She followed Royce outside, wondering how to reconcile herself to this new side to her husband.

Stephen set his spectacles to one side, rubbing his eyes. He’d spent hours poring over ledgers in his study. Endless accountings of estate figures, harvest yields and rents paid lay before him in his own familiar script.

He had a sudden urge to set it all on fire.

He hadn’t come any closer to finding a reason why anyone had attacked him. There were no records about The Lady Valiant, regarding any sort of stolen profits. It was as if the ship had never existed.

He wanted to believe that the scars he bore were nothing more than the result of common cutthroats. But the tattoo on his neck and the missing memories suggested otherwise.

Start at the beginning, he thought. He struggled to remember why he’d left London at the beginning of February. Had he merely needed an escape from his life here? Had he run away, intent on avoiding his father’s interference?

Or had Hollingford asked him to come? He hadn’t considered that possibility before. Emily’s brother was an acquaintance, not a friend. But what if there had been a connection between himself and Hollingford?

Closing his eyes, Stephen struggled to remember. He inhaled slowly, trying to keep his mind relaxed. He allowed his imagination to wander, and it settled on an older memory.

It had been winter, and a sixteen-year-old Emily was shoving handfuls of snow down his collar. He’d thrown her down upon the hillside, both of them laughing as he smashed snow into her own face.

Emily had flung her arms about him, and his body had risen to her innocent call. For a brief, frozen moment, her lashes stilled, her amber eyes catching him with a look of intensity. Her hands had paused upon his shoulders, waiting for him to lean down.

He’d kissed her cool mouth, a touch that had left him reeling. When she pulled back, she smiled. Then she’d shoved his face back into the snow until his own clothes were sodden.

The vision faded, and though he fought to reach one of the hidden memories, he couldn’t grasp anything.

Was Emily still the same laughing girl he’d known? He couldn’t deny that he wanted her in his bed. He wanted to peel away each layer, each petticoat and chemise until he found the woman beneath. She had a passionate nature, one that heated his blood just to look at her.

But she was afraid. Although she had thanked him for the flowers and the gowns, she seemed apprehensive, as though she expected everything to vanish.

Perhaps it would. Everything about their union had been a mistake. And he still didn’t know if there was any chance of a successful marriage between them.

Chapter Eight