“Do you think the baby is coming?”
“No!” Emily waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine. I keep having contractions, but they’re small and far apart—days apart.”
Relief settled in my chest. “Oh. Those are Braxton-Hicks. It’s your body prepping for the birth.”
Emily huffed a weak laugh. “More like an ominous warning. They hurt.” She shifted, pressing a hand to her stomach before shaking her head. “But back to your concerns… Talk to Count Montego. I saw him heading upstairs a few minutes ago. Maybe he can help.”
I exhaled, staring up at the tray ceiling. Count Montego had tremendous resources. If anyone could provide answers or assistance, it was him.
Before I could respond, Rosie wandered into the room, her tiny frame swathed in a long-sleeved, ankle-length gown. She twisted back and forth on her feet, pouting.
“Will somebody play with me? I’m bored.”
Emily smiled and pushed herself to her feet. “Of course, Rosie. Let’s find one of your wooden puzzles and put it together. Olivia has to find Count Montego.”
Rosie perked up. “He’s upstairs. I heard him in his room.”
“Then that’s where I’ll go.” I ruffled Rosie’s curls as I passed, tapping her nose lightly.
I ascended the grand staircase, a marvel of craftsmanship like the rest of the estate.
Carved entirely from stone, the railing was adorned with intricate archways, each interspersed with slender columns. Small panels of sculpted human heads and hands lined the sides, eerie yet mesmerizing in their detail. Beneath my feet, a red, blue, and gold wool runner muffled my steps, its design intricate and regal.
At the top, I strode down the dimly lit hallway toward Count Montego’s bedroom. The door stood wide open.
Empty.
Frowning, I continued toward his study.
I hesitated at the gilded doorknob, then turned it, pushing the heavy door open.
Count Montego let out a loud grunt as he thrust between the legs of one of his maids.
I froze. Oh, god. My hand flew to my mouth.
The maid let out a startled squeal.
“Don’t move, dear,” Count Montego murmured to her, still balls deep inside.
His long-sleeved shirt clung to his torso, but he wore no breeches, leaving me with an up-close and personal view of his very bare, very rounded ass. The muscles in his legs and backside belied his age—taut, toned, disturbingly youthful.
“What can I help you with, Olivia?” he said—as if we weren’t in the most ungodly situation imaginable.
Heat flooded my face. I whirled toward the door. “I’m so sorry! It can wait!”
“Don’t be sorry. My fault—I should have locked the door,” he grunted, entirely unfazed, clearly intent on keeping the momentum of his… tryst.
The maid let out a soft moan.
Kill me.
“No, no, I should have knocked! My apologies!” I stammered, my entire body screaming at me to run, yet my feet remained rooted to the damn carpet.
“No apologies needed,” he groaned, very much occupied. “We’ll be through in a moment, and I’ll come find you.”
A strangled sound escaped me. “Sure thing! Okay then! I’ll be downstairs!”
With that stellar exit, I bolted, nearly tripping as I fled the hall.
