Page 26 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

T he familiar grey skies of London greeted Emily as she disembarked from the coach. Nigel had insisted that she come with him on his trip to town. Although Stephen would be angry, she didn’t want to remain alone at Nigel’s residence.

Her uncle took her hand, assisting her down. “Chin up, my dear. Remember, you are the daughter of a baron and the wife of an earl. There is no need to look as though you wish to flee into the streets.”

His warm smile encouraged her, so Emily straightened and followed him into his London residence. The townhouse was every bit as grand as the country estate with white windowsills against a dark brick facade.

They had brought the children with them, for she would not even consider leaving them behind. Royce had whined and moped, at first, but brightened when she mentioned seeing Stephen again.

The servants welcomed her, and her bedchamber was decorated in shades of delicate cream and blue. A thick, luxurious carpet covered the floors, and she warmed herself by the fire. Though she tried to rest from her journey by reading the book of cooking receipts Stephen had given her, she could not prevent herself from pacing.

The very thought of seeing Stephen again filled her with trepidation. He wasn’t going to be pleased with her. And if she dared set foot in society, as Nigel wished her to do, he’d be furious.

Was it only because of the danger? Or was he ashamed of her? The self-doubts plagued her, multiplying with each hour.

In the past few weeks, Nigel had tried to build up her confidence. He’d practiced dancing with her, despite the painful gout that plagued his knee. He’d shared long talks with her in the evening, encouraging her and listening when she confessed her fears.

She had come to see him as a lonely man who wanted to fill his days with the children. But she still didn’t want to give them up, regardless of what Daniel’s will stated.

Nigel had been especially indignant when he’d learned of Lord Rothburne’s refusal to recognize her as Stephen’s wife. He vowed to force the marquess into accepting her.

Tomorrow night, he planned to escort her to Lady Thistlewaite’s ball. He had it on good authority that Stephen would attend. The aching emptiness in her stomach tightened with anticipation, for she longed to see him. And yet, the thought of facing Lady Thistlewaite made her consider developing a sudden case of hives.

How would the earl react when she arrived? Stephen did not want her here; he had made that quite clear. Neither did the marquess. When she arrived at the ball, it would be without their knowledge.

She was strongly tempted to pay a call upon her husband, to warn him of her intent. Oh, he would be angry all right. But it would be worse if he learned of her arrival at the ball. Better to let him know sooner, rather than later.

She donned her cloak and bonnet, just about to leave when Nigel stopped her. “Why, Emily, is something the matter?”

“No.” She glanced at the door. “I was planning to pay a call.”

“Not alone, I hope.”

“Of course not. I was going to take a footman as an escort.”

Her uncle relaxed. “Very well. But you will, of course, take the carriage. I’ve no wish for harm to befall you on the streets when we’ve only just become reacquainted.” He summoned a servant. “Have my landau and driver brought to the front. Lady Whitmore wishes to pay a few calls.” Nigel bowed gallantly. “There is no need to walk.”

“It isn’t so very far,” she protested.

“Perhaps not, but you are a countess, and you must present yourself as such. I look forward to introducing you to society tomorrow evening.” His blue eyes grew thoughtful. “It should have been done years ago. I am sorry once again that your circumstances were not different. But enough about the past.”

Nigel cleared his throat and predicted, “You will enchant them all.” Offering her a wink, he added, “I may not possess a title, but I do have connections.”

“Thank you, Uncle Nigel.” Impulsively, she gave him a hug. He smelled of tobacco and tea.

Nigel patted her on the back. “Enjoy your outing then.”

“I shall.” The words bolstered her courage somewhat. Then it occurred to her that she might soften Stephen up, were she to bring him the pairs of shoes and boots she’d ordered. After instructing the footman to bring them, she boarded the carriage.

Her journey through the streets was very different from the last time. Nigel’s open carriage, painted black with gold trim, made her quite conspicuous. The din of horses, carriages and merchants enveloped her in a swirling haze of motion. She smelled the acrid city air and the familiar odor of horses.

While they traveled down Oxford Street, Emily gripped the edges of her cloak. Though she wore a perfectly respectable morning gown with a rose overskirt and cream underdress, she couldn’t help but think of Lady Thistlewaite’s criticism. Despite Nigel’s instruction, it was hard to push past her hurt feelings.

Before long, the landau approached Rothburne House. Emily hadn’t intended to call upon Stephen’s parents, but as the carriage passed by, she saw Lady Rothburne leaving the house.

“Stop the carriage,” she ordered the driver.

This is not a good idea , her common sense chided. Stephen’s mother will want nothing to do with you.

But she had to face Lady Rothburne, soon enough. It might not be that bad if she remembered her manners.

Behave like a countess , she coaxed her wayward courage.

“My lady?” the footman asked, waiting for her to make a decision.

Emily took his hand and disembarked from the carriage. Forcing a bright smile, she greeted Stephen’s mother. “Good day, Lady Rothburne.”

The marchioness pretended as if she hadn’t heard her. She walked past Emily without speaking, giving her the cut direct. Unwilling to be ignored, Emily stopped her. “Lady Rothburne, I—”

Lady Rothburne’s face grew weary. “Do not try to see my son. My husband has forbidden you to set foot in our house, and it is better if you leave.”

“Stephen is here?” She’d expected him to be at his town house residence.

The marchioness accepted help from a footman in boarding her own carriage. “Yes, he’s here.” She smoothed her skirts and offered a sympathetic look. “Let him go, Emily. It is best for all of us. Stephen should never have married you, even if you were friends long ago.”

“I am the daughter of a baron,” Emily said firmly. “Not the offspring of a chimney sweep.”

“You know nothing of our lives. You’ll never understand.”

“You are right. I don’t understand why you try to manipulate Stephen this way. He made his choice.”

“He made his choice to leave you and return home,” Lady Rothburne said, her words striking like a barb in Emily’s heart. “As far as London society is concerned, you trapped him into marriage, and he wants nothing to do with you. If you try to claim differently, you will be branded as a liar. No one will take your word against ours. You should remain in the countryside where you belong.”

The marchioness closed the door to the carriage, leaving her behind. Emily felt as though she’d taken a blow to her stomach. What had happened to turn Lady Rothburne against her?

You don’t belong here. They won’t ever accept you.

Did Stephen feel the same way? She thought of the last time she’d seen him when he’d sneaked inside her room. Her body warmed at the memory of the way he’d made love to her.

No. She couldn’t believe that his actions were a lie. He had to feel something for her. And marquess or not, she wasn’t about to let go of her husband without a fight.

Emily strode up the stone steps to Rothburne House, the packages of shoes in her arms. Rapping sharply on the door, she waited.

Phillips nearly closed the door in her face when he saw who it was. Emily trapped her hand in the door frame. “I am here to see my husband, the earl. He will be most displeased if I am denied entrance.”

“I have orders from Lord Rothburne—”

“Is the marquess receiving calls at the moment?” She cut him off, not caring what his orders were.

The footman hesitated. “That is not your concern.”

“In that case, I assume he’s not here.” Without waiting for permission, Emily forced her way across the threshold. “You risk your position if you deny me the right to see my husband.”

“I’ll lose my position if the marquess finds out,” Phillips muttered, but he didn’t stop her. “You may await the earl in the drawing room.”

He led her to a room decorated in shades of sea green and lilac. Gleaming white crown molding framed the window, and a rich burgundy Grecian sofa rested in front of it. Porcelain figurines stood here and there, while a row of porcelain plates adorned the fireplace mantel.

Emily handed him the packages meant for Stephen. “See to it that Lord Whitmore receives these.”

Phillips bowed and took the parcels away. Afterwards, she sat, folding her hands in her lap. She tried to don a calm presence of mind. With each passing minute, she longed to pace the room. Where was Stephen? Would he refuse to see her?

The sound of movement drew her attention. Anger punctuated the earl’s stride, fury lined in every muscle of his frame. Callous gray eyes incinerated her with the full force of his wrath.

“You were supposed to remain in the country where it’s safe,” he said in a tight voice. He was holding back his temper, and she knew that she had best tread lightly.

“I am glad to see you, too.” She rose from the sofa and noted that he made no move to embrace or greet her.

The earl turned his back on her, staring out the window. Tension ridged his spine, his knuckles resting upon the windowpane. “You put yourself in danger by coming here.”

“Myself in danger? You were the one who came here alone to confront your enemies.” She walked to stand beside him. The scent of his shaving soap evoked the memory of his naked body atop her own. She closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from thinking of it. He kept his distance, and she wondered what it would take to break apart the wall between them.

“Did Nigel escort you here?”

“Yes. And the children. My uncle intends to introduce me into society properly.”

His temper erupted. “It’s not safe, Emily. Why would you bring all of you here? Does he intend to parade you in front of my attacker?”

She bridled at his accusation. “Should I have remained at Nigel’s home, alone, while he came to London? He brought most of his household with him. It was safer to accompany him.”

“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with, Emily.” Stephen advanced upon her, closing the distance. Dragging her to her feet, he grasped her nape. “Show some sense. Twice, someone has tried to kill me, and yet you behave as though you are immune to peril.” There was worry in his voice, echoing her own fears for him.

“You’re behaving the same way.” She covered his hands, only inches away from his mouth. Without letting him speak, she leaned forward and kissed him. Right now, she needed to be in her husband’s arms.

His lips touched hers with such gentleness, she wanted to weep. Dear God, if anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.

His gray eyes grew troubled. “I want you to return to Nigel’s estate. Wait for me there with the children.”

She shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here alone, Stephen. I don’t want you to die.” It was unthinkable to imagine losing him.

“I have no intention of dying.”

“Neither did Daniel. But intentions cannot stop a bullet.”

His palm caressed her nape, his fingers threading into her hair. The familiar touch, the sudden transformation of anger into desire, made her shiver. His thumb grazed a path toward her ear.

He embraced her tightly, and though he spoke nothing of his own feelings, no words were needed. His nose brushed against her temple, his mouth against her cheek.

“I investigated the will, as you asked. And Nigel is indeed the guardian of Victoria and Royce,” Stephen said. “I could argue the matter in court, if you want me to pursue it further. But I doubt if we’d win.”

“I want them back,” she admitted. “But he has taken good care of the children. And of me.”

He stepped back, his gaze passing over her rose gown. “You look lovely today.”

She blushed. “I have a different gown for tomorrow evening. Uncle Nigel plans to escort me to Lady Thistlewaite’s ball.”

“No.” The edge in his voice held a warning. “You’re not going. It’s not safe.”

“I will be in public,” she argued. “Nothing will happen.” After a slight pause, she added, “I saw your mother today, and she thinks I trapped you into marriage.”

“That’s not true.”

His immediate defense emboldened her. “I know, but…I want to be the sort of countess you need. I need to face the ton and find my place among them.”

Her anger flared up, but he continued, “I don’t want you to be hurt, Emily. Not by the man who wants me dead. And not by the society matrons who would cut you down.”

Before she could protest, he stole another kiss. Temptation beckoned her to lose herself with him once more. Without thinking, she reached up to touch his dark brown hair, letting her arms settle around his neck. “The matrons would not cut me down if you acknowledged me as your wife.”

“I can’t do that. Not until this is over.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I’d rather you remain hidden so no one can harm you.”

Although she knew he meant only to keep her out of danger, his words bruised her heart. It felt as if she wasn’t good enough for him. Though she knew it was foolish, she could not stop herself from thinking it.

“For how long?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

The wall rose up between them again, only this time, her frustration rose higher. She deserved to stand at her husband’s side. “I’m not leaving London.”

“You are playing a dangerous game, Emily.” His hand captured her wrist in an unmistakable warning.

She knew it. But blind obedience had gained her nothing. It was time to seize control and fight for what she wanted. Her heart constricted in her chest as she leaned close. His spicy scent drew her in, reminding her of the nights they’d spent in each other’s arms.

“I am not going to run away this time.” She rose on her tiptoes, letting her palms splay against his chest. “I won’t be your wife in private, if you won’t let me be your wife in public.” Her arms wrapped around his waist, her hips pressing close to his.

Desire flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t move.

“You have a choice to make.” Emily drew back. “I will be attending Lady Thistlewaite’s ball, tomorrow night. Will you join me?”

The gauntlet had been thrown; the next move was his.

His day was rapidly getting worse, Stephen realized. The attempt on his life weighed upon him, and he didn’t know if a servant in his father’s household had been trying to poison him or whether Carstairs had done it.

He hadn’t told anyone about the poison, not even the servants. The cat had thankfully survived, though it had retched all over the parlor. But Stephen was left not knowing who to trust anymore.

He was starting to wonder more about Carstairs. He had offered refreshments, and the viscount had declined. Carstairs had also been in the parlor waiting for him, long enough to add poison to the food.

But again, why? Why did anyone want him dead? Were they afraid he’d remember something? It was enough to drive him mad.

Stephen kept one of the biscuits and strode down to the kitchen. The clatter of pots and pans mingled with the servants“ gossip. The noise came to an abrupt halt when he entered.

He held up the biscuit to the cook, Mrs. Raines. “Did you prepare these today?”

The stout, red-cheeked woman frowned. “Yes, my lord. But there was no sugar upon them. The biscuits were plain.”

Her confusion appeared genuine, and Stephen pressed further. “Who brought the tea tray up?”

“I did, my lord. But I can’t say as I know about that sugar. That would make the biscuits far too sweet, and I would never do such a thing. You aren’t one to like your biscuits overly sweet, and—”

“That will do, Mrs. Raines.” He could see her panic escalating.

“I’m so sorry if you didn’t like them, my lord. I won’t prepare them again.”

He lifted a hand. “Did you bring the tea service after the viscount arrived?”

She stopped. “No, my lord. I left it there beforehand, since I wanted to be sure it was waiting for your guest.”

“Did you pour the tea?”

“Of course, not, my lord. It would grow cold, otherwise.”

His heart nearly stopped. The cups of tea had already been poured upon his arrival. Was the tea poisoned as well? But then, Carstairs had consumed a full cup. He relaxed a little. Likely he would have felt the effects by now, if that were true.

“Thank you, Mrs. Raines.”

He departed the kitchen, his thoughts turning back to his wife. He wished she’d never come to London. The only thing worse than having his own life in danger was watching her face the same threats. He couldn’t allow it.

If he had to tie her to a chair, Lady Whitmore would not attend the ball.

That afternoon, Stephen boarded his carriage, intending to discover the meaning of the tattoo on his neck. He’d instructed his driver to take him deeper into London, toward the Chinese merchant shops. He had armed himself with a revolver as a precaution.

He was so caught up in his thoughts regarding the tattoo, that he nearly missed seeing an Indian man, striding down the street—Anant Paltu. Now what was he doing here?

Stephen tensed and narrowed his gaze upon the man. Though Anant walked with a quiet deference, he didn’t believe for a moment that the man was here by coincidence.

“Follow him,” Stephen ordered the coachman.

Anant had been here on the night Daniel was killed. He was convinced of it, and as they moved further into London, the overpowering smells evoked images of that night. Smoke and the exotic tang of spices ripped through his mind, sending him back.

Cold. It had been so cold that February night, his breath sending clouds into the frosty air. He’d tracked Hollingford, tracing the man’s path back toward the Thames. Toward the ships.

Four men were arguing with Hollingford, and one pulled him back, confining his arms. His lungs burning, Stephen had raced forward to free the man. A long blade had flashed in the moonlight, and he’d stared in horror as Hollingford fell to the ground.

He’d been too late to save him.

A noise had sounded behind him and Stephen had turned, just as a knife cut him across his ribs, blinding him with pain.

The vision abruptly ended. His breathing was shaky, and his palms were damp.

“My lord?”

He gripped the edge of his seat and forced himself to inhale a full breath. “Yes?”

“My lord, I’m afraid he’s gone,” the coachman apologized. “He went toward those shops over there.”

Damn. He hadn’t expected to lose himself in the memory, but it had come upon him so suddenly, he’d lost track of his quarry.

“Await me here,” he ordered.

Though every instinct warned him not to pursue Anant, he sensed that the answers were close now. He would not let fear dictate his moves.

Stephen felt for the revolver within his coat. “If I don’t return in ten minutes, I’ll need your help.” Though he didn’t know where Anant had gone, he intended to question the shopkeepers.

The heavy scent of incense assailed him when Stephen entered the merchant’s shop. An oak table displayed bolts of colorful silk and bags of tea leaves. A woman lowered her head in respect before whispering to an elderly man. The man wore a grey beard so long, it nearly reached his middle. The merchant greeted him. “My lord.”

Stephen did not waste time in responding but instead held out a small pouch containing ten shillings. “I’ll add twenty more pounds to this, if you answer my questions truthfully.”

The shopkeeper bowed again. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

“I am seeking a man called Anant Paltu.”

The shopkeeper exchanged glances with the woman. “I have heard of him. Is there something I could help you with, my lord?”

“I saw him only moments ago, in the streets. I want to find him.”

“If you want my advice, stay away from him, my lord. He is an opium eater. Very dangerous.”

The mention of opium made Stephen recall the tattoo on his neck. He loosened his collar to reveal the marking. “Can you tell me what this means? It was done to me while I was on board a ship. I’m told it is Chinese.”

The shopkeeper’s expression turned curious. “It is the brand of a criminal, my lord.” He sent a hesitant glance toward the woman, who kept her gaze averted.

“What does it mean?”

“It is for opium smuggling. If you are caught a second time, you will be executed.”

A strange sense of finality struck him. Now that he knew the tattoo was the same as the one given to Carstairs and Hollingford, it made sense why the stolen shipment had even more value. The profits had involved smuggled opium.

But was Carstairs responsible? He’d admitted that he’d traveled to India with Daniel, but he’d claimed his own innocence, foisting the blame upon Emily’s brother and Anant.

Stephen paid the shopkeeper and departed. As he returned to his carriage, he turned the events over in his mind.

And he couldn’t help but think that his time was running out.