Chapter 20

Emmeline gathered the roses she had collected from the garden. The summer heat had brought them into full bloom, and they were fragrant and lovely—and would be especially lovely on Adam's desk. It would be a reminder of how he had come to teach her how best to weed the rose garden and she hoped it would brighten up his workspace. He was currently in London for business, as he had been for several days, and would return tomorrow.

When he did, she wanted to remind him of her, and these flowers would be the perfect way to do that.

She briskly made her way back to the castle, pausing in the doorway to let her eyes adjust to the relative gloom, and made her way to the east wing.

Adam hadn't mentioned his rules again to her, and considering the number of times she visited his study, she doubted he minded. Every time, at least, he greeted her with a smile.

The east wing, being the oldest section of the house with the thickest walls, felt cooler, and she sighed in pleasure. Before she reached Adam's desk, however, she saw a figure dart away ahead of her. Puzzled, she hiked up her skirts and hurried after them.

"Who is it?" she called, turning the corner to find Nicholas very much the same way she had found Rickard, looking at her with a frown. She matched it.

"Your Grace," he said, bowing.

"Nicholas? What brings you here? Adam is away." What was more, Nicholas knew Adam was absent because Adam had mentioned it the last time he'd visited. "Are you looking for something?"

"No."

"Then what have you come here for?" She took a step closer. "You were searching for something in Adam's study a few days ago."

"Yes," he said coldly. "My pocket watch, which I have since recovered."

"Why come here unannounced?" she persisted, stepping even closer. "Why did you let no one know you're here? You knew Adam was in London."

"We are good friends." Nicholas's expression seemed less genial and friendly the closer she stepped toward him. "He has often told me to treat his home as though it were my own."

"But what purpose do you have coming here when he is absent? You have your own home to treat as your own."

"What's the meaning of this interrogation?"

Emmeline folded her arms. Something about this situation made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Nicholas was a face she was accustomed to seeing around the house, but never like this.

Never like this.

"If you intend to come to my house, you should at least let me know. Were the servants not aware of your arrival?"

He was silent for a moment too long, and understanding washed over her. The servants truly were unaware that he had arrived, which meant he had sneaked in through a side door. He had actively prevented anyone from knowing that he was there. If she had not stumbled across him by accident, she would never have known he was in the house at all.

And in the east wing.

She blinked and inhaled deeply to give herself strength. "I will ask again," she said, willing her voice to remain calm. "Why are you here?"

"That is my business and mine alone." He folded his arms, matching her stance.

"What is it you're keeping from me?" she demanded. "Is Adam equally in the dark?"

His lip curled. "Keep your half-baked conjectures to yourself."

"What else am I supposed to think when I catch you sneaking about my home without so much as informing a servant that you're here? You were endeavoring not to be caught." A thought occurred to her, one so shocking that she stepped back in horror.

If it was true…

"Why are you here?" she whispered. "Is it because you had something to do with William's death?"

Nicholas paled. His dark eyes, often so kind when around Adam, went cold. The only color in his face was the hectic red on his cheekbones.

"How dare you?" he hissed, stepping even closer to her. "Don't put such ridiculous ideas in Adam's head."

Emmeline stepped back, again and again. Her heart pounded in the base of her throat. "Is it true? Are you the reason William disappeared?"

Something flared in his eyes—panic, perhaps, or rage so blinding that it was like a bright flash of light, like looking into the sun. His hands connected with her shoulders in a shove, and she stumbled backward. Her heel fell into nothing, and she tumbled down. Stairs. She was at the top of the stairs.

The last thing she saw as she fell was Nicholas's garishly white face as he made a grab for her and missed.

Then her head hit the bottom and she remembered no more.

* * *

When Emmeline next opened her eyes, she was in her bed, a light to one side and a throbbing in her head. The world was fuzzy, blurring around the edges, and when she attempted to sit upright, her stomach lurched.

Where am I?

Nothing made sense. Her last memory was vague, a little out of reach, like smoke slipping through her fingers. She had been at the house—indeed, this was her bedchamber—and she had been happy about something. Carrying something, perhaps. Then she had met?—

Nicholas.

She bolted upright, her memory colliding with the present. Nicholas had been wandering around the house, and he had pushed her. That was the reason she had fallen, and the throbbing in her head was?—

"Emmeline!" It was Adam's voice beside her, frantic and tortured.

She blinked, the world swirling into focus. He was sitting beside her, one hand on her arm as though to prevent her from moving further. The bright light was just sunlight filtering through the curtains, which had been drawn.

"Adam?" Her voice was husky, the tail end of his name a croak. "What are you doing here?"

"I came back this morning as I was supposed to. Do you remember, love?" He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear but changed his mind at the last second, curling his fingers into a fist instead. "What do you remember? How is your head?"

She blinked, frowning, and raised her hand to the bump at the back of her head. Her body was bruised all over, but although the fall must have been considerable—she fell down the stairs—it seemed as though she only had minor injuries. No broken bones. Just the pain in her head and the knowledge that Nicholas had been the one to push her.

This knowledge would kill Adam.

But as his wife, as the victim, it was her responsibility to tell him.

"Your head," he insisted, and she realized she hadn't responded, merely stared at him as though he was speaking a different language. "Can you understand me?"

"Yes," she said, and reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. He was here. The relief was overwhelming. "Adam, I'm so sorry to have to tell you this."

"Tell me what?"

"Yesterday—was it yesterday?"

"That you fell? Yes. Thank heavens the servants found you in time and called the physician. What were you doing, wandering around the east wing alone?"

A sick feeling curled in her stomach. "I was not alone, Adam."

"What do you mean? Who was with you?" He put his other hand over hers. "What were you doing, Emmeline?"

"I was merely coming to put some flowers on your desk, but on the way…" She took a deep breath. "I saw Nicholas."

Adam's expression shifted from concerned to confused. His frown deepened, and his hold on her hand slackened a little. "I don't understand."

"It means that I didn't fall, Adam. I was pushed down the stairs. And Nicholas was the one to push me."