Her voice was wobbling now with the effort not to cry. ‘I know that my father would have expected me to look after my mother. He would have expected us to stick together. I didn’t want to dishonour his memory by running away from our family as if I was ashamed to be a part of it.’
She held up a hand, palm facing him. ‘I accept that he made mistakes, borrowing all that money, but I believe he did it in order to make his family happy. So I’ve spent the last six years working hard to pay off his debts. To finally clear our name—’
Her voice caught on the last word and Jack shifted in his seat, distraught to hear how much she’d suffered in silence, but he didn’t speak, letting her keep the floor, sensing how much she needed to let it all out now.
‘I didn’t want you to be dragged down by the mistakes my father made too. It wouldn’t have been fair on you when you were so excited about taking that amazing job offer in America. I knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and how determined you were to shun the unfair advantage of your family name and do something great with your life on your own merits. It would have been cruel of me to take that chance away from you, Jack.’
‘There would have been other opportunities though, Emma. I was more concerned about the two of us making a new life for ourselves together,’ he broke in, before he could stop himself.
She sighed and rubbed at her brow. ‘I wasn’t the same flighty, naïve girl you’d fallen in love with by then though. My father’s death changed me. The girl you knew died the moment he did. The last thing you needed was an emotionally crippled wife pulling at your attention while you were trying to build a successful future for us. You would have only resented me for it.’ She frowned. ‘And I loved you too much at the time to put you through all that.’
At the time.
Those three words said it all. She had loved him, but apparently she didn’t feel the same way any more.
His chest felt hollow with sadness, the desolation of it spreading out from the centre of him, eating away at his insides.
Her voice had become increasingly shaky as she’d gone on with her speech and she stood up now and brushed a tear away from under her eye.
‘Will you excuse me? I’m just going to visit the bathroom before we get back into the car,’ she said, giving him a wobbly smile.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, grateful for a break from the intense atmosphere so he could mull over everything she’d just told him.
He sat staring into space after she’d walked away, acutely aware of the bizarre normality of the sounds in the garden all around them while he desperately tried to make sense of the heavy weight of emotion pressing in on him.
Emma’s painful confession had pierced him to the core.
He was in awe of her courage and her strength in the face of such a humbling experience, but he still couldn’t shake the painful awareness that she’d chosen her mother over him.
Frustration bit at him. If she’d only let him know what was going on at the time, how bad things had got for her, he could have helped her. But she’d chosen to shut him out and handle it all without him. She hadn’t trusted him or his love for her enough to let him be the husband he’d wanted to be.
Though, to be fair to her, he had to give her credit for showing such strength of character in stepping up and taking on her responsibilities, even though it had meant giving up a life with him—an easy, wrapped-in-cotton-wool existence.
If she’d been a more fragile person she could have asked him to pay off her family’s debts and saddled him with a reputation for having a gold-digging wife, but she hadn’t wanted that for him. Or for herself.
She had more integrity than that.
She returned a minute later and he stood up to meet her, frustration, hurt and sorrow for what they’d lost still warring in his mind.
Just as she reached the table her phone rang and she plucked it out of her bag, giving him an apologetic smile at the interruption and muttering, ‘It’s my mother, I’d better get this,’ before answering the call.
She sounded worried at first, which made his heart thump with concern that there was more bad news to deal with, but then her voice softened into a soothing coo as she listened to a tale of woe that her mother had called to impart to her. From what he could glean from Emma’s responses it sounded as if her mother’s new husband, Philippe, had broken something while skiing off-piste with friends and her mother was going to have to rush back to France to see him. Emma assured her that that was fine and that she’d fly over very soon to see them both.
After cutting the call she confirmed the news, assuring him that it was better if her mother didn’t hear about what was going on with them right now as she was already upset and worried about Philippe.
He wanted to say something to her about how it wasn’t right for her to feel she still had to protect her mother and that it should be the other way around, but he didn’t. Because it wasn’t really any of his business.
For some reason that simple truth filled him with despair.
Sliding her phone back into her bag, she gave him a grateful nod for waiting and started walking back to the car. He stood rooted to the spot for a moment, watching her go, and as she reached the edge of the garden he had an overwhelming urge to try and reassure her that everything would be okay.
‘Emma.’
She stopped under a large tree strung with twinkling fairy lights and turned back to face him, her expression one of open interest.
He walked quickly up to where she stood. ‘I wanted to say thank you,’ he said, taking another step towards her, closing more of the gap between them.
‘What for?’ Her brow crinkled in confusion.
‘For being so honest with me just now. It’s obviously still hard for you to talk about.’
She glanced away, then back at him with a small smile of gratitude.
He took another step towards her, standing so close now he could smell the intoxicating, floral scent of her.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and bright with unshed tears.
‘I also wanted to say thank you for what you did today, standing up in front of my parents like that,’ he said, putting a hand on her arm, his breath hitching as he felt her tremble under his touch. ‘It was brave of you.’
Glancing up, he realised there was a sprig of mistletoe hanging from a branch above them, tied in amongst the glimmering lights.
Without thinking about what he was doing, he lifted his hand and slid his fingers along her jaw, cupping her face and rubbing his thumb across the flawless skin of her cheek.
Her eyes flickered closed for a second and she drew in a small, sharp breath as if his touch had burnt her.
‘Emma?’ he murmured, dropping his gaze to her beautiful, Cupid’s-bow-shaped mouth. A mouth that he had a sudden mad urge to kiss.
His insides felt tangled, as if she’d reached inside him and twisted them in her hands.
He wanted to do something to take away the pain and uncertainty he saw in her eyes, but intellectually he knew that kissing her now would only make things more complicated between them.
Clearly she was feeling vulnerable and there was no way he was going to consciously make that worse.
So he dropped his hand to his side and took a step away from her. Then another.
‘We should get back on the road so we miss the rush-hour traffic,’ he said gruffly, concerned at how wild the look in her eyes was and how flushed her cheeks were.
The stress of their situation must be getting to her too.
‘Okay,’ she said roughly, nodding and glancing away towards where John, their driver, stood leaning against the car, his face turned towards the late autumn sunshine.
When she looked back her eyes seemed to have taken on a glazed look.
Perhaps she was just tir
ed.
Giving her a nod and a smile, which he hoped would go some way towards reassuring her that he was with her in this, he gestured for her to lead the way.
He watched her walk back towards the car, stumbling a little on the uneven gravel.
If they were going to get through this without getting hurt again he was going to have to be very strict with himself about how close he let himself get to her again. From this point on he would do everything in his power to make her life easier and make sure that she was as secure and happy as she deserved to be.
But he’d be doing it from a distance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN EMMA WOKE up the next morning she felt as if she hadn’t slept a wink.
The memory of the way Jack had looked at her with such warmth and understanding yesterday, after she’d opened up about what she’d gone through after her father died, had haunted her dreams.
Standing under that mistletoe outside the pub, she’d thought for one heart-stopping moment that he was going to kiss her. It had actually scared her how much she’d wanted him to, but judging by his swift withdrawal apparently she’d been crazy to imagine that he’d wanted it too.
But she could have sworn...
Ugh! This was all so confusing.
She was better off on her own anyway—at least that way she could keep full control over her life and keep her heart in one piece.
Rolling out of bed, she went over to the window and peered out at the street below, this time making sure to keep well hidden behind the curtain. There were still a few photographers lurking down on the street, but the majority of journalists seemed to have gone.
They must have grown bored with trying to get information about her. That was a relief.
After taking a quick shower and pulling on another one of the beautiful dresses that Sophie had brought over for her, this time in a flattering, draped soft green fabric that swished around her legs and clung gently to her torso, she clomped downstairs, steeling herself to face Jack again.
She had absolutely no idea what to expect from him today. What she did know was that she sure as heck wasn’t going to hide from whatever was going on between them.
Walking into the kitchen, she spotted him sitting at the table with his broad back to her looking at something on his laptop.
The worry about how they were going to be with each other this morning evaporated the moment he looked round and she saw the flash of panic on his face.
‘Emma, I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘What are you looking at?’ she asked, already knowing she wasn’t going to like the answer.
Snapping the laptop shut, he gave what she suspected was meant to be a diffident shrug. ‘Nothing of any consequence.’
Folding her arms, she gave him a hard stare. ‘Jack, there’s no point in trying to hide anything from me. I’ll see it sooner or later.’
He swallowed, then nodded towards the computer in front of him. ‘The press found out who you are,’ he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
Sitting down next to him, she slid the laptop towards her and opened it up to look at what he’d been reading.
All the blood seemed to drain from her head as she saw numerous links on the screen, all with her family name slashed across them with a variation on the theme of her family’s money scandal and their exile from high society as well as Jack’s name and title.
Gold-digger seemed to be the most commonly used term.
It was inevitable, she supposed. Once the press had that photo of her there must have been a race on to discover as much as they could about her in order to get their stories filed for this morning’s news. The public seemed to be captivated by the lives of the upper-class gentry and apparently theirs were no exception.
Feeling sick, she leant back against the chair and covered her face with her hands, letting out a long low breath and concentrating hard on getting her raging heartbeat back under control.
‘Are you okay?’ Jack asked gently.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, dismissing his concern with the flip of her hand. She wasn’t going to fall apart in front of him now. She still had her pride.
Getting up from the table, she smoothed her hands down her dress. ‘Well, I guess if I’m going to be living here for a while I’ll need to go to my flat to pick up some of my things,’ she managed to say, amazed at how calm she sounded when her heart was thumping so hard she thought it might explode in her chest.
Jack looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and nodded. ‘Take the car. In fact, I’ll give you John’s number now, then you can call him whenever you need to go somewhere.’
She frowned in surprise. ‘Won’t you need him?’
‘I have another driver I can use.’
She must have still looked a little uncertain because he said, ‘It’s fine, Emma, and it’s only until the press get bored and leave us alone. It’ll be much less stressful for both of us.’
‘Well, okay. If it’s not going to cause any trouble.’
‘No trouble,’ he said, giving her a reassuring smile, which made something flip in her tummy.
His phone rang then, and he turned away to answer it with a curt, ‘Westwood.’
She could tell from the look on his face that it wasn’t someone he was keen to speak to.
He confirmed this by mouthing, ‘It’s Perdita,’ and putting the phone on speaker so they could both hear the conversation.
‘I’m calling to set up a good time to come and do that “At home with the Earl and Countess of Redminster” piece for the magazine,’ came the journalist’s crooning tones down the line.
Emma’s heart sank. She’d hoped the woman would leave them alone for a little while, at least until they’d had a bit more time to practise playing the happily married couple, but apparently it was not to be.
‘I was thinking a week on Friday,’ Perdita continued, not giving either of them the chance to even draw breath, let alone answer. ‘I’ll pop over at about nine in the morning, which should mean we have plenty of light to get everything shot. Now the nights are drawing in, we have to start our days that bit earlier. Okay?’ she finished finally, the uplift in her voice making the word sound more like a command than a question.
‘Yes, fine,’ Jack bit out. ‘We’ll see you then, Perdita.’
‘Lovely!’ Perdita breathed, then cut the call.
Jack scowled at his phone, looking as though he’d quite like to fling it across the room.
When he turned to look at her with a raised brow she matched his frustrated expression. ‘So she’s set on doing that interview, then,’ she said, keenly aware of the tension in her voice.
‘Sounds like it. We ought to do it though, just to keep my parents off our back.’
‘I agree.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you for understanding, Em.’
‘No problem,’ she said, forcing herself to smile back, feeling a little panicky about what exactly they were going to say to Perdita that would satisfy her curiosity about their relationship. They didn’t even know what the state of it was themselves, for goodness’ sake.
She got up from the table and went into the living room to peek out at the photographers still milling about outside.
Jack had followed her in and he flopped onto one of the sagging armchairs near the fireplace, wincing as it gave a groan of protest.
She walked over to where he sat and perched on the edge of the arm. ‘You know, Perdita might think it’s strange that we’re living in a house like this,’ she said, sweeping her hand around to encompass the nineteen seventies throwback décor. ‘She’ll never buy that a young couple plan to live here, and the readers certainly won’t.’
He frowned. ‘Good point.’
‘Can you get it updated in time?’ s
he asked hesitantly.
He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the neat waves and making her long to smooth it back down for him. ‘I don’t have time to arrange it right now. I’m snowed under at work.’
‘I can do it,’ she said before she could check herself. ‘If you like,’ she added less forcefully, pulling her arms tightly across her middle. ‘I can’t work at the moment anyway, so I may as well make myself useful.’
He looked up at her with a smile of relief. ‘That would be great, if you wouldn’t mind. Spend whatever you think necessary—’
She gave an involuntary grimace at that and he frowned as if realising what a tactless thing that was to say to her.
‘I’ll transfer some money to you to get started and if you need any more, just let me know.’
‘Okay. Should I give you my account details now?’ she asked, feeling incredibly awkward about discussing money with him, especially with the word gold-digger still floating around her mind.
‘Sure. Go ahead,’ he said, opening up an app on his phone and tapping in the numbers she gave him. ‘I’ll do a transfer as soon as I get to my desk. ‘I’ve got a meeting in Belgravia now so I’ll get out of your way.’
Emma was frustrated that they were dancing so politely around each other like this, with neither of them making any mention of their moment under the mistletoe yesterday. But then what was there to say? Nothing had actually happened.
They’d not talked at all on the journey back from Cambridge because Jack had been on the phone to his colleagues in America the whole time dealing with a crisis that had arisen, then he’d excused himself the moment they’d walked into the house, citing the need to do more work. She suspected he’d actually been avoiding having to talk about what was hanging in the air between them.
She followed him into the hallway, where Jack grabbed his coat from the cloakroom.
It can’t have meant as much to him as it had to her, she decided with a sting of sadness.
A Countess for Christmas Page 10
