Chapter 19

The next week passed in a haze of summer sun and what Emmeline thought must be marital bliss. Adam had softened, both toward her and Rickard, and after long days of walking and riding and reading together, she and Adam retired to his bed.

All was perfect. And when Adam's friend Nicholas and his wife arrived for dinner, she thought it would continue to be so.

Seeing that his wife, Lady Sarron, was younger than her, and a little timid, Emmeline did her best to put the lady at ease. It didn't escape her notice that there seemed to be little affection between Nicholas and his wife. He was dismissive toward her, often speaking over her and rarely soliciting her opinions on anything.

Lady Sarron, in contrast, spent the evening in a state of almost perpetual flush, no doubt embarrassed by her husband's lack of consideration. That, Emmeline conceded wryly, was somewhat exacerbated by the way Adam treated her, ensuring that she always had enough food on her plate, and frequently asking for her opinion, even when they were discussing things she knew little about.

As a consequence, Emmeline did her best to take Lady Sarron under her wing.

"It is intimidating, is it not, when you become the mistress of a house like this?" she asked as they made their way to the drawing room after dinner.

The men remained in the dining room, partaking in glasses of port and no doubt continuing their conversation about farming techniques. Emmeline could conceive of nothing duller.

The young woman shot her a relieved glance. "Yes, indeed," she said, appearing to latch on to the conversation starter with alacrity. "I confess I felt quite out of my depth when I married Lord Sarron."

"I did too," Emmeline lied blithely. "This is such a large house, and of course, Adam is a duke."

Lady Sarron turned wide eyes on her. "You call him by his Christian name?"

"But of course. Do you not call Lord Sarron Nicholas?"

"Oh no," Lady Sarron said, flushing again. "We are—we are very formal, even when it is just the two of us."

"I believe some couples are," Emmeline said, collecting herself. It was not her place to judge—and until recently, she and Adam were at odds. "My parents, for example."

"I believe it is traditional?"

"Yes," Emmeline said, sinking onto the sofa and patting the space beside her. "I believe you are quite right. Adam was never going to be the Duke, you know, and I expect that changed how he wanted to go about things. Lord Sarron was always set to inherit."

"That must be it," Lady Sarron said gratefully.

"Are you happy with him?" Emmeline asked cautiously. "I know how difficult marriage can be, particularly if you were not well acquainted beforehand."

Lady Sarron blushed again, looking down at her hands. "We are still getting to know one another."

Seeing she was not going to get anything more from the younger woman, Emmeline changed the subject, and they were talking happily about her cats when the gentlemen entered the room.

Rickard, having established who he was, appeared to enjoy Nicholas's company, and Emmeline was relieved to see they all got along well. It was a small party, but agreeable, and they played cards until Lady Sarron claimed a headache and retired for the night. Rickard was the next to go up to bed, and Emmeline picked up a book until Nicholas, too, announced he intended to retire.

"Well, Emmeline?" Adam asked when the door closed behind his friend. "We ought to retire too, do you not think?"

Emmeline tilted her head up as he approached and kissed him deeply. "I'll be up in a moment. I'll make sure the kittens are doing well."

"If I didn't know better, I would say you like the cats more than you like me."

She rose, patting his cheek and laughing at his petulant scowl. "Then it's a good thing you know better, isn't it? I won't be long."

The house was dark and quiet as she made her way up to the library, where the cats had made their permanent home. Now that she was no longer trying to get under Adam's skin, it was an unfortunate place, but there was very little she could do about it. Twice, she had attempted to move them elsewhere, and twice they had made their way back to the library. All she could do was continue to ensure they did not cause too much damage.

"Hello, my darlings," she said as she entered, making her way to the nest of kittens.

What sweet darlings they were. The mother cat purred as Emmeline scratched between her ears, checking them over. They had food and water, and no doubt if there were any mice in the vicinity, they were dealing with those, too.

She adored them.

But as she rose and checked them over, as she had come to do every night, she realized there was one missing. The white cat who had taken such a shine to Adam. She had named him ‘Snow,' and Adam had named him ‘Begone'. She laughed quietly at the thought, moving toward the east wing. That was where Snow most often disappeared. He had a strange liking for that corner of the house, as though he could sense the past there, the mysteries.

Or, considering he just went to Adam's desk, perhaps he just liked causing mayhem.

A light bobbed ahead of her, and as she turned the corner, she saw Rickard in the middle of the corridor, a candle in his hand. He was still fully dressed, though missing his coat, and appeared to be searching the wall for something.

"Rickard?" she asked, and he turned, his candle almost blowing out in his haste.

"Oh, Emmeline." He laughed in relief. "I thought you must have been some terrible ghost from the past come to haunt me."

"That is no great compliment," she teased, coming forward. "What are you doing out here so late?"

Although it was difficult to see with the light of the candle, it looked as though his face paled.

"As to that—" He gave an awkward, nervous laugh. "Well, as it happens, I was—I was looking for a portrait of my father."

Emmeline frowned at him. "A portrait? I believe there is one in the gallery."

"Ah, yes, the gallery." He coughed awkwardly. "It appears I wasn't thinking."

"And," she suggested gently, a little confused, "it would probably be more sensible if you were to look during the day."

Rickard scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, quite. That would be sensible. I suppose I just had a thought in my head and I got carried away, thinking I needed to do it now, but it would be better to wait until morning." He gave her a rueful smile, but the hand holding the candle trembled a little. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for one of the cats," she said. "I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"Which one? That is to say, what color?"

"The white one," she said with a laugh. "Snow."

"Ah. No, I don't believe I've seen him." Nervousness receding, he offered her a quick bow. "Perhaps I might be of assistance? I might as well, seeing as I'm here anyway."

"I'm just going to Adam's study," she said, leading the way and holding her lamp aloft. "Snow likes to curl up on his desk. Why, I have never known, but I don't suppose felines are particularly known for their logic."

"No," Rickard said from behind her. "I don't suppose they are. And neither are humans, on occasion," he muttered so quietly that she could have deceived herself into thinking she hadn't heard him.

How odd.

They approached Adam's study, and she pushed the door open, only to be confronted with the sight of Nicholas standing in the middle of the room, an oil lamp in his hand and a confused expression on his face as he looked at her.

"Heavens," she said, jumping backward in fright. "It seems everyone is out tonight. What are you doing here, Nicholas?"

"I dropped my pocket watch here," he said shortly, his gaze flicking from her to Rickard. "What are you both doing here?"

"Looking for Snow," she said. "I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"The cat," Rickard clarified.

Nicholas's eyes narrowed. "And you just so happened to be looking together?"

Ice trickled down Emmeline's throat, and she folded her arms. "Excuse me? What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that I don't like seeing the wife of my best friend in the company of another gentleman at night," Nicholas said, his gaze fixed on Rickard.

"How dare you?" she said, anger burning away her shock and the chill that his implication had brought. "How dare you? I stumbled across Rickard on my way here, and he offered to help me look for Snow, but even if that were not the case—even if we were coming here together to find something for Adam—I resent the suggestion that something untoward is happening." She stepped closer, raising her chin. "You have no right to imply that I am anything other than loyal to my husband, especially given your distinct lack of evidence."

She shook her head, noting that Snow was not visible, and neither was the pocket watch. "If that was the first place your mind went to, Nicholas, then perhaps you ought to look at the state of your marriage, not mine."

With that, she turned and stormed past Rickard, who was motionless, no doubt as shocked at the accusations as she was.

By the time she made it to Adam's room, however, some of her ire had cooled, and suspicion replaced it. Nicholas had obviously thought there was something untoward occurring, but had she not thought the same thing when she had seen Rickard walking down the corridor?

"What is it?" Adam asked the moment she entered the room. "Emmeline?" He was at her side in an instant, cupping her face. "Did something happen to one of the cats?"

"No, nothing like that." Falteringly, unsure how he would react, she related the events of the evening. "No doubt Nicholas is going to tell you that Rickard and I were together, but we would not have been if I did not find him walking there, alone," she said. "And his reason struck me as odd. Who looks for a portrait in the wrong part of the castle at night?"

Adam gave her a long look. "Do you suspect him? Of what?"

"I hardly know. And I want to trust him—he has been a good friend to us. Charming, helpful, and he is your brother. But I cannot dismiss the way he looked at me when I asked what he was doing. As though he were afraid. Why would he be afraid if his reasons were honest? And why would that be his honest reason?" She stepped forward into Adam's embrace. "I suppose I'm just tired."

He wrapped his arms around her. "I doubt it's anything important, love."

"Are you certain?" Emmeline leaned back so she could see his face. "I know you mistrusted Rickard when he first came here."

"Nothing to worry about." He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose, and she smiled despite herself. "I have something more important to occupy our minds."

"Oh?"

He tugged her closer, and she obeyed, crawling onto his lap and feeling the weight of his arms on her back. His mouth was hot on hers, demanding, immediately bringing a kick of desire into the base of her belly, and she responded in kind, opening her mouth to his probing tongue.

This was what she needed to forget. There was nothing like losing herself in the feel of him, his hands on her back, his mouth on hers, and the urgent, persistent ridge of his desire pressing against her core.

"Are you still tired?" he murmured against her mouth.

She laughed. "Not any longer."

"Good." He flipped her so she was lying on her front, and began painstakingly unfastening her dress.

His knuckles brushed against her spine, and though she was still wearing her chemise and stays, she felt the heat of his touch seep into her.

She could never imagine being tired of this or wanting less of it.

He was everything.

Slowly, he removed her layers, and she let him, pliant at every turn. Then his fingers were between her legs, and he gasped.

"Already wet for me?" His voice was rough, and he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. "You'll take me like this today."

"Yes."

Now that he'd said it, there was nothing she wanted more than for him to sink inside her, pinning her to the bed, face down. Her body thrummed in pleasure at the thought.

Perhaps not all young ladies would like this treatment. But there was no denying that she certainly did.

"Are you ready, my love?"

"Yes," she said again, angling her hips up to offer him better access.

He let out a growl of approval, taking her offering and pushing inside. The feeling of being stretch gave way to delicious fullness, and they groaned in unison.

This was what love was, she thought dazedly as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. The weight of his body, the heat—he must have already removed his clothes—made her dizzy with want, and pleasure bloomed in every place they touched.

"You are mine," he said as he rocked into her. "Mine."

"Yours." Her hands fisted the sheets.

"And you will always be mine. I will always want you."

Always," she babbled, lost in the wash of sensation, and that building, tightening feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I love you, Adam."

He growled in approval and pulled her closer, until there was no space between them, and they were one in every way that mattered.

All thoughts of Rickard, of Nicholas, of anything or anyone evaporated as he nipped the soft skin of her throat and said, "I love you too, wife of mine."

Her release came in long, languid waves as he thrust relentlessly into her until he, too, was overcome.

* * *

"Why did you call me here?" Nicholas asked, lounging in the chair before the desk with his customary careless grace. "Is it so I can apologize to your wife?"

"No," Adam said, steepling his fingers, "although perhaps you ought to."

"Perhaps. Insulting her was not my intention."

"Well, if you see her on the way out, then please do. But I had called you here to speak with you about a different matter."

Briefly, he explained the circumstances under which Emmeline had found Rickard the previous night. Although he had not confessed his thoughts to her, not wanting her to worry or cast undue suspicion, he had his own concerns about Rickard's motives for being there.

Nicholas clucked his tongue. "It seems I truly do owe your wife an apology."

"Do you trust Rickard?" Adam asked.

"I hardly know him well enough. Do you?"

"Likewise. He's come here claiming to be my brother—and I do not doubt the veracity of his claims for an instant. But I do not know his character well, and considering he is claiming to be my brother… Do you suppose he had anything to do with William's death?"

Nicholas stilled. His gaze sharpened. "Is that what you believe?"

"I think it's certainly likely, and it would be foolish to discount anything at this stage."

"Yes, indeed," Nicholas murmured. "And it certainly would be foolish to discount an unknown brother who has emerged from the woodwork shortly after William's death."

"And if there was foul play, it would explain why there was no body."

"I agree." Nicholas leaned forward, his eyes narrowed at a point in the distance as he thought. "But there is no proof."

"No," Adam conceded. "I have nothing but conjecture and my suspicions."

"Well then, we must wait to see if proof emerges. And in the meantime, I advise keeping him away from the Duchess as much as possible without alerting either to your intentions." Nicholas nodded slowly. "It would be better not to share your suspicions with her, I think."

Adam chewed on his lip, dissatisfied but unable to articulate precisely why. Emmeline was his wife, and although he knew it was not customary nor necessary for husbands to confide in their wives, keeping a secret of this magnitude felt wrong, somehow.

Then again, if she knew, what would she do? She had shown a desire to take care of him, and when it came to these sorts of scenarios, taking care of him would likely involve confronting Rickard.

Adam was not convinced Rickard knew anything about William's death—but he was not certain that he was innocent, either. And he would not risk his wife on the chance that he was innocent.

"I agree," he said, after giving the matter some consideration. "Let us bide our time and see if we can discover anything."