Emily gave a pensive smile at his mention of the story. “Yes, you’re right. It must have been the elves.” Yet she knew who had bought them—Stephen. He really had been listening to her last night.
The thoughtful deed meant more than she wanted to admit. Tucking the sheets back on to the bed, she said, “The day is lovely. Shall we go for an outing?”
Royce beamed at her suggestion and within moments helped her put the room to rights. After donning a cloak and bonnet, she asked Harding to send along a footman to escort them.
As Royce struggled with the buttons, she noticed that once again, the “Elves” had gifted the boy with a new coat. The black wool was perfect for a boy of his size, and Royce put on a new straw hat. He beamed at her as he showed off his finery.
“Where did these come from?” Emily asked.
Royce grinned. “Harding bought them.”
The butler shook his head discreetly, and Emily tried to push away the feeling gathering around her heart like a warm blanket.
She followed Royce outside, wondering how to reconcile herself to this new side to her husband.
Stephen set his spectacles to one side, rubbing his eyes. He’d spent hours poring over ledgers in his study. Endless accountings of estate figures, harvest yields and rents paid lay before him in his own familiar script.
He had a sudden urge to set it all on fire.
He hadn’t come any closer to finding a reason why anyone had attacked him. There were no records aboutThe Lady Valiant, regarding any sort of stolen profits. It was as if the ship had never existed.
He wanted to believe that the scars he bore were nothing more than the result of common cutthroats. But the tattoo on his neck and the missing memories suggested otherwise.
Start at the beginning, he thought. He struggled to remember why he’d left London at the beginning of February. Had he merely needed an escape from his life here? Had he run away, intent on avoiding his father’s interference?
Or had Hollingford asked him to come? He hadn’t considered that possibility before. Emily’s brother was an acquaintance, not a friend. But what if there had been a connection between himself and Hollingford?
Closing his eyes, Stephen struggled to remember. He inhaled slowly, trying to keep his mind relaxed. He allowed his imagination to wander, and it settled on an older memory.
It had been winter, and a sixteen-year-old Emily was shoving handfuls of snow down his collar. He’d thrown her down upon the hillside, both of them laughing as he smashed snow into her own face.
Emily had flung her arms about him, and his body had risen to her innocent call. For a brief, frozen moment, her lashes stilled, her amber eyes catching him with a look of intensity. Her hands had paused upon his shoulders, waiting for him to lean down.
He’d kissed her cool mouth, a touch that had left him reeling. When she pulled back, she smiled. Then she’d shoved his face back into the snow until his own clothes were sodden.
The vision faded, and though he fought to reach one of the hidden memories, he couldn’t grasp anything.
Was Emily still the same laughing girl he’d known? He couldn’t deny that he wanted her in his bed. He wanted to peel away each layer, each petticoat and chemise until he found the woman beneath. She had a passionate nature, one that heated his blood just to look at her.
But she was afraid. Although she had thanked him for the flowers and the gowns, she seemed apprehensive, as though she expected everything to vanish.
Perhaps it would. Everything about their union had been a mistake. And he still didn’t know if there was any chance of a successful marriage between them.
Chapter Eight
Aknocksoundedatthe library door. Alfred Chesterfield disliked being disturbed, especially when he’d asked the servants to keep everyone out.
“Enter,” he commanded.
Frustration curled up within him at the sight of his son. He had tried reasoning with Stephen, tried to make his son understand why he could not remain married to Emily Barrow. She knew nothing of theton, never would, despite her birthright. As a woman who had never been presented before the Queen, she was utterly unsuitable. But Stephen did not grasp the true meaning of duty, not the way he should.
Alfred feared it was too late. The scandal of divorce far outweighed the scandal of wedding someone inappropriate.
His son remained standing, an inconvenient behavior because it forced him to look up. “I came to ask you about the night I left London, several months ago.”
Alfred stood to meet his son eye to eye. He leaned upon the desk, taking some of the weight off his bad leg. “When? The time in February when you ran off to marry an improper young lady? Or when you disappeared from the Carstairs’s ball, two weeks later?” He made no effort to conceal his irritation. His son had a duty to behave in a manner befitting the family name.
“The second time,” Stephen responded. “I have no memory of what else happened that night when I was looking for Hollingford. Did you hear anything about it, after I disappeared?”
