Page 21 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

E mily held Victoria tightly in her arms while the baby grabbed fistfuls of her hair. Dr. Parsons offered a small bottle of tonic. “Give this to her before she sleeps at night. It will ease her pain,” he said. “Her ears are troubling her.”

Stephen had suspected as much, but if the physician’s reassurances brought Emily comfort, so much the better. He was grateful Victoria would not endure another night like the last one. He hid a yawn, hoping to rest before tonight.

But first, he needed to make further progress on the identity of his assailant. The only definitive link between himself, Carstairs and Hollingford was the tattoo.

When he entered the library, he rummaged through his desk for paper to make a list when he saw Royce hiding behind the curtains.

“You may as well come out. I can see you hiding there.”

Royce peered out from behind the heavy curtain. Stephen saw the boy holding a tattered book. When he drew nearer, Royce tried to hide it behind his back.

“What are you reading there?”

“Nothing.”

“May I have a look?”

He stretched out his hand, but Royce shook his head. “It’s mine.”

Stephen sat down beside the boy, crossing his legs. “If it’s so interesting, why don’t you read it to me? Perhaps I’d enjoy it.” He tilted his head to the side to make out the title: The Perfumed Garden .

He bit back a laugh. He had to give the boy credit for pinching one of the more interesting books out of his library. As he recalled, the book described several sensual positions of lovemaking. Like as not, the boy could not read it since the entire manual was written in French.

“Is it a good story?” he asked, pretending as though he didn’t know what the book was about.

Royce frowned. “It has nice pictures.”

I’m sure it does , Stephen thought wryly. Emily would have Royce’s head on a pike if she knew what he was reading. Still, Royce wasn’t the first lad to find such a book.

“I could use your help in a small matter, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m reading,” Royce said. “I haven’t the time just now.”

He considered whether to confiscate the book, but it would only deepen the boy’s enmity toward him. Instead, he decided to divert his attention. “It’s about the tattoo you said your father had.”

Royce’s ears perked up in interest. He closed the book, as if trying to decide whether or not to give Stephen his attention.

“You see, I’d like to make a copy of the design to learn what it means,” Stephen continued. “But it’s on the back of my neck, and I cannot see it properly. Would you hold a mirror for me?”

“I’m busy,” Royce argued.

Stephen was never one to turn away from a challenge. If it meant using his wits to convince the lad, so be it. He was counting on the child’s natural curiosity.

First, he rang for Farnsworth and ordered two mirrors. Royce had not moved but was now studying a pair of lovers engaged in a spread-eagle position. Stephen resisted the urge to comment.

When Farnsworth returned, he carried a covered silver platter, along with the mirrors. “My lord, Lady Whitmore sent this.” He set the platter upon the desk.

Now what was Emily up to? Stephen lifted the cover and found a plate neatly covered with slices of pound cake. Atop the cake rested luscious strawberry halves, drenched in sweet cream.

He tasted the dessert, savoring its sweetness. Whether it was an apology or a bribe, he didn’t know. Perhaps both. He did know that she enjoyed baking, and it had taken time and care to make this.

It tasted all the sweeter because of it.

He offered some to Royce, who used his bare fingers to soak a piece of cake in cream. “Mmm…” the boy sighed. With strawberry streaks upon his lips, he wiped his hands upon his trousers and returned to his book.

After he’d finished the dessert, Stephen set the plate aside. He’d have to thank Emily for it later, and that was something he anticipated with pleasure.

He balanced the mirror against a stack of books on the side of his desk. Then he loosened his shirt, placing the mirror between his knees to see the design more clearly.

“I wonder if this tattoo has any meaning,” he mused out loud.

Royce merely licked his finger and turned the page.

“Of course, I’m certain your father never told you what it was. Such a thing would be quite a secret.”

Royce shifted in his seat but said nothing.

Stephen traced the design, dipping his pen into the inkwell. The swirling black symbols resembled an ancient language. Quentin had thought it might be Sanskrit.

“Did your father ever travel to the Orient?” Stephen asked.

“Yes.” Royce turned the book over, holding it up to the light. “And I’m going to travel to India someday.”

“Why India?”

“Our butler was from India. Anant was his name. He used to tell me stories of battles between his people and ours. He once slit a man’s belly with his sword.”

“Did he, now?”

“Someday, I shall learn how to slit a man’s belly.”

“A worthy endeavor, to be sure.” Stephen finished copying the tattoo and was surprised to see Royce had set the book aside.

“No, truly. I want to be a soldier.” The earnest tone in the boy’s voice and the solemnity of his posture gave Stephen pause.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But soldiers must be disciplined and loyal. Is that something you can do?”

Royce nodded. Then he came closer and stood beside him. “You have that part wrong,” he said. Stephen handed him the pen, and Royce redrew the tattoo. “There.”

“Thank you.” Even with Royce’s correction, the design was nothing like anything he’d seen before. “Do you know this symbol?”

“I don’t know what it means, but Father had one on his arm.”

“When did he get it?”

Royce lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “A year ago. When he went to India with Anant.”

“Where is Anant now?”

Royce shrugged. “In the village, I think. Father made him leave when we had no money for servants.”

It was worth investigating. The man might be able to shed light on the meaning of the tattoo. Stephen set the design aside, intending to ask Emily to accompany him to the village later. “Do you truly wish to be a soldier when you’re older?”

Royce bobbed his head again. Stephen didn’t mention that, as Daniel’s only heir, it was unlikely Royce would ever have such an opportunity. But the boy needed to learn how to govern his own lands, since he’d inherited his father’s title of Baron Hollingford.

“Then you’ll have to learn how to ride a horse, won’t you?”

A sudden shining hope dawned in Royce’s eyes. “We never—I mean, I never rode a horse before.” Royce took Stephen’s hand in his. “Can we go now?”

At the feeling of the small palm grasping his, a tightness rose up in Stephen’s chest. He wanted to be a different man than his father had been. Though Royce was not his flesh and blood, the boy was now his responsibility. He would be the one to teach Royce how to sit a horse, how to command the animal.

“Yes, we can go now.”

With the boy’s hand tucked in his own, Stephen passed Emily on the way, offering her a look of what-could-I-do? while Royce babbled on.

“And I’m going to learn how to gallop and I’ll go faster than anyone!”

His wife had a smudge of flour in her honey-gold hair, and never had any woman looked more delectable. He wanted to brush the flour aside, kissing her senseless.

“The cake was delicious.” He caught her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.

“You said you liked strawberries. I was in the mood to bake a cake, so…” She shrugged, as though it were nothing.

But she had tried to please him, had created the dish with her own hands. She cared.

Deep topaz eyes met his, and, on impulse, he caught her by the nape and kissed her. Her lips parted in surprise, but she kissed him back. It was too short by half, but the softness of her touch, the scent of vanilla, inflamed him.

“Uncle Stephen, come on .“ Royce pulled him away, and at last he relented.

“Later,” Emily whispered, after they had both left. She wanted so badly to believe he could be her helpmate and friend. But a part of her held back.

For three months she’d been alone. It had been the worst time of her existence because Stephen had disappeared, and she hadn’t known if he was dead or alive. She’d woken up in the middle of the night, wondering if she’d only imagined the marriage.

And when he returned, he hadn’t remembered her at all. Would he ever learn to love her? And if not, was it enough?

Farnsworth cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts. “There is a solicitor to see you. Mr. Terence Robinson.” The butler handed Emily the man’s card.

What was this all about? A wave of fear washed over her. She hadn’t seen Mr. Robinson since her brother’s death, when they’d been unable to locate Daniel’s will. They had assumed that the title and entailed property went to Royce.

Dread gathered in the pit of her stomach, gaining momentum. Was there something wrong?

She wiped her hands upon the apron. “I must change my gown. Please serve him tea in the parlor while I prepare myself.” Then she added, “Send for Lord Whitmore.”

The butler bowed, and when he had gone, Emily raced up the staircase, tearing off her apron. When she reached her room, she rummaged around, looking for something suitable to wear. There was nothing, save the lavender ball gown, which was completely inappropriate.

Oh, why hadn’t she brought any of the new gowns Stephen had given her? She’d left them behind, too afraid to wear them. Almost as if putting on the silks and satins would force her to become a true lady and a countess. But it was too late to worry about that now.

There was no choice but to continue wearing the black serge dress. Quickly, she pinned up her hair, moaning in dismay at her appearance. Flour spots marred her hair, and she tried to blot them out with water. She washed her face with scented soap, drying it with a towel. She prayed it would not take long for Farnsworth to find Stephen.

Her heart pounding, she took a deep breath. Each step toward the parlor felt like a step closer to an execution.

Emily opened the door, preparing for the worst. Mr. Robinson sat on the couch, a cup of tea in his hands. His dark wool jacket strained against the buttons, and he brushed the crumbs of a treacle biscuit from his buff-colored trousers.

“Lady Whitmore.” Her brother’s solicitor rose and inclined his head in greeting. “Thank you for receiving me.” With a warm smile, he added, “I am glad to hear that your husband has safely returned.”

“He has, yes.” She bade him sit down. “What business brings you to Falkirk, Mr. Robinson? Have you located Daniel’s will?”

“I have.” He accepted a fresh cup of tea when she poured it. “As you know, after your brother’s untimely death, we spent several months searching for it.”

“Royce inherited the title and lands, didn’t he?”

Mr. Robinson nodded, and Emily was able to breathe again. “Good. That’s good, isn’t it?”

The solicitor took a sip of tea, his eyes troubled. “I’m afraid there’s more. It came to our attention that your uncle Nigel was named legal guardian of the children, instead of you and your husband as we’d assumed.”

Her mind barely registered his words. Uncle Nigel? As an elderly widowed gentleman, Nigel had no use for young children. Why would Daniel have done such a thing?

“Uncle Nigel is still in India,” she informed Mr. Robinson.

“He was. But he has recently returned to his estate here, upon hearing of your brother’s death. His men contacted me, and, thanks to his efforts, we were able to locate the will. It seems your brother put it into his safekeeping.”

Emily’s suspicions darkened. It seemed a bit convenient for Nigel to suddenly find the will. She barely remembered her uncle from when she was a little girl. He’d been a stout man, always smiling. But they’d had little contact with him before he’d gone off to India, save the occasional letter.

“Why hasn’t he come to see us, if he is back in England?”

“He has invited you and the children to come and visit him. Here is his letter.” Mr. Robinson handed her a folded envelope.

Emily read the contents, and when she’d finished, she clenched her hands into fists. “He expects me to leave them behind.” It was a struggle to control her anger. “The children belong in my care. I have taken the place of their mother for almost a year now.”

“True, yes. But according to the law, they are now under Mr. Barrow’s protection. Unless he agrees to name you as their guardian, you have no choice.” Mr. Robinson reached for another treacle biscuit, offering her a sympathetic smile. “I would suggest that you go and ask him to relinquish his rights. He may well agree—”

She cut him off. “I will not give my brother’s children to Nigel or to anyone else.” With a hard stare at the solicitor, Emily rose to her feet. “Good day.”

“Forgive me, Lady Whitmore, but if you do not abide by the conditions of the will, Mr. Barrow has the right to alert the authorities.” He shook his head. “While I hope he would not do so, I beg of you not to impose such a hardship upon the children.”

“I will have a footman escort you to the door, sir,” Emily repeated.

The solicitor sighed. “I am sorry to have upset you, Lady Whitmore. I shall send over a copy of the will for you to peruse at your leisure. And you may wish to answer your uncle’s invitation.”

Her answer was to crumple up the letter and toss it into the fireplace. “Good day, sir.”

Mr. Robinson bowed and departed.

Emily clenched her skirts, willing herself to remain calm. She was not going to allow anyone to take Royce or Victoria. Will or no will, they belonged to her. Not her uncle, who hadn’t even bothered to come and see her in almost fifteen years.

She paced across the room for nearly half an hour until at long last, Stephen and Royce arrived. Her nephew’s hair was rumpled, his face glowing with excitement.

“I rode a horse!” Royce exclaimed breathlessly. “He was a brown gelding, almost fifteen hands high. Lord Whitmore taught me how to canter him.” The joy in the boy’s voice made her not want to spoil the moment.

“You wanted to see me?” Stephen asked.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Emily replied to Stephen. “I would like to hear about your first ride.” Giving Royce her full attention, she forced a smile while he described his experiences.

Her eyes met Stephen’s. There was amusement in his expression, almost fatherly in the way he listened to Royce’s boyish excitement.

“He did well, though I imagine his backside will be sore in the morning.”

“I am fine,” Royce insisted. “Can we ride more today?”

Stephen shook his head. “Tomorrow.” With a glance down at the empty plate, he asked, “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and see if Cook has any more biscuits?”

After the boy had left, Stephen turned his attention to Emily. “You look worried,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

He reached out to rub the tension from her neck, and gooseflesh rose up on her skin. Emily could smell his skin, the light scent of shaving soap and the outdoors. It made her want to pull him closer.

She wanted so badly to pour out her troubles, to lay her head on his shoulder and let him relieve the burden of responsibility. “My brother’s solicitor, Mr. Terence Robinson, came to speak with us about Daniel’s will.”

“What did he want?”

“The original will was finally found. Mr. Robinson claims that Daniel did not name us as guardians of the children. He named my uncle guardian.”

Stephen’s hands moved down to her waist. “Have you seen the will?”

“Not yet. He says he’ll send a copy to us.” She gripped his hands in hers. “My uncle also invited us to visit and bring the children.”

“You’re troubled about it. Why?”

“It seems too sudden. Why now? Why wouldn’t Nigel have contacted me after Daniel’s death?” She simply couldn’t imagine any reason why Daniel would give his own children into the care of their uncle instead of her.

“It takes time for a letter to reach India, Emily.” Her husband pulled her into an embrace as a means of soothing her. He nipped at her lips, and Emily found it difficult to think clearly while he was touching her. Then, he lowered his mouth to her neck, sending fierce shivers through her skin.

“Don’t, please.” She needed him to understand how serious this was. “This is important to me.”

“Why are you afraid? Is there something the matter with your uncle?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with Nigel. But I can’t understand why he would want custody of small children, at his age. Something feels wrong about this.”

“Royce and Victoria are under my protection. You needn’t fear.” Stephen took her hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “I’ll look into the matter. I’ll go and talk to your uncle myself, if you wish.”

She forced herself to calm down. He’d given her his promise. It would have to be enough for now. “Thank you.”

Stephen sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. “Earlier today, Royce told me about your former butler Anant.”

“Anant Paltu. He worked for us a few years ago.”

“If Mr. Paltu still lives in the village, I want to pay him a call tomorrow morning,” Stephen said.

“Why?”

“He may know something about the tattoo on my neck.” He loosened his collar, revealing it to her. “Royce claimed that Mr. Paltu accompanied your brother on his trip to India.”

She knew Daniel had got the marking in India but had never questioned why or what it meant.

“It’s not a coincidence that both of us have the tattoos,” Stephen said. “It makes me wonder about the connection.”

“What do you think the mark means?”

“I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” He stifled a yawn, and then took her hand, pulling her forward. “Come to bed.”

Her face turned scarlet. How could he think of such a thing now? She kept her feet anchored in place, refusing to move. “We discussed this. It’s far too soon for me.”

A smug look overcame his face. “That wasn’t what I had in mind, dear wife.”

“Then what did you have in mind?”

“I’ll show you.” He stood and beckoned for her to follow. He led her down a corridor and upstairs. At the door to their bedchamber, he waited. His shirt collar remained loose from where he’d revealed the tattoo. The sight of his skin made her remember what it was like to touch him.

She waited at the threshold, shaking her head. “Why do I sense this is not a good idea?”

“You are entirely too suspicious,” he remarked. Once inside, he sat down and removed his coat, waistcoat, and shoes. “I am the one at your mercy, not the other way around. You might try to force yourself upon me.”

He laid back upon the pillow, his eyes mischievous. “I am willing to risk it, however. You should remove your dress and those damned petticoats first.”

“No.” She wasn’t fooled at all by him. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the doorframe. “Whatever you have to say can be said without me disrobing.”

He sighed and caught her wrists. “Trust me, Emily.”

“I don’t trust you at all.” And yet, she let her hands fall to her sides, while he unbuttoned her dress. “Why is it that every time I am alone with you, you keep trying to remove my clothing?”

“Because it’s fun?” he suggested. Turning serious, he continued, “You cannot sleep in that contraption.”

“Sleep?” The idea of sinking into a soft bed was as appealing as a dish of strawberry ice. “But it’s still late afternoon. They’ll be expecting us for supper. And what about the children?”

“Farnsworth will hold our supper for us. And I feel certain that he won’t deny the children their food.” He helped her lift away the heavy petticoats and crinoline before unlacing her stays. Then he leaned back upon the vast bed, patting the pillow beside him.

Emily climbed into bed wearing only her chemise and drawers. He pulled her close. “This is nice,” he said. His arms surrounded her, warm and strong. The spicy scent of his shaving soap made her want to snuggle into his neck. “I slept little last night, between Victoria’s crying and your snoring outside the door.”

“I do not snore.”

“Of course you do. And if you snore while I am napping, I’ll be sure to kick you.” His hand moved below the curve of her breast, his mouth upon her cheek.

If he believed she could fall asleep like this, then the man had gone mad. She wanted to turn toward him, to run her hands inside his shirt and feel the ridges of his muscles. Perhaps if she counted sheep, she might be able to ignore the heat of his skin against hers.

“Do not take advantage of me while I sleep,” she warned, closing her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Emily,” he said. His voice was like a swirl of cream upon chocolate. “If I take advantage of you, you’ll know it.”

Though his hands never moved, her nipple tightened into a hard bud.

One sheep. Two sheep. Sixteen sheep.

She grabbed a pillow and squeezed it hard. Her body craved him, but she refused to weaken.

Beside her, she heard his breathing grow deep and even. He held her close, her back pressed up against him.

It reminded her of the way he’d held her the first time he’d made love to her on their wedding night. Skin to skin, he’d treated her with such gentleness. Sadness pricked her eyelids, for he hadn’t loved her then.

And she didn’t know what he felt for her now.