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.
