Page 28 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

L ady Thistlewaite did not conceal her distaste when Emily arrived upon Uncle Nigel’s arm. The matron wore an emerald gown with twelve flounces while her abundant bosom thrust the front of the gown forward. Her lips pursed into a thin line as though she wanted to prevent Emily from entering the ballroom.

“Lady Thistlewaite, I was delighted to receive your invitation.” Nigel kissed her wrist and offered her a charming smile. “You remember my niece Emily, of course.”

“Of course.” Lady Thistlewaite’s gaze flicked across Emily’s gown.

Emily wore the ivory-flounced tulle gown, trimmed with pink roses and Limerick lace. About her shoulders rested an embroidered India shawl with a long silk fringe. Her kid gloves had over thirty buttons to hold them snugly against her skin, and the pearl necklace hung against her neck.

“Lady Thistlewaite, thank you for your hospitality,” Emily said, nodding politely.

“Well, I am surprised to see you again, Miss Barrow. I mean, Lady Whitmore,” she corrected. “Forgive me, but since I haven’t seen you with your husband yet, it is easy to forget you are married to him.”

Don’t let her provoke you , Emily warned herself.

“I am certain that will be remedied, soon enough.” Emily pasted on a bright smile, albeit a false one. “Has my husband arrived yet?”

“I fear he has not.”

Emily’s composure faltered. Just the thought of seeing Stephen again knitted her insides into knots. She tried to prepare herself for his rejection, for his undeniable wrath. But she was tired of feeling unworthy, angry at being looked down upon.

“I am sure he will arrive soon,” she said. And Lord help me if he does attend.

Nigel patted Emily’s arm. “I, for one, am glad of his absence. It allows me to walk around in the company of an exceptionally beautiful lady. Until the earl steals her away, that is.”

Nigel’s compliment eased her, and as he led her inside, he whispered, “Do not forget, Emily. You are a countess.”

His reminder helped to clear her thoughts. The past was gone; she could not change it. But she had power now, power she had denied herself. It was time to take her place as Lady Whitmore.

Behind her fan, she touched the bodice of her gown, to ensure the papers were still there. She was certain that this was the evidence Stephen needed. If only she could understand the meaning behind the numbers.

The answers must be there. Daniel would never have hidden them were they not of critical importance. She felt on the verge of discovery, but with the excitement came a natural fear.

Her uncle arrived just then to rescue her. “My dear, would you care to dance? I believe my knee might be able to stand a turn about the floor, if you are willing.”

“No, thank you.” Emily patted his arm. “But you might find another young lady.”

“None so lovely as you,” Nigel argued. “Come, now. You’ll hurt my feelings.”

Before she could turn him down, he led her on to the floor. “I’ve never quite grown accustomed to this scandalous dance, but I am told waltzing has come into fashion.” He captured her cold hands in his warm gnarled palms, offering a smile. “Don’t worry, child. You are a fine dancer.”

Emily’s eyes burned at his kindness. Never once had her father escorted her to a ball, nor her brother. But Nigel had done this for her.

It was easier to follow his lead after the dancing lessons he’d paid for. Nigel moved slowly, guiding her in the patterns of the waltz. In time, she relaxed, though she was still aware of the eyes upon her. Lady Thistlewaite, in particular, looked as though she had swallowed a lemon.

“The entire room is dying to know what Whitmore will do when he arrives,” Nigel said. “I’ll spread a few rumors about your elopement, to help you out.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” she admitted. She wanted to meet Stephen on her own terms, and no doubt he would be furious with her for coming here.

“He is quite late, I must say,” Nigel commented. “I wonder why? I do hope nothing has gone amiss.”

Emily stumbled at the thought of Stephen coming to harm. Her uncle caught her, easing her into the next step. As she continued to dance, it was as if she moved in a daze. Fear clenched her gut, and she found it difficult to breathe. With everyone’s eyes upon her, she needed a moment alone.

“Uncle, will you please excuse me?”

Nigel’s gaze turned worried, but Emily reassured him that everything was all right. She left him, moving toward the ladies’ retiring room. Thankfully, no one was there. She sat before a looking glass, staring at her pale face. Nothing had happened to Stephen, she tried to reassure herself. He would be here soon enough.

A sense of foreboding settled across her shoulders, needling her with thoughts of what if . “He will come tonight,” she told herself. “I know he will.”

But as time slipped onward, and the murmurs of society turned to gloating whispers, her fear transformed into dread.

In the cool darkness of night, the figure slipped into the shadow of Nigel Barrow’s house. With a thin knife, he maneuvered the locks, moving upstairs to where the children slept.

He stopped in the older boy’s room first. The firelight cast shadows across the child huddling beneath the covers. Royce slept fitfully, and as the man drew near, the boy’s eyes flew open.

“Shh…” The man raised a finger to his lips. “I have come to take you to your father.”

Royce sat up, his fists gripping the coverlet. “My father is dead.”

“That is what they told you. But he sent me to come and take you to him.” The man held out a hand. “You trust me, don’t you?”

The boy nodded.

“Then let us go before anyone sees us.”

“What about Aunt Emily and Uncle Stephen?”

“Do not worry about them. They will come to you in the morning.”

The boy moved the covers aside, struggling to put on his shoes.

“You must be silent when we leave. Do not speak a word and stay out of sight in the coach.” The man handed him a blanket. “Take this.”

“What about Victoria?” the boy protested. “I can’t leave my sister.”

“She will come with us.” The man held out his coat, and Royce fastened the buttons. With a longing glance toward his bed, at last he relented.

“Do you promise I’ll see my father soon?” he whispered.

The man’s face remained impassive. “I promise you will see him very soon.”

As he closed the door behind the boy, his hand touched the curved knife blade hidden beneath his coat.

Stephen arrived at the Thistlewaite residence just past the hour of midnight. He had spent time at White’s, investigating Freddie Reynolds’s debts. It seemed that Reynolds and Emily’s brother had done more than their share of gambling. Reynolds needed money—by any means possible.

When Stephen saw his wife’s face amid the ballroom crowd, a slow fury built within him. The throng parted in half, and he moved straight toward her.

Emily wore pearls around a lovely neck he wanted to wring. The ivory tulle clung to the curves he had run his hands over just the other night. A sensuous strand of hair had fallen from the elaborate arrangement, and her lips held the slightest tint of red. Her beauty took his breath away.

Why could she not understand his need to keep her safe? Even now, the man who most likely had tried to murder him was standing only a short distance away. He glared at Freddie Reynolds, but the dandy pretended not to see.

When he reached Emily’s side, he noticed that her uncle was no longer with her. The idea of her being left alone appalled him.

“You’re here,” she said, her shoulders relaxing with relief. “I was so worried about you.”

“Of course I am here,” he murmured. “But you were supposed to remain at home for your own safety, my dear wife.”

“When have I begun taking orders I do not agree with?” she returned, smiling sweetly.

Stubborn woman. He overpowered her, pulling her toward a private alcove. “Come with me. We need to talk alone.”

“Where you can hide me away and pretend like we’re not married?” She sent him a pointed look.

Before he could say another word, Freddie Reynolds appeared. “Lady Whitmore, is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course.” Emily managed to smile, though Stephen noted her underlying anger.

Stephen had no intention of allowing the obsequious rodent near his wife. “Stay away from Lady Whitmore.”

Freddie did not back down but stared back with determination. He was not as tall and had to tilt his head back a little. “I believe Lady Whitmore is my partner for the next dance.”

Before Stephen could argue, a flock of matrons descended, surrounding him and pushing Emily back. His wife clasped the edges of her shawl, looking lost…and disappointed. She straightened her spine and stood outside the circle, quietly waiting. God, she was beautiful. The ivory gown complemented her fair skin, contrasting against the dark golden hair. He’d never seen her like this before, cool and confident. Like a countess. And she belonged to him.

The matrons continued speaking on top of one another. “My dear Lord Whitmore, what a pleasure—”

“I’ve heard the most amazing tale about you and Miss Barrow—”

“Why on earth would the two of you elope?”

Their mouths fairly dripped with anticipation. He, on the other hand, had better things to do than to answer their twittering questions.

“If you’ll pardon me,” he said, giving them a hard look, “I am going to have words with—”

His words broke off as he took a long look at Emily. She expected him to deny her. And he had every reason to ignore her, in order to keep her safe.

But damn it all, she had been cut down too many times. And he couldn’t let it happen again. Refusing to acknowledge her as his wife would not protect her. It would only slice another wound into their marriage.

“I need to have words with my wife .” He emphasized the last two words, making sure that everyone around them heard it.

Emily’s lips parted, but she did not speak. Instead, emotions welled up in her eyes.

Lady Thistlewaite looked as though she might swoon. Another matron fanned her face furiously, but Stephen did not remain to listen to the agitated women.

He closed the distance and raised her gloved hand to his lips. “Shall we, Lady Whitmore?”

Emily took his hand and lowered her voice. “You could have done that with a bit more finesse. I think you’ve horrified them.”

“I did just as you asked.” His voice remained calm. “I believe you wanted me to publicly acknowledge you as my wife, did you not?”

Emily ventured a slight smile. “I did, yes.” Her skin warmed as she looked into his gray eyes. He caressed her knuckle with his thumb, and it made her imagine all the ways he might touch her later tonight.

Couples had begun lining up in a quadrille, and she glanced toward Freddie, who had joined the others. “Are you certain you want to join in this particular dance? He might have to partner with me.” The dance involved switching partners, and Freddie stood nearby. He probably thought to ensure her safety, but it was entirely unnecessary.

“If he touches you, I’ll cut off his hand,” Stephen said smoothly.

She tried in vain to keep a straight face, but her heart was soaring. “You have no reason to be jealous.” Especially now.

Stephen sent the man a dark warning, but the poor man could not escape. When they switched partners, Emily sent Freddie a reassuring look. “Don’t worry about Lord Whitmore. Everything is fine.” She struggled to remember the steps of the dance. Now that she had a moment to speak with Freddie, she wondered why his name was mentioned in Daniel’s accounts. “I’ve been meaning to ask, did you ever invest in a shipment with my brother?”

Freddie’s face grew shamefaced. “To my regret. Please know that I hold the highest esteem for your late brother, but—”

It was time to switch partners again, and Stephen cut in, taking her by the waist. He dropped his voice into an angry whisper. “I don’t want you near Reynolds, Emily. He was involved with the shipment.”

“I know,” Emily gritted out. “I’ve been trying to get answers from him.” She changed palms and turned around. “Just give me a moment to ask questions.”

She was about to move back in the other direction when Stephen caught her wrist. “You should know that the Viscount Carstairs was murdered tonight.”

Murdered? Why would anyone wish to kill Carstairs? Her throat closed up, and stars blinked in her vision. It suddenly became more difficult to catch her breath. She’d known it was dangerous, but now, she was starting to understand why Stephen had become so overprotective.

Before she could ask him more about it, they switched partners in the quadrille again. Freddie took her hand in his. “Your brother assured me that the investment was a wonderful opportunity,” he continued as he took her hand. “I am still hoping that the missing funds turn up,” he added. “But your Uncle Nigel has his doubts.”

At the mention of Nigel’s name, Emily faltered. “Nigel, you said?”

“Of course. It was his suggestion that I invest.”

“But he never—” Her words broke off, and suddenly Nigel’s earlier inquiries about Royce’s inheritance made sense. Perhaps he’d been looking for Daniel’s records to cover up his own involvement in the stolen money. And maybe Royce’s bedroom truly had been searched that night.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything except, “Oh. I’m sorry to hear it.” When they switched partners for the last time, she saw that Stephen had overheard Freddie’s remark about her uncle. When she met his gaze, he seemed to understand the implications immediately. They both continued the dance until the music ended, though Emily could hardly move.

“Nigel,” she breathed. “I’ve been so stupid.” She’d been deceived by her uncle’s silver tongue, believing what she’d wanted to believe.

“We need to find him.” Stephen tucked her hand into his arm and led her through the ballroom.

Emily’s head spun as she considered the possibilities. Had Nigel arranged for Carstairs’s murder? Had he hired someone to kill Stephen?

The evidence in her bodice seared her heart. For in the papers lay the truth. The man who had taken her father’s place was the very man she never should have trusted. The floor seemed to sink beneath her feet as she slowly began to comprehend a fact far worse.

The children were at his house, even now.