In the morning, there would be children’s laughter in the mansion, singing and skipping and merry games on the stairs. He liked to think that the house was being reborn, welcoming family, resonating with the sounds of new joy. The prospect was enormously comforting.
“You get to sleep now,” he murmured.
“You’ll be here in the morning, won’t you?”
“I’ll be right here. We won’t ever be parted again.”
He prayed that was true, but it wasn’t the moment to mention it. He had to finish with the army, so there’d be some wrangling over his discharge. Hopefully, it could be handled with a bunch of paperwork so he wouldn’t have to leave Stafford.
With Mason banished to Australia, and the estate suffering from a myriad of problems, Nicholas had urged Stephen to serve as land agent in Mason’s stead. Stephen had jumped at the chance. He intended to plant roots at Stafford, roots so deep that he could never be forced away.
“Goodnight,” he repeated, but she didn’t reply.
She’d finally run out of steam, and he stood, watching her, mesmerized by the rise and fall of the blankets as she inhaled and exhaled.
Ultimately, exhaustion took its toll, and he tiptoed out. The past few days had been filled with drama and chaos, and he was relieved to have it over. Nicholas still had to deal with Oscar Blair, but with Josephine having reappeared, Nicholas’s choices weren’t so dire.
However he punished Blair, Stephen didn’t care. Blair was complicit in the crimes committed against Emeline Wilson, and so long as Nicholas dispatched him far away, Stephen wasn’t concerned if Blair was dead or alive, imprisoned or free.
He proceeded to his room, passing down the quiet corridors. He wasn’t staying in the earl’s grand suite as he had earlier in the summer. Then, Nicholas hadn’t been interested in the trappings of his title, and he’d refused the more ostentatious accommodations.
However, upon their recent return, he’d claimed the space as his own on the assumption that he was about to marry Emeline. He’d built up an entire fantasy where he would rescue her and she’d be so grateful that she’d wed him immediately.
He’d even applied for a Special License. It was sitting on his desk down in the library—unused and unnecessary.
Ha! Stephen hooted with glee whenever he thought of how Emeline had rejected his brother. The supreme marital catch in England, the consummate lady’s man, the notorious lover and exploiter of women, had met his match.
Emeline Wilson didn’t want him, and Nicholas was in a state of shock. It was such a rich, hilarious ending that Stephen couldn’t stop laughing, and he liked Emeline more and more because of it.
She was tough. She had grit. She had pride and sense. Eventually, she’d relent—Nicholas was a master at cunning and he’d wear her down—and Stephen would be delighted to have her as his sister-in-law.
He approached his door, and he paused to wonder where Jo’s room was located. He needed to ask her some questions, but events had been too hectic, and they hadn’t had a chance to speak about what she’d done.
She’d traipsed off to Belgium, pretending she had the authority to fetch Annie to England. Her plan had been devised in secret and carried out with no assistance. How had she mustered the courage? It contradicted everything he knew about her, and he didn’t understand her behavior.
He wanted to thank her for bringing Annie to Stafford. If left to his own devices, he might never have accomplished the deed. Though his intentions had been honorable, he’d always found reasons to delay.
Jo had taken matters into her own hands, had forged ahead where Stephen hadn’t dared. Annie was home, where she belonged. Because of Jo. Not because of Stephen. Stephen had proved himself a great talker, a great dreamer, but Jo had turned out to be the great doer.
With her incredible adventure completed, she was sending him a message, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He was dying to inquire, but not in the middle of the night when he was drained and feeling a tad low. He was still physically attracted to her, and in his current condition, any contact might conclude in a manner best avoided.
He spun the knob and entered his room, expecting the place to be dark, but to his surprise, there was a cheery fire in the hearth. A small table was in front of it, pillows scattered about for lounging and staring into the flames. There was a bottle of wine, a decanter of brandy, and two glasses on the floor. Someone had been drinking the wine.
“What the devil . . . ?” he muttered.
He went to the bedchamber, seeing a brace of candles, another warm fire. In the dressing room beyond, there were more candles, yet another fire.
In the air, he could smell heated water and scented bath salts.
Was someone taking a bath? At midnight? In his dressing room?
He glanced around, worried that he’d walked into the wrong suite by mistake, but no, there were his riding boots in the corner, his pistols on a chair, his coat thrown across the foot of the bed.
Unsettled to the point of alarm, he crept over and peeked in the dressing room. The sight that greeted him was so astounding that he had to blink and blink to clear his vision.
“Mrs. Merrick?” he said.
“It’s Jo to you, and don’t argue about it.”
She was reclined in his bathing tub. Naked. Her glorious brunette hair was piled on her head, damp tendrils curling on her shoulders. She was wet and delectable, and though he hadn’t meant to react, his cock was hard as stone.
She noticed instantly and flashed a sultry smile. Then she stood, water sluicing down her curvaceous body as she stepped out and grabbed a towel.
As if they’d shared the suite forever, as if they were an old married couple, she
