He palmed the back of her nape, massaging the tension. The softness of her skin intrigued him, and he let his hand slide lower.
Her hollowed face held him spellbound. Soft full lips tantalised him, and her womanly curves made him want to remove the layers between them and touch her.
‘What—what are you doing?’ Her skin rose with goose bumps, her voice shaky. ‘Keep your hands to yourself, Whitmore.’
She was behaving like a virgin, not at all like a woman he’d married. He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, inhaling the vanilla scent of her skin.
She shivered. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes bleak. ‘Don’t make me remember this.’
He stopped, but held her hand, his fingers encircling the heavy gold ring. She behaved like an untouched woman, innocent and fresh. But she didn’t push him away, either. Her consternation made him suspect that there had once been more between them. Reluctantly, he let her go.
Her shoulders lowered with relief. Stephen donned his shirt and waistcoat, hurrying with the buttons of his frock-coat. ‘Come.’
He took her by the hand, leading her down the servants’ back staircase. ‘The coach is outside?’
She nodded. Stephen located his overcoat and an umbrella, following her. The freezing rain buffetted the umbrella, and she was forced to remain beside him to be shielded from the rain. He took her palm, and she studied the streets. ‘There. I see it.’
Stephen signalled to the coachman and within moments he helped Emily inside the vehicle. He recognised the driver from Falkirk House and was thankful that at least his wife had enough sense to bring an escort with them. After giving the coachman directions, they were on their way.
When he sat beside Emily, the young boy scowled. ‘What is he doing here?’
‘Royce,’ Emily warned.
‘I am taking you to a warm bed to sleep,’ Stephen remarked. ‘Unless you’d rather I leave you outside in the rain?’
Royce’s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms. ‘I’d rather sleep anywhere than in your house.’
Stephen was not about to tolerate such insolence. Knocking against the coach’s door, he ordered the driver to stop.
‘What are you doing?’ Emily looked horrified.
Stephen opened the door. ‘Be my guest,’ he invited the boy. The rain splattered against the coach door, the wind blowing it in their faces. At the sudden rush of cold, the infant began howling, her face pinched with surprise.
There was just enough fear, just enough uncertainty to keep Royce frozen in his seat. When he didn’t move, Stephen shut the door.
‘Understand this. I will not abide rudeness in the presence of your aunt. You will respect my authority and obey.’
The boy’s face filled with fury, but he managed a nod.
‘Good.’ Stephen signalled for the coachman to drive on. But one matter was certain—he and the boy were now clear enemies.
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