amid the noise of the London streets.
The Marquess said nothing, his face stony with resolution. Emily stepped backwards, and the icy rain pelted her bare skin. A moment later, Phillips tossed her the cloak, and Emily caught it before the door shut firmly.
She stared up at the illuminated windows, not caring that the rain had soaked through her thin gown and hair. Her husband hadn’t come. What had she expected?
Woodenly, she returned to the coach, not knowing what to do next. She donned the cloak and then her bonnet, tying the soaked ribbons into a bow.
‘Are we going inside, my lady?’ Anna asked, bouncing Victoria against her shoulder.
Emily reached out and stroked her niece’s head while she held back the tears that threatened. ‘No.’
She should have been prepared for this. Lord Rothburne had never approved of her childhood friendship with Stephen, a fact that apparently had not changed. Though Whitmore held the courtesy title of Earl and the power that went with it, the higher authority rested with his father.
‘What will we do?’ Anna asked.
‘I don’t know.’ The coachman was waiting for her to make a decision, but she could not think of any alternatives.
Had her husband really wanted to send her away? Or was it the Marquess’s doing? Whitmore might not know she was here.
In her mind, she conjured up the image of a handsome prince, locked in the tower. Or, in this case, the unsuspecting Earl who had left his wife and children freezing out in the cold.
Before she could stop herself, she opened the door.
‘Where are you going, my lady?’
‘Tell the driver to circle around the streets. Keep going, and don’t stop until you see me outside again.’
The sheer force of her will-power drove her to do something rash. The rain blinded her, but she pushed through it, moving toward the servants’ entrance. As she’d hoped, it was unlocked.
The kitchen staff stared at her in shock. A plump cook nearly dropped the kettle she held in her hands.
‘I won’t be but a moment,’ Emily said to them, holding up the ruby ring. ‘I’m going to collect my husband.’
Emily found the back staircase and took the steps two at a time before the startled servants could pursue her. If Stephen were here, she would find him.
Dripping wet, she steeled herself in case the Marquess appeared. He didn’t. She listened carefully at each door, moving down the hall. Not knowing her whereabouts, at last she chose a door and opened it.
A snowy-haired woman in a champagne-coloured dress sat reading. She stifled a shriek at the sight of Emily. ‘Emily Barrow, what on earth are you doing here?’
She recognised the Marchioness, Lady Rothburne. ‘I am looking for my husband.’
Lady Rothburne gaped at her. ‘Does Stephen know you are here?’
Emily shook her head, just as a footman burst in through the open door. ‘My lady, I am so sorry. She came in before we could stop her.’
‘It is all right,’ Lady Rothburne said, dismissing the footman. ‘I know Miss Barrow.’
Emily held back her sigh of relief. ‘Please forgive me, Lady Rothburne, but I am in a bit of a hurry. Which room is he in, please?’
Lady Rothburne tilted her head to one side, a curious look upon her face. ‘My husband doesn’t know you are here, does he?’
Emily didn’t want to admit the truth, so she said, ‘I must see the Earl. I would not be here, if it were not urgent.’
‘He is down the hall, second door on your left.’ Lady Rothburne eyed Emily’s sodden clothing. ‘Would you care to change your dress? I believe my daughter might have a spare gown or two. Hannah is away at school, and she would not mind.’
‘Thank you. But I won’t be long.’ Emily nodded a farewell to Lady Rothburne and peered out the door. No one was about, so she tore across the hallway. Throwing open the door, she closed it behind her. Stephen was in the midst of disrobing, his shirt fully unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders.
Upon the back of his neck was a black tattoo, similar to her brother’s. Now where had he gotten that? He hadn’t had it on their wedding night.
‘What are you doing here?’ Stephen pulled the shirt back on, a frown upon his face. ‘I thought you were going to stay at Falkirk.’
At the sight of his bare chest, she backed away. Where was his valet? Being alone with a half-dressed man was not at all wise.
He moved towards her, and Emily averted her eyes, trying not to look at his chest. Deep ridges of muscle were marred by a jagged scar several inches long. The skin had healed, but the redness remained from the knife wound.
‘I changed my mind.’ She offered no explanation, hoping he wouldn’t enquire further. He likely wouldn’t believe her, even if she told him the truth.
‘You’re soaking wet. Come over by the fire and dry off.’ He studied her hair and Emily realised that most of the pins had come out. It lay in tangled masses, half-pinned up beneath her bonnet, half-hanging about her shoulders. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear, though it did nothing for her appearance.
‘I don’t have time. The children are outside,’ she said. ‘I would have brought them with me, except your father tossed me into the streets.’
Stephen’s face tightened with anger. ‘Did he?’
It infuriated him that his wife had come to London, and James had treated her poorly. ‘I am glad you didn’t let that stop you.’
He took a step forward and removed her bonnet, then the rest of the pins holding back her hair. Freeing the dark golden locks, he finger-combed it, stroking his thumb along her jaw. Even as bedraggled as she looked, she captured his attention.
‘Stand by the hearth and warm yourself,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll send a servant to collect the children.’
‘They aren’t valises,’ she argued. ‘And your father won’t want them here.’
He didn’t particularly care what James wanted, but it was late, and he had no interest in arguing. ‘I’ll make other arrangements, then. I just purchased a town house a few miles from here. It should do well enough, although I haven’t hired a staff yet, and there aren’t many furnishings.’
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
