LISA by User

Author:User
Language: eng
Format: epub

In spite of Sidarov's insistence, Nikolas didn't bathe before the wedding, or shave, or even change his clothes. Barricading himself in his room, he drank steadily in an effort to make the nightmare disappear. It was impossible for him to go through with the ceremony. He might be many things, but a bigamist wasn't one of them. He wasn't Nikolai the First, he was Nikolas Dmitriyevich Angelovsky, and he belonged in London, in the year 1877…with Emma Stokehurst.

Sidarov's muffled voice came through the door. “The guests are here, Prince Nikolai. The ceremony will begin as soon as you decide. You won't keep them waiting long, will you?”

“I'm not going to marry anyone,” Nikolas said from his sprawled position in the chair.

There was a lengthy silence, and then Sidarov replied in an agitated tone. “Very well, Your Highness. But you must inform the guests—and the bride—yourself. I refuse to do it, even if you turn me out into the streets and I must die a miserable, frozen death. No, I absolutely will not tell them.”

Nikolas lurched to his feet and went to the door, flinging it open. He glared down at the steward, who looked pale and upset. “I'll have no problem telling them,” he sneered. “Show me where they are.”

Sidarov's mouth was as tight as a clam. “Yes, Your Highness.”

The steward led Nikolas to the vast gathering room on the first floor. It had been filled with icons until there was barely an inch of wall space left uncovered. A large table at the back of the room was laden with a mountainous honey cake, dishes of almonds, figs, and other delicacies, and goblets of wine. The group of well-dressed guests, including Prince Golorkov, stood around a black-robed priest and a makeshift altar supporting a massive Bible. Everyone smiled and exclaimed as Nikolas appeared. Briefly he glanced over the assemblage, his gaze centering on Emelia.

His heart sank as he looked at her. She wore a sarafan of cream silk brocade, and a gold jacket that was too short in the sleeves. Some kindly benefactor, perhaps Golorkov and his wife, had given the wedding clothes to her. The pearl-embroidered veil over her hair was held in place by a gold wire diadem with a tiny paste ruby glittering on her forehead. She appeared absolutely calm, except for the bouquet of dried flowers and pink ribbons she held. The flowers were trembling visibly, a few tiny, fragile petals scattering to the floor.

It was that sign of nervousness that was Nikolas's undoing. He couldn't reject Emelia now, in front of these guests. He couldn't abandon her. She stared at him with a faint glint of hope in her blue eyes and the beginnings of a smile on her lips…the same way Emma Stokehurst had once looked at him.

Feeling dazed, Nikolas moved forward and took his place beside her. Amid the encouragement and compliments of the guests, Prince Golorkov moved forward to hand Nikolas a ceremonial silver whip, the symbol of a husband's authority to admonish and discipline his wife.

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