That night, Emily lay awake with the vision of Stephen and Miss Westgate circling in her mind’s eye. The kiss. Miss Westgate had initiated it, certainly, but he had made no effort to rebuke her. Though why would he? They were engaged, were they not?

Emily turned onto her side, a hand pressed to her belly. Perhaps it was fortuitous that she had witnessed the proposal. What further proof was needed that she must look to her own future?

The creak of a door hinge cut through the silence like a knife. It was a faint, distant sound—perhaps someone opening a door down the corridor?

She snatched a blanket from the end of the bed and held it to her chest, rising up onto her elbow. She stared in the direction of the door.

A halo of candlelight floated toward her like a ghostly apparition. Her heart froze, an icy ball of fear lodged in her chest. There were more than two-dozen people in this house, mostly servants. Who would sneak into her chamber so surreptitiously? Was it the poor creature she’d heard moaning yesterday?

As the figure drew closer, she opened her mouth to scream. But before the sound could escape her throat, a strong hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her.

“Quiet,” the ghostly apparition hissed. “You’ll wake the house.”

It was a voice she would know anywhere. Stephen.

Relief flooded her. To hear his voice, to feel the warmth of his skin was more comforting than it should have been—especially given the intimacy he’d shared with Miss Westgate not a quarter of an hour past.

Slowly, he removed his hand and placed the candle on the nightstand. Now, with the aid of the candlelight, she could see what she couldn’t just seconds ago. His gaze was intently focused on her, his enticing lips drawn into a frown.

She swallowed. “I didn’t expect to see you until the morning.”

“Forgive me.” He shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure why I’m here. I felt compelled to see you.”

She ached to question him about his proposal to Miss Westgate, but mentioning it would be admitting she had gone against orders and left her bedchamber. So she settled on a more innocuous topic.

She slid off the mattress and stood, the blanket clutched to her chest. “Did you enjoy the theater?”

He smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Kemble’s execution of Othello was tolerable and the crowds were thinned, which made the experience bearable, but only just.”

“Lady Evelyn and I saw Kemble in Hamlet last year at The Theatre-Royal in Covent Garden. He was quite extraordinary on stage.”

“The evening would have been vastly more agreeable had you been there,” he said, almost to himself.

“An impossibility, given that I am confined within these four walls day in and day out.”

His gaze flowed over her like water and she swallowed, clutching the blanket a notch tighter. What was he thinking?

“Forgive me,” he said. “You are right, of course.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause while she waited for him to state the reason for his visit. When he said nothing, she was forced to press him.

“It was kind of you to call,” she said sarcastically. “Shall I ring for tea?”

As a maid, Emily would never have dreamt of speaking to a viscount with such impudence. But she was not a maid now. Indeed, she would soon be the mother of a Viscount’s child. If that didn’t give her leave to behave impertinently, then heaven knew what did.

He shifted on his feet and she was reminded again how tall and powerful he was. In the small halo of candlelight, she could see he was still dressed in all his finery—black jacket and breeches, gray waistcoat and a crisp white cravat. He was more handsome than most other men of his station. He was the model of rigid aristocratic perfection.

“I apologize for leaving you unattended for so long. If you would be so good as to come with me now, I will take you for a turn in the garden.”

She blinked at the timepiece on the nightstand. “A walk, now? It’s well past one in the morning.”

“Have you any place to be? It’s a warm evening. You are clearly not sleeping and walking is very beneficial for a woman in your condition.”

She wanted to laugh. “You presume to know what is good for a breeding woman?”

“I admit I am ignorant of such things.” One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “But the doctor insists you exercise.”

She glanced at the small bottle still on the nightstand and swallowed past the thickness in her throat. “The doctor wishes me to poison my child,” she said. “Why would he insist I do anything beneficial?”

“Dr. Locke was wrong to have treated you so abominably,” he said. “I’ve employed a new doctor. A young man by the name of Dr. Abel. He is an expert on such matters—the best I could find in London. He recommends a varied diet and an abundance of exercise.”

He pulled on the blanket until she was obliged to release it. It slid down her body, leaving her open to the night chill and she shivered a little. The fire in the hearth was beginning to dwindle and offered little warmth.

“Come,” he said.

“I cannot dress with you present,” she said, more out of shyness than anything else. “It isn’t proper.”

She was not a lady and she was not expected to behave as one. But as lady’s maid, discretion and propriety were ingrained in her. One did not risk one’s position, no matter the inducement. It just wasn’t done.

Never mind that in this case there was no position to be lost and no propriety to be preserved. Still, habits were difficult to shift.

He stepped toward her. “We are alone. Who is here to tell us what is proper and what is not?”

She swallowed. Perhaps he was right. With a shiver, she walked on tiptoe to the wardrobe and shook out the borrowed maid’s dress she’d taken off just moments before.

He flashed her a smile. “Wait here a moment.”

He left the room briskly, and she made use of his absence, donning her dress and stockings quickly, forgoing her stays. With her stomach growing each day, the stays were becoming uncomfortable and days ago she had dispensed with them entirely. Just as she was brushing out the wrinkles of her skirt, Stephen returned.

Draped over his arm was a thick green cloak lined with ermine fur and matching gloves. Pulling it open, he slid it over her shoulders. It was thick, warm and far too elegant for a woman of her station. The soft fabric smelled of expensive perfume.

“It’s my mother’s,” he answered. “She has quite a few. She won’t miss it.”

She was awed. “It’s beautiful.”

He dipped his head, indicating the door. “Shall we?”

He led her down the corridor and through the kitchens to the back door. Outside, the night air was warmer than usual and the moon hung low in the sky, illuminating a beautifully manicured garden. Ornately cut topiaries lined the winding paths and in the center stood a beautiful statue of woman—a Greek goddess. She was naked, partially swathed in fabric etched in stone, a bow and arrow aimed at the night sky. She was beautiful, strong and one of Emily’s favorites, Artemis.

As they walked the garden, Emily breached the silence. Even now, her mind was cast back to that kiss between Stephen and Miss Westgate in the library. “Are your guests finding their stay pleasurable?”

Hands clasped behind his back, his strides were long and even. “Yes, I believe they are enjoying themselves.”

“Miss Westgate doesn’t find London’s society in the autumn months dull and unvarying?”

He paused mid-stride and turned to her, one eyebrow quirked. Her heart nearly stopped. Had she given away too much? Did he suspect she had overheard his conversation with Miss Westgate? “Did you just accuse me of being dull, Miss Michaelson?”

She smiled, relieved. “I am sure you are anything but dull, my lord. But Miss Westgate is young and I imagine she is accustomed to more varied activities.”

“And what of you. What do you do for enjoyment?” he asked.

Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked the impeccably trimmed garden. Though barren of blooms, the hedges were cut in straight lines and swooping, fantastical shapes.

“I could not tell you,” she answered honestly. “In truth, there isn’t much time or money for enjoyment. A servant’s life and a gentleman’s life could not be more different.”

He studied her for a moment. “All that glitters is not gold,” he answered. “I often long for the simplicity of hard work and tired bones.”

“What a romantic thought,” she said. “But I’m afraid the reality is not quite as satisfying.”

He lifted his chin. “Perhaps you are right. It is human nature to yearn for the things one does not have.”

They continued to walk for a while, before Emily stirred up the courage to ask, “What are your intentions in regard to the child?”

“I am not sure I understand your question.”

“Will you...attempt to contact him?”

He lifted a brow and laughed. “Him, is it?”

She shrugged as she ran a hand over her stomach. “I have a feeling, is all.”

“Are you asking whether or not I plan to have a relationship with my own child?”

She could hear the possession in his voice. It was precisely as she’d feared. Revealing her condition to Stephen was also effectually inviting him into her child’s life. It’s precisely why she needed to flee London and settle somewhere no one would think to look.

“You must realize that such a relationship might complicate matters between you and your wife.” She drew in a breath, which now felt heavy in her lungs. “Once the business between us is concluded, we would do well to cut ties. Indeed, under the circumstances, it would be expected.”

Silence hung in the air.

When he spoke, his tone was hard. “Is that what you wish?”

“No. Yes.” She shook her head. “...I don’t know.”

In many ways, it would be easier if Stephen were not in their lives. But was that her selfishness speaking? What of the child? Surely he would benefit from a father’s presence. But what if Stephen saw fit to take her child away and raise him as his ward?

“I fear you will take him from me,” she added.

He reached over and placed a hand on her stomach protectively. “You must believe me, I would never wish to separate a mother from her child.”

“Even if that mother is a maid?” She placed her hand over his and shook her head. “Can you honestly tell me you would not wish to raise him under your own roof with tutors and nurses and all the trappings of a gentleman’s son?”

“Of course I want the best for him. Or her. As any father would wish for his child.”

This was not making her feel any better. Indeed, he had more or less confirmed her fears.

“And what of Miss Westgate? When will you tell her?”

He dropped his hand and began walking again. She fell into step beside him. “I’ve not decided when I will tell her.”

She did intend to leave. “Perhaps there will be no need.”

He stared down at the gravel. “Indeed, it may all come to nothing, in the end.”

Emily slowed her step. “I am not sure I catch your meaning.”

“There is nothing so uncertain as childbearing.”

Was he suggesting she or her child might perish in the birth? Was that was he wanted?

She sucked in a gulp of air. Her lungs burned and a hard lump had formed in her throat. A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She didn’t brush it away for fear of drawing attention to it. “Is that what you wish?”

He stopped again, turning to her abruptly. He grasped her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Emily, Emily, no,” he said in a harsh whisper. “I didn’t mean…”

“You just said…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“Forgive me, I am not at all skilled at expressing myself.” He brushed the tear off her cheek with his thumb and a strange sort of electricity sparked between them. “I have many hopes for this child and I will do everything in my power to protect him.”

She nodded. There was some small comfort in knowing she wasn’t in this entirely alone.

He led her to a bench and they sat.

“Tell me something of yourself.” His head was down, but he looked up at her then. His eyes were a beautiful, vibrant green that caused her breath catch. “Where are your parents?”

“They are gone.” So much time had passed, there was no longer any pain in conveying that solemn fact. “I never knew my father. He was a respected shoemaker and he died when I was just a babe. My mother died when I was eight. Consumption.”

“I’m sorry, Emily.” He took her hand in his and squeezed, offering comfort. “Who cared for you after your mother died?”

“My aunt and uncle. They are both gone as well.”

He looked down at her hands, his face cast in shadow. “You’ve been through a great deal.” He glanced up at her, his gaze catching hers. “I hope you know I will always take care of you.”

Out of obligation.

It was left unsaid, but Emily knew it was true.

She looked down at the gravel to avoid his gaze. “You are too kind.”

Reaching up, he cupped her chin and forced her to look up, into his eyes. “It’s more than kindness, Emily. Surely you must know that.”

The low timbre of his voice skipped up her spine. “Must I?”

He dipped his head and brought his lips within a hairs breath of hers. A strange sort of electricity arched between them and she sucked in a gulp of air. “You’re all I think about, Emily. Your smell, your laugh…” His gaze fell to her mouth. “Your lips…”

Heat rushed through her veins and she found herself inching forward, hungry for another taste of him. But her mind screamed for her to be sensible. Intimacy would only make walking away from him that much more difficult in the end.

“You are engaged,” she said and then quickly caught herself. “Or very soon will be,” she amended.

His eyes darkened. “Yes.”

“She’s here, in your home as we speak,” she said.

He cleared his throat and sat back. “Yes.”

Disappointment lodged in her throat. She had expected him to reach for a justification, a reason why they should not deny their feelings. But he had not and she could only assume it was because he was feeling a degree of guilt, or uncertainty.

With a heavy breath, she stood. “I am quite tired. I should return to my room.”

He stood stiffly and offered his arm. “I will see you back.”

Upstairs, he opened her bedroom door and followed her in. She unlaced the cloak and shrugged it off her shoulders, then gently laid it over the back of a chair. Stephen stood by the door, his presence stretching to fill the entire room. And like a physical touch, she could feel his gaze on her back. A shiver skipped down her spine.

She turned around to face him. “Thank you for seeing me safetly back. I shall wish you a good night.”

“How is it that you can remain so calm in the face of this thing between us?”

She swallowed. “I am well acquainted with hardship.”

He closed the door, bolted it, and strode toward her. Reaching up, he swept the hair away from her face. “Yes, of course.” The back of his thumb brushed her cheek. “But this...can you not feel it?”

She turned her head to the side, away from his touch. Of course she felt it, this electricity between them. Was it a blessing or a curse that their torment was shared? She couldn’t quite decide.

“You will soon be married,” she answered. “If I am refusing to acknowledge anything, is that not reason enough?”

His hard gaze pierced through her and she licked her bottom lip, aware of his intense focus. Was he going to kiss her? Would she have the strength to push him away if he did?

A look of possession flashed in his eyes. “It is and yet…”

She lifted a brow, both excited and afraid. “Yes?”

He brushed his thumb across her chin, his gaze fixed on her lips. “And yet, I cannot stop thinking of you.”

“You must.”

His fingers skimmed past her chin, down to the pulse at the base of her throat. When his eyes flicked up, they collided with hers. “I dare to disagree.”

Every instinct inside her screamed to pull her gaze away, but she couldn’t. There was something about the look in his eye—something powerful—that made her tremble. “Do you?” she asked.

“Yes.” He dipped his head and brought his lips close to hers. Not touching, just close enough to tease. “There are some connections we are powerless to deny.”

His scent engulfed her and she felt almost drugged by it. Spiced wine. Wood smoke. She inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed. If only she could surrender to him. If only there were no engagement, no impediment. But there was and no amount of wishing it away would change that.

“My lord…”

His mouth met hers briefly, impatiently. “I’ve dreamt of you for months,” he said in a thick whisper. “How is it you are truly here?”

“I’m trying to make sense of that myself,” she murmured softly.

Pressing forward, he lowered her onto the bed and braced his large body above her. His lips parted as he pushed his lower half against her, the evidence of his desire thick and heavy between them. Her breath caught and snagged, her core pooling with warmth.

Brushing a thumb down her cheek, his lips stretched into a hungry smile that sent a spark shooting through her. “I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you right now, Emily.”

The same hunger pulsed through her and she shifted beneath him, breathless, eager for his hands on her body. She moaned, reaching up to stroke his muscled chest. His skin was hot, searing against her fingertips and she wanted to explore every beautiful inch of him.

“You are so beautiful,” she moaned, twisting beneath him, restless, hungry.

She drew in a trembling breath as he tugged on her neckline, ripping her thin chemise. Her breasts came tumbling out, the tips tight and achingly sensitive. His hot mouth fastened to her left breast, swirling around the tip, then sucking until she was a breathless heap beneath him. Then he used his teeth, nipping at her, tugging, before switching to the other breast.

It was too much. Her body was on fire, her hips arching off the mattress, searching for the release only he could give. “Oh, dear, God, Stephen.”

“Yes, my dear, that’s it. Open your legs. Let me see you, all of you.”

Without hesitation, she parted her legs, opening herself up to him. His hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress and found the curls between her thighs. He pushed a finger inside her and the pleasure of it was so intense, she nearly exploded like a flame to a powder keg.

“Mmm,” he growled in her ear. The sound was all masculinity and it spoke to a deep, primitive part of her. “You are drenched.”

“Is…that irregular?” He sounded pleased, but she knew very little of these things.

“It means you’re ready for me,” he rasped.

She opened her mouth to ask a question, but it died on her lips when his hand shifted and he pushed his finger deeper, then another until he was stretching her wide. He began a slow, rhythmic movement that gradually quickened. His thrusts became more intense and his thumb found the little pearl just above her opening.

Oh, heavens.

And then he kissed her and she broke. Her muscles tensed for a breath before her body shattered beneath him. Delicious heat flooded her veins, bathing her in hot, excruciating pleasure.

“Oh, dear God,” she panted, drowning in sensation.

“Christ, the sounds you make when you climax…” When the sensations subsided, he slid his fingers from her body and kissed her again. “I want to taste every luscious inch of you...”

Yes. Please.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, anticipation burning through her. But in the darkness, she saw Miss Westgate—up on her tiptoes, her mouth pressed to Stephen’s lips.

Her eyes snapped open and she struggled up onto her elbows. “Stephen…”

“I love hearing my name on your lips.” He leaned in and nipped at her earlobe.

She shook her head. “Stephen, we can’t.”

With great effort, she pushed at his chest and slid out from under him. “Please go.” She nearly choked on the words. But if he remained, she would allow him take her. It would dim her focus and weaken her position.

He hesitated, his breathing heavy. “I want you with a desperation I don’t understand, Emily. I need to feel you. I can’t explain it.”

God, yes, she needed that too. Her body was already reawakening, hungry for his mouth on her skin. But she couldn’t. They couldn’t.

“Go, Stephen,” she said hoarsely. “Please.”