Page 18 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

S tephen handed his cloak to one of the servants and walked upstairs. In his hands, he held the dancing slippers Emily had hidden behind a potted plant.

Ever one to break the rules, that was his wife.

But he’d frightened her tonight, somehow. When he’d shown her his desire, she’d fled, as though he’d asked her to lie with him in the flower garden.

When he reached the landing, he wondered where she had chosen to sleep. Tonight, something had changed between them. For the first time, she’d kissed him. It was the last thing he’d expected, especially after such a grueling night.

He didn’t like the way she’d been treated. More than one heartless matron had trod upon her tender feelings. He blamed himself for not interfering. And yet, he couldn’t remain at her side the way he wanted to. If he even hinted that he cared about Emily, he endangered her.

For all he knew, the man behind the attacks might have been present at the ball. It might even be Carstairs himself. The viscount had most definitely played a part in the shipment. But was he a threat? The tattoo suggested he was not.

He heard the low cry of a child from one of the rooms and decided to quiet the guilty party.

Opening the door, he saw a downy head lift from the two wingback chairs pushed together. It was the infant girl. Stephen couldn’t remember if Emily had ever mentioned her name. He realized he should have purchased a cradle for the baby, long before now.

The baby grinned, revealing a set of two teeth on her bottom gums. “Da-da-da.”

“Not a chance,” he warned. “We’ll have none of that foolishness. Now cease this noise before someone hears you.”

Her face crumpled, and she screwed up her face to cry.

Stephen closed the distance and lifted her up before she could shriek. He had no doubt that the young imp would not hesitate to wake the household with screaming.

The baby buried her face in his neck, snuggling close. Her soft hair smelled of floral soap. A curious protective instinct curled around him, and he held her at a distance to study her.

She chortled, stuffing a fist in her mouth.

“I don’t suppose you’d know where your Aunt Emily is sleeping?”

“Gah,” the baby replied.

“You are a veritable wellspring of information.” He set her down in the wingback chairs, and she whimpered, holding her arms out to him.

“Go to sleep.”

She looked ready to cry, and so he arranged her sideways in order to rub her back. She gave a soft sigh. After several minutes, she succumbed to sleep.

Stephen tiptoed out, wondering whether “Gah” meant left or right.

The door to one of the rooms flew open, and Emily raced toward Stephen, her face deathly pale. “He’s gone.”

“Who is gone?”

“Royce.” Emily was already running down the stairs to fetch her cloak. “I went to bid him goodnight, and his bed hasn’t been slept in. I think he’s run away.”

“Why would you say that?”

“The other day he told me he wanted to look for his father.”

“He’ll be looking for a long time, then,” Stephen remarked, but Emily did not react to his dry comment.

He prayed that the boy was only hiding, for a small child would not make it far in the London streets without facing danger. He was careful to keep his tone relaxed. “How long has he been missing, do you think?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps hours. His coat and cap are gone.”

Her fear bordered on hysteria, but he needed to calm her. They would not find the boy without a clear, logical plan. Emily had nearly reached the door when Stephen stopped her. “Have you searched the house?”

Emily nodded. “I can’t find him anywhere.” Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she wrung her hands. “What if we don’t find him?”

“We will. But I want to search here first.” Although the boy had an adventurous side, he still didn't entirely believe that Royce would leave the house.

“He’s not in any of the rooms,” she insisted.

“There are many places for a young boy to hide, Emily.” Stephen led her up the stairs again, even as her attention remained upon the front door. “What were his favorite belongings?”

He wanted her to focus on answering questions rather than panicking. Calm and steady, he took her hand. Though he did not believe his enemies would go after a small boy, he could not know for certain.

“He loves his tin soldiers. But it doesn’t matter. They’re only toys.”

“Not to him, they aren’t. To him, they are his most prized possessions. He wouldn’t leave them behind if he ran away.”

When Stephen threw open the door to Royce’s room, neat rows of tin soldiers stood in line. He took her hand, trying to reassure her. “No boy would leave on a search for his father unless he brought his toys with him.”

“What if someone took him? The man who attacked me in the garden might have…” Her voice trailed away.

She had echoed his own fears, but he wouldn’t acknowledge them. Not yet. Stephen studied the room, checking beneath the bed and behind the curtains. When his search came up fruitless, he tried to allay her fears with a lie. “I doubt if anyone would kidnap him.”

“How can you be sure?”

His lips lifted in a slight smile. “I cannot. But I ran away a few times myself, as a lad.”

Emily did not appear consoled. “If anything has happened to him, I won’t forgive myself.”

The curtains billowed slightly, and Stephen stepped forward, planning to close the window.

He looked for Royce again, this time outside. A tall oak tree grew not far from the house, a long branch stretching out beside the boy’s window. Stephen peered out into the darkness.

“Bring me the lamp.” When Emily did, he opened the window wider and held the lamp into the darkness. There, curled against two crossed branches, Royce slept. A pair of linen drawers were tied around his head, pirate-style. He wore his black coat, and under that, his nightshirt bared his legs to the cool air. His cap rested on a smaller branch nearby.

Emily gasped at the sight of him. “Get him back inside before he falls to his death!”

Stephen handed her the lamp, and she held the curtains back as he prepared to climb on to the branch. It was a precarious balance, but he managed to edge himself onto the thick limb, holding the windowsill for balance.

“Royce,” he said gently, not wanting to startle the boy. “It’s time to come inside.”

The boy yawned and blinked sleepily. “I want to sleep outside.”

“You’ve worried your aunt.”

“Royce, please come in,” Emily begged. Fear hovered in her eyes. Without waiting for the boy to argue further, Stephen lifted him into his arms and slid across the branch to hand him over to Emily.

When they had both returned inside safely, the boy murmured, “Is the bad man gone?”

“The bad man?”

“The man who was searching my room. He was trying to take my toys.”

Emily didn’t move, didn’t breathe. All the blood had drained from her face, and she stood as motionless as a statue. He knew exactly what she was thinking, but he didn't want to make assumptions without questioning the boy.

“What did the man look like, Royce?” Stephen asked, helping the boy into bed.

“He was green with tall horns.” The boy yawned. “He had a red tail, too.”

Emily visibly relaxed. “It was only a dream, sweeting.” She tucked him in and pressed a kiss to his temple, removing the drawers from his head. Smoothing his hair, she kissed him a second time. “Goodnight.”

He mumbled a sleepy response, pulling the covers up to his chin. Stephen held the lamp up, waiting for Emily to follow him from the room. When they reached the privacy of the hallway, Emily turned. “Do you really believe there was someone here tonight?”

Stephen shrugged. “It sounds like a young boy’s overactive imagination.” But, like her, he couldn't say for certain.

“And what if he wasn’t imagining things? Someone tried to kill you.”

He hadn’t forgotten about that at all. Though he didn’t know why, he suspected it had something to do with Carstairs and Hollingford.

“The man who attacked you at Falkirk,” he began, “what did he want?” He sensed that there was another connection, something he hadn’t foreseen.

“He wanted investment papers that belonged to Daniel.”

The stolen shipment. No doubt the assailant had something to do with the theft. And if he wanted the papers, likely he was trying to cover up his own involvement.

“Did you give him anything?”

“I had nothing to give.” Emily rubbed her arms, as if to ward off a chill. “But I think he went to my father’s house. Daniel had some of his belongings there, before he—” Her voice broke off, and she lowered her gaze to the carpet.

He understood exactly what she was thinking. Her brother might well have become a victim because of the shipping investment. But why? He thought a moment and decided there was only one place to get the answers. “We need to go back to Falkirk. I think your brother was hiding information. It may have cost him his life.”

She looked so glum at the knowledge, he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything. It had been a difficult night for both of them. And tonight, he intended to keep a close watch over her. There had been too many dangerous encounters.

He escorted her down the hall and opened the door to her room. Before he could enter, she blocked the entrance. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I am staying here tonight.” He wasn't about to leave her alone if there was any hint of danger.

She glared at him, and he could almost see her defenses rise up in anger. “Do you really believe that after tonight I want you to share my room?”

She was angry, he realized. He’d been thinking of her protection, while she still held hurt feelings.

Taking her hand, he pulled her inside her room, closing the door and locking it. He pocketed the key. “It is my duty to protect my family, don’t you think?”

She glared at him, and Stephen knew he hadn’t been forgiven for his earlier behavior. He changed the subject. “Why did you kiss me earlier?”

“Because I wanted to.”

Her honesty caught him up short. He didn’t know what to say next. Instead, he moved behind her, slipping the pins from her hair. It spilled across his fingers in a silken veil of gold. Stephen continued removing pins, using his fingers to smooth the strands of hair.

She turned, biting her lower lip. “Thank you for purchasing a new coat and shoes for Royce.”

The words weren’t what he’d expected. And when her hands rested upon his shoulders, he wondered if she would kiss him again. Her mouth reminded him of an apple tart, sweet and warm. He wanted to nibble at her lips, tasting her until she melted against him.

Stephen drew her closer, resting his palms on her waist. Though she was still fully clothed, an intimacy rose between them, with her hair falling around her shoulders. “Why did you run from me?”

Color flooded her cheeks. “Because I—I was afraid.” She turned her face to the side, but her fingers remained upon him, her thumbs idly tracing a pattern. From the slight blush of her cheeks, he realized she wasn’t going to push him away.

“And are you still afraid?”

When she didn’t answer, he drew her back into a dancing position. Without asking permission, he moved in a gentle circle, waltzing with her. “Do you remember the first time we danced?”

Emily nodded, her heartbeat quickening. “It was in the stables at Lady Woolthrope’s house party.”

“Ten years ago,” he said, releasing her. He sat down in a chair before the fire, propping his feet up. “I was seventeen.”

She was hesitant but joined him, sitting within arm’s reach. So many memories of their past. As an adolescent, Stephen had trod on her toes more times than she could count. He hadn’t wanted to embarrass himself in front of the family at his first public gathering. Emily had known as little about dancing as he did, and they’d crashed into the horse stalls more than once on a bad turn.

“You fell into the muck,” she said.

“I’d been trying to forget that part.”

He edged his chair closer to hers, and she didn’t pull away. The fire warmed her stocking feet, and she couldn't suppress a smile. “That was the best part.”

He pulled off his socks, setting his bare feet beside her. “What else do you remember?”

Hiding from her parents while they argued over what to sell next. Lying back in the summer grasses next to the boy whom she’d dreamed would rescue her. Experiencing the thrill of her first kiss.

Emily’s skin prickled, aware that he was only a few feet away from her. “You hated your father,” she whispered. “I remember that.”

He grew somber at the mention of the marquess. “You used to make me laugh. When nothing else would.”

He stood and knelt before her. In his eyes, she saw a hint of the boy he had been, so desperate to win his father’s approval. And how many times he had been disappointed.

He rested his hands upon her knees, closing his eyes. Emily almost reached out to touch his dark hair, to kiss him. Don’t , she warned herself. He’ll only break your heart. He didn’t see when she pulled back.

His hands moved beneath her skirts, to caress her legs. Although a thin layer of fabric protected her from his bare palms, her imagination remembered full well what it was like to feel him caressing her thighs. Dear God, what was he doing?

Heat blazed through her as he reached up to unbutton her gown, lifting it away. Her mind cried out for her to stop him, but her body remained frozen, trapped by her own rising desire. She didn’t protest, as she should have. As each petticoat, stocking and crinoline joined the discarded dress, she grew more nervous. Then he unlaced her stays, his hands warm and seductive.

Clad in only a chemise and drawers, she felt completely exposed. Even when they had been intimate, it had always been dark. He had never seen her unclothed.

She didn’t move when he lowered his hands and took her foot into his lap. His thumb glided over her arch, his hands squeezing gently as he massaged the soreness from them.

She closed her eyes, wishing she had the courage to pull away. But, oh, his hands felt so good.

Needing to fill the silence with conversation, she fumbled for the right words. “Thank you for finding Royce.”

“Look at me,” Stephen said firmly. Though she didn’t want to, he waited until her gaze met his. “I know you’re still afraid. But I won’t let anyone harm the children. Or you.”

“Promise me.”

“You have my word.”

Before she could breathe, he drew her legs around his waist in a shocking embrace. His mouth captured hers in a feverish kiss. Mindlessly, she kissed him back, her body remembering his.

“I don’t love you,” she whispered when his mouth tugged at her ear. I can’t. I won’t.

He tugged at her chemise, exposing her breasts. Slowly, he circled her skin with his tongue. Her sensitive nipples rose up, aching for his kiss. His thumb grazed the tip, and she shuddered.

“You want me. And you belong to me.”

Between her legs, a wetness made her crave him. She hadn’t forgotten a moment of the nights they’d shared after their wedding. With each caress of his fingers upon her breasts, a dark need welled up.

He covered her breasts again and tasted her through the soft cambric, scraping his teeth against the taut nipple. She nearly came apart at the rough sensation of wet fabric and his hot mouth.

“Stephen,” she whispered, holding on to his shoulders and trying to urge him closer. Desire battered against her sense of reason. She didn’t understand what he was doing when he moved back from her.

He reached inside his waistcoat and withdrew the key. “If you want to share my bed, you need only open the door.”

He tilted her chin up and brushed a searing kiss upon her lips before pressing the key into her palm. She barely heard the sound of his adjoining door closing.

He was giving her a choice. She could become his wife in body as well as name. And she could not accuse him of forcing her.

Go to him , her body pleaded. Surrender to the seduction.

But though he might reawaken her to the sweet pleasure of his bed, the terrible fact remained. He didn’t remember making love to her on their wedding night.

And though it wasn’t his fault, it devastated her to know that the most perfect night of her life meant nothing to him.

Her hand covered her mouth, as if to stave off the violent tears threatening. She didn’t dare go to his bed, for, once again, she would be the lovelorn maiden. And he, indifferent to her feelings.

Not again.

Before she could lose her grasp on sanity, she set the key upon the fireplace mantel and extinguished the lamp.