Page 22 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

T hey rode out the following afternoon. Stephen was accustomed to riding, his body naturally adapting to the horse’s gait. Emily, in contrast, hung on to the reins with white knuckles. He suspected she hadn’t ridden a horse in years, and her backside would be sore later. And yet, he knew she’d die before complaining.

The village appeared upon the horizon, a pastoral scene of thatched cottages and wisps of smoke rising from the chimneys. A farmer driving a horse-drawn cart rumbled along the dirt road. When they reached the center of the village, wooden signs hung outside to mark the establishments. Stephen motioned for Emily to ride behind him as the streets grew narrower. They passed a tavern, a blacksmith’s, and a shoemaker’s before Emily called out for Stephen to halt.

He dismounted and put his arms around her waist to help her down. His hands lingered a moment, but she said nothing. Last night he had managed to sleep beside her without making love to her, though the effort had nearly been his undoing.

He was waiting for her to turn to him. He wanted her to desire him, to give their marriage a chance. But it had to be her choice.

She had blossomed here, comfortable as she’d never been in London. Perhaps she was right, and he should let her live at Falkirk.

Tethering their horses outside the shoemaker’s, he walked alongside her until they reached an apothecary shop. The spicy aroma of cinnamon and cardamom filled his nostrils as they entered. The owner, a stout man with long hanging jowls, set down his mortar and pestle at the sight of Emily.

“Why, Lady Whitmore,” he greeted her, “it is a surprise to see you.”

“Hello,” she responded, offering the man a bright smile. “Lord Whitmore, may I introduce you to Mr. Barmouth?”

The apothecary gave a slight bow. “My lord.”

Stephen greeted the man and added, “I hope you may be able to assist me in a small matter. I am looking for a man called Anant Paltu. He used to work in my wife’s household.”

“I am afraid Anant is not here at the moment,” Mr. Barmouth apologized. With a quick glance toward the back room of the shop, he shrugged. “I shall give him your message, however. Is there a place where he can find you?”

“I will be at Baron Hollingford’s estate in the next hour,” Stephen offered. “Or if he cannot meet me there, he may come to Falkirk.”

Emily’s expression sharpened when he mentioned Daniel’s house, but she thankfully said nothing. He hadn’t told her of his intent to search the property.

Mr. Barmouth promised to send the message on their behalf, and they departed. Once they were back outside, Emily accepted his assistance onto her horse. “Why do you want to visit Daniel’s estate? There is hardly anything left.”

“If your brother had any records relating to The Lady Valiant , they would be at his house.”

“Unless someone found them first.”

“Which is what I intend to find out.” He handed her the reins.

Emily took them and sighed. “You’re right. We’ll go and see what we can find.”

“It could be dangerous,” he pointed out. “I think it’s better if I escort you back to Falkirk first.”

“You’re not leaving me behind, Whitmore. If there is someone dangerous there, one of us can ride for help.” She spurred her horse into a gallop, wincing at the jostling horse.

With no other choice, Stephen followed her. They passed the village and rode into the open countryside. Amidst the profusion of wildflowers, a modest manor house stood atop a hillside. Abandoned and broken, Stephen doubted if there was much left to it.

They rode uphill until they reached the gates. He didn’t like the look of the place. Once, Hollingford had possessed an estate known for breeding the finest horses. Now, all that remained was a crumbling manor. Emily dismounted without waiting for Stephen and led the animal to the stables.

Within the empty stalls, the malodorous scent provoked a sudden memory. Visions poured through his mind, filling in the rifts of the past. He remembered traveling by coach to Scotland and Emily’s face radiant with happiness.

He’d brought her back to Falkirk three days after the wedding. She had worn a simple blue dress, and it had snowed that morning. A thin layer of ice had caused him to stumble upon the threshold.

Vivid memories crashed into him, and bitterness filled his throat when he recalled her smile. “You were in love with me, weren’t you?”

Emily tethered her horse to one of the stalls and stopped to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

“You married me because you loved me. You said it on the day we wed.”

Her face flushed, and she looked away. “I don’t know what I said.”

But he remembered it as though he were standing beside her just yesterday. “You were afraid to marry me, at first. But after I convinced you, you said you’d dreamed of marrying me. That this was what you’d hoped for.”

She kept her gaze averted. “I might have been caught up in the moment.”

He drew nearer, trapping her against a stall. “I married you to avoid my father’s interference. And to take you away from here.” He rested both hands upon her shoulders. “You never knew that your brother sent me, did you?”

She shook her head.

“He asked me to come and ensure that you were all right. When I saw this place…” He shook his head. “You didn’t deserve to live like that.”

After a pause, she inclined her head. “It no longer matters.”

But it did. He could see it in the way she guarded her emotions. “Would you have married me if you had known the truth about why I was there?”

She shrugged. “You said everything I wanted to hear. I had no one to blame but myself.”

“I hurt you when I left. I am sorry for it.”

A tremulous expression glimmered in her eyes, but she shielded the vulnerability. Though she might have dismissed it as unimportant, he knew better. He wanted to atone for it, to start again.

Without acknowledging the apology, she said, “Let us go into the house.”

The manor boasted fourteen rooms, but Stephen could not remember a time when the house had held all its furnishings and paintings. The brick facade was covered in ivy, the vines smothering cracked windows. The panes were rotted, the wood crumbling in places. It was a home that evoked despair.

“Are you certain you wish to enter?” he asked.

She nodded. “It wasn’t always like this.”

Emily moved up the crumbling steps, running her hands along the entryway until she felt a loose brick. Wiggling it forward, she reached into the hollow and withdrew an iron key. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. The smell of dust and decay permeated his senses.

Nothing of value remained. The walls were discolored with light squares where paintings had once hung. As he walked toward the drawing room, he spied an old, battered Grecian couch peppered with moth holes. Spider webs glistened against the heavy green velvet curtains by the windows.

“Daniel sold the étagère ,“ Emily remarked. “Just before we married. I used to love tracing my fingers on the wood. Mama had porcelain shepherdesses on display.”

“Were you happy here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “They always argued over money, over which pieces to sell. After Papa died—”

A shudder pulsed through her. Her family’s tragedy had been retold in countless drawing rooms. Rather than beg for help from a family member, her father had hanged himself. She buried her face in her hands, trying to gather her composure.

“Were you there when it happened?”

“I was the one who cut him down.”

Stephen was aghast. “What of your brother? Where was he?”

Emily took a breath. “Daniel had gone to play faro. He brought home money that night. It was one of the few times he won.”

Stephen placed an arm around her shoulders. He wanted to grant her support, to let her know that he regretted what had happened. “You should not have had to face such a tragedy alone.”

“I was not alone. Daniel’s wife was with me. But she was pregnant and could not help.” A cynical expression formed. “I should have found a way to stop it from happening.”

“It wasn’t your fault. No one blames you.”

“No, but it is a convenient excuse for the ladies of the ton to keep me out of their drawing rooms. They know that this is what I came from, Stephen.“ She gestured toward the disheveled room. “This is who I am.”

“No. It was a tragedy, not a judgment of your character.”

She didn’t argue, as though it wasn’t worth the effort. He could see the disbelief in her eyes. Silks and fancy gowns would not conquer her vulnerability. He didn’t know if he could change that.

“Let us go into my brother’s study,” she suggested. “There might be some papers that could help you remember the night you were attacked.”

He followed her, stepping over a fallen table and broken glass. When they reached the study, ledgers lay everywhere, the room in shambles. Someone had searched thoroughly for something. Evidence, Stephen was certain. But what?

“He was here before us,” Emily guessed, trying to push a heavy desk upright. “The man who attacked me.”

Stephen assisted her and they picked up the fallen drawers. “I agree. But he may have overlooked something.”

They spent the next hour sorting through the papers and righting furniture. Stephen knew that the family had lost everything, but seeing the reality was much worse than he’d imagined. Only months ago, Emily had lived here with her brother and the children. He didn’t like to think of rats living here, much less his wife and family.

His family. The thought sobered him. He was responsible for their well-being and protection. Although Royce and Victoria were not of his blood, he was growing accustomed to them. And whether or not he retained guardianship, he made a personal vow never to let any of them suffer through this kind of existence again.

Stephen continued searching through the books when he spied a tin horse, just the size of the soldiers belonging to Royce. The horse was small enough to fit inside his palm, the brown paint nearly gone. Stephen tucked the toy inside his waistcoat pocket, planning to return it to Royce later.

“Look at this one,” Emily said, handing him a bound log. Stephen thumbed through the pages, stopping when he saw the name of one of his ships: The Lady Valiant . It was the same ship whose cargo profits had been stolen. But several pages of the log were missing.

“This was my ledger, not Daniel’s. I wrote these entries.” He frowned, wondering how Emily’s brother had come by the pages. “How do you think it ended up—” He stopped short when a dark-skinned Indian man entered, dressed in flowing robes of beige.

The man was not tall, but he moved with the grace of a tiger, swift and sure. A vision flashed through his mind. This man had raised a knife, delivering a vicious blow against someone…a shattering pain invaded Stephen’s body…and later he recalled the scent of healing herbs pressed against his wounds.

“Mem Sahib,” he greeted Emily. A strange expression crossed the Indian’s face when Stephen was about to introduce himself.

“It is good to see you, Anant.” Emily took the man’s hands in her own. “You look well.”

The Indian returned her smile, and he seemed like an older brother, protective of Emily. He bowed to Stephen, his eyes discerning. “Sahib, I see you have recovered from your injuries.”

From the way the Indian noted the healing, Stephen ventured his prediction. “You were there the night I was attacked.”

“I was.” Regret shadowed his face. “To my sorrow, I arrived too late to save Lord Hollingford’s life. But yours—” He broke off, his gaze flickering toward Emily before he shielded the thoughts.

“What happened to me after the attack?”

The Indian glanced at Emily again. “While I fought your attackers, you escaped…elsewhere, Sahib.”

“Where?”

After a long moment of hesitation, the Indian admitted, “I do not know.”

A vision flashed through Stephen’s mind, of staggering through the streets, blood drenching his shirt. “Why were they trying to kill me? Were they Daniel’s creditors?”

Anant shook his head slowly. “They wanted the profits from your ship, The Lady Valiant .“ A dark undercurrent cloaked the servant’s words, almost as though he resented the loss. “I overheard them arguing about it. They were trying to locate the missing funds and thought that Lord Hollingford knew where they were.”

Emily rubbed her arms and shivered. “Daniel would never steal anything. Why would they suspect him?”

Anant bowed his head. “I regret, my lady, that he had numerous debts.”

“What happened when he went to India with you last year?” Stephen questioned. “Royce told me about a tattoo that Daniel received. Was it Sanskrit?”

Anant looked uncomfortable. “It was Chinese, my lord. But I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Stephen didn’t believe him. The marking most definitely had a darker meaning, one that the servant did not wish to disclose. He didn’t question him further, but at least now he knew the language of the foreign emblems.

Anant turned to Emily, his expression softening. “The children, Mem Sahib. Are they well?”

Emily forced a smile and nodded. “They are at Falkirk, should you like to see them.”

The two talked quietly, Anant helping her to set the room back in order. As the sun grew lower, Stephen drew Emily to his side. “Go and wait with the horses. Before we leave, I wish to speak with Anant alone.”

“There is nothing that cannot be said in my presence,” she argued.

He lowered his voice and murmured in her ear, “He may tell me more if you’re not there.”

A flash of grief caught her, and he squeezed her hand. “Wait at the stables, and I’ll take you back to Falkirk.”

She obeyed, but from her demeanor, he sensed that this conversation was far from over.

When he was certain she’d gone, he returned to Anant. “The Chinese tattoo. There is another man who wears the same marking.” He chose his words carefully, not wanting to reveal too much. “Carstairs is his name.”

“Were I you, I would not trust him, my lord. The man betrayed Lord Hollingford to his enemies.”

Stephen recalled the viscount confiding financial troubles. Could Carstairs have stolen the shipping profits and tried to behave as though Daniel were the thief? Or someone else?

“If I have more questions, will you be in the village?”

Anant nodded. “I will answer whatever I can, Sahib.” His dark face softened. “And if you would permit it, I should like to see Master Royce and young Victoria once more. I helped to care for them when Lord Hollingford was unable to do so.”

Stephen granted permission and thanked Anant once more for the information. The Indian bowed deeply, and moments later, he disappeared on foot toward the village.

The revelation troubled him deeply, for he had trusted Carstairs at one time. And yet, he was not prepared to accept Anant’s assertions without proof. The events were more complex than he’d anticipated and would take time to unravel.

One matter was certain. He would protect Emily and the children above all else.

That night in their bedchamber, a fire burned low in the hearth. Her maid had turned back the covers of the bed, while Emily sat with her knees curled up to her chest, her cotton nightgown covering her from neck to ankle. When the door opened, she jolted at the sight of her husband.

“Did you need something?” She gripped a fold of her nightgown, for he was staring at her with undisguised hunger. All through the ride back to Falkirk, he hadn’t spoken to her. Now, he reminded her of a wolf, stalking his prey.

“I thought you would want to know what Anant said after you were gone.” Stephen removed his riding boots, then his coat. He turned away to unbutton his shirt, catching her attention. At the sight of his bare back, her cheeks heated. His muscles appeared sinewy with rough planes, like carved marble. Upon the back of his neck, she saw the Chinese tattoo. The foreign marking gave him a dangerous edge, like a mercenary. Fear rippled through her, and she wondered what it meant.

“I—yes, I would.”

He leaned against the chair, his corded muscles tight in the firelight. He stood so near, she smelled the faint trace of brandy on his breath. But there was no doubt he was sober.

“He warned me not to trust Carstairs. And I’m inclined to agree with him.”

Stephen’s hand curled around the back of her neck. “You accused me of letting your brother die.”

Shame darkened her cheeks. “I didn’t know what happened. I thought you’d left him.” She rose from the chair, both afraid to move closer…and afraid he would move away.

“I nearly died,” he admitted.

Emily rested her forehead against his chest, and she believed him. His hands settled upon the crown of her head, his thumbs brushing her temples. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

And she meant it, in her heart. Despite their tenuous beginning, he still held her heart. And she wanted him desperately.

He touched her neck, his hands moving down her back. Gently, he pressed her body closer until she felt the hard length of him through his trousers. A tiny spiral of fear hovered, but she pushed it aside. She wanted to be with him tonight, to pretend for a moment that the danger didn’t exist. To claim him as her own and make him remember all the things he’d forgotten.

His fingers moved against her spine, gathering the fabric of her nightgown until it rose to her knees. He reached beneath the delicate linen, his palms cupping her bare bottom. At his touch, Emily closed her eyes.

“Did I undress you like this on our wedding night?”

“I…undressed myself. I was in your bed waiting for you.” Just remembering it made her nipples pucker against the cool fabric. As his hands caressed her, warm heat blossomed between her thighs. He drew her against him, his manhood rock-hard against the thin barrier of clothing.

He kissed her, his mouth conjuring up the past as though their wedding night were only a day ago. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close.

“Help me remember everything,” he whispered.

Emily raised her arms, and he lifted her nightgown away. She stood naked before him, his eyes turning hot.

He kissed her again, a demanding embrace that took her mouth fully captive. Emily surrendered to his mouth, meeting his passion with her own feelings.

She needed him so much, needed to know that she meant something to him, even if for only this night. The lonely months fell away, and she ached to join with him.

He lowered his mouth to her breast, his tongue swirling upon her tight nipple. Another rush of wetness dampened between her thighs.

With trembling hands, she unbuttoned his trousers, freeing his erection. Unable to resist, she took him in her fist, stroking the smoothness of the length, the rounded head.

The expression on his face was of a man caught unaware. His eyes were closed, and he sucked in a breath when she dragged her hand in a gentle friction along his length.

“I touched you like this, before. Do you remember?”

He shook his head, groaning when her thumb caressed the wetness coating the tip of him. His mouth crashed down upon hers, a wicked kiss that made her body shiver.

He trapped her wrists, guiding her backwards on to the bed. She laid down upon the soft sheets, needing him. He dipped his fingers into her depths, caressing her in a rhythm that made her grip the sheets.

“You are my wife,” he whispered. “And you’re mine.”

A hot fist of desire caught up inside her, and when he stroked her velvet depths, her breath shattered. Blowing a light wisp of air against her body, his mouth moved lower, lower still, while his hands invaded and withdrew.

His kiss edged up the inside of her thighs, tantalizingly close to her center. “I want to taste you.”

Before she could protest, his tongue licked her intimately, sliding partway inside her. She arched her back, shaking with unfulfilled need. “Stephen—”

But she could no longer speak when his tongue worked against her, pushing her closer to the edge. Her hands gripped his hair, her legs wide open until the madness swept over her, rocking her hips with waves of pleasure.

She felt the tip of his length hovering at her entrance. Then he slid partway into her folds, using his body to tease her. Her breath spasmed as he entered and withdrew, letting her moisture coat his length.

The look of fierce concentration on his face made her aware of his own aching needs.

“Come to me,” she pleaded.

There was a moment’s hesitation, before he sank inside her completely. He held her bottom, easing himself back and then filling her again. The rhythm of his penetration caught hold until her body moved against his.

She had been so innocent, so unknowing on their wedding night, and yet he’d made love to her until her body was sore the next morning. Sweet heaven above, how she’d missed him.

Stephen forced her legs to wrap around his waist, deepening the strokes. He kissed her breasts, sucking her nipples hard as he buried himself inside her.

She was shaking, her body welcoming him deep within. He thrust his full length inside, seemingly growing harder. A rush of hot moisture flooded over her, and she bit back a scream, her tight well squeezing him with aftershocks. She saw his own release come seconds later, his hips flexing until he groaned aloud.

He lay atop her, his warm body covering her completely. Emily couldn’t stop trembling.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered.

“No.” But she offered no elaboration. She couldn’t bring herself to confess how much she’d missed him.

He withdrew from inside her, rolling her back against him. He pressed a kiss upon her bare shoulder. “I need to return to London.”

“Why?”

“I want to speak with Carstairs again, about the tattoo and the shipment.” He slid his palm over the soft skin of her body. “And I want you and the children to remain here, so you’re safe.”

She didn’t like the thought of him going off to fight an unseen enemy while she remained alone with the children. Thoughts of the solicitor’s visit preyed upon her mind, and she rolled over to face him. “What about my Uncle Nigel?”

“What about him?”

“What if he tries to take the children from me while you are gone? Mr. Robinson said I had to bring them to his estate.” She couldn’t imagine doing such a thing.

“We will decide what to do when we see the will. And as I said, I’ll go and speak to him. Perhaps I can convince him to wait.”

“And what if I have to give them up?” The thought of losing the children broke her heart.

His arms tightened around her. “We have to be careful because of the law.”

She drew back and turned to face him, unable to believe what he’d just said. “You’ll just hand them over without fighting for them?”

His expression remained stoic. “Do you honestly believe I would give the children into a stranger’s care?”

“I don’t know.” Emily sat up, folding her arms around her waist. A brittle pain laced across her heart as she reached for her fallen nightgown.

“You don’t believe I’ll protect them.” His visage darkened with resentment.

“I’m afraid.” Raw images seared into her memory, of her laughing brother now gone, a cold corpse buried in the ground. “I don’t want anyone to be hurt.” Not the children. And especially not her husband. But the words wouldn’t come forth.

“Trust in me,” he demanded. “The children are safer here than in London. You know it as well as I.”

“No, I don’t know that. I was attacked here,” she argued. “We should stay together.”

Stephen set his hands upon her shoulders, pulling her back into his embrace. “They want me dead, Emily. Not the children.”

She couldn’t allow herself to think about him facing danger in London. Flipping back the coverlet, she reached for her wrapper, but he stopped her.

“Let me look into the matter,” he insisted. “I’ll do what I can to make sure the children stay with us.”

“I won’t give them up,” she insisted, her eyes brimming up. “They’re my children. Not my uncle’s.” Though she had not given birth to them, Royce and Victoria were the only family she had left. A storm of emotions tangled within her heart. “I don’t care what the law says.”

“I will find out what I can.”

But she was terrified that he would not be able to keep their family together.