maid, Katie, stood with an armload of freshly warmed towels and a white linen robe. “Finished with your bath yet, miss?”
    “I suppose I am.” Emma stood up and reached for one of the towels, wrapping it around her body as she stepped from the tub.
    Katie blotted her shoulders with another towel, and helped her into the robe. “Shall I run downstairs and tell Cook what you'd like for supper, Miss Emma?”
    “I'm not very hungry tonight.”
    “Oh, but you must have something, miss!”
    Emma smiled and nodded reluctantly. “All right, I'll have tea and toast in my room. And I'd like something to read. Please bring a copy of the Times .”
    “Yes, miss.”
    Emma walked barefoot into her suite of rooms and sat at her dressing table. She pulled the pins from her hair and unbraided it, luxuriously massaging her fingers over her sore scalp. Methodically she worked a brush through her long, curly hair, smoothing out tangles and snarls until her arm was tired. After placing the brush in one of the dressing table's intricate compartments, she stared at her reflection in the gold-framed mirror.
    An ordinary face, she thought. Pale skin with freckles, a straight nose, a sharp chin. The only thing that pleased her were her blue eyes, identical to her father's, except that