A Countess for Christmas

by Christy McKellen

  What was going on? Had he done or said something last night that had upset her? If he had, he had no idea what it could have been.

  He took a breath and slung his arm around her shoulders. She tensed a little under his touch, but at least she didn’t move away this time.

  Looking over at Perdita, he steeled himself for spending the next half an hour—that was all he was going to give her—fielding her impertinent questions about his and Emma’s life together, while also trying to make their relationship sound real and exciting enough to titillate the readers of Babbler magazine.

  ‘So, how are the plans for the renewal of your wedding vows going?’ Perdita purred, after she’d set up her phone to record their conversation.

  ‘Er...well, we’re still talking about when and how we’re going to do it—’ Emma said quickly, her smile looking fixed and her eyes overly bright when he glanced round at her.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Perdita intoned, looking between the two of them with a quizzical little pinch in her forehead.

  ‘We’re hoping it’ll be some time in the new year. We’ll let you know when we’ve made some firm plans,’ Jack said brusquely, in an attempt to close that line of questioning down as quickly as possible. Emma shuffled in her seat beside him.

  Luckily Perdita didn’t press them on it.

  ‘So are you planning on spending Christmas here? I see you already have your decorations up,’ Perdita said brightly, sweeping her hands around to gesture at the strings of silver baubles that Emma had hung from the picture rails and the spicy scented Douglas fir she’d covered with tasteful vintage Victorian ornaments.

  ‘Yes, I think we’ll be here for Christmas this year,’ Jack replied, glancing around him at the decorations. They lent the room such a cosy festive air, so much so he found he was actually enjoying sitting in his living room for once, despite having to answer Perdita’s inane questions.

  ‘It must be so lovely to have a family home again to spend Christmas Day in, Emma. I understand you had to sell the house you grew up in after your poor father passed on,’ Perdita cooed, raising her brow in a shocking show of pseudo sympathy.

  ‘That’s right, Perdita, we did,’ Emma answered, keeping her chin up and her gaze locked with the woman’s though Jack was aware of her shoulders tensing ever so slightly. ‘And yes, it’ll be a lovely house to spend Christmas in.’

  He was desperate to call a halt to this ridiculous debacle, but he didn’t want to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing him riled.

  ‘You know, Perdita, Emma did all the interior design in the house,’ he said, leaning in to draw the journalist’s unscrupulous attention away from his wife.

  Perdita glanced around at him, quickly hiding a flash of irritation that he’d foiled her underhand pursuit of some juicy gossip with which to titillate her readers. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. She has a real talent for it, my wife. I’m incredibly proud of her. In fact, why don’t you mention to your readers that she’s available for consultation if they’re looking for an interior designer? I can give them a personal guarantee that they’ll be delighted with Emma’s talent for making a house into a home.’

  He picked up Emma’s hand from her lap, giving it a reassuring squeeze. After a second’s pause she gave him a squeeze back.

  There was definitely something very wrong here. Was she feeling ill? Too tired from their night of passion to think straight? Just sick to death of being hounded for answers to questions that brought up painful memories from her past?

  Perdita continued to fire tricky questions at them: about how they fell in love, how they came to be reconciled, what their plans were for their future together and even though Emma fielded the questions well with vague but upbeat answers he imagined he could feel her slipping further and further away from him with every second that passed.

  By the time the interview finally concluded he was desperate to get Perdita out of the house so that he and Emma could talk again in private.

  But unfortunately the journalist had other ideas.

  ‘Well, I’ve got everything I need for the article. We just need to get some lovely snaps of the two of you together in this beautiful living room. You’ve done such a wonderful job on the décor, Emma. It’ll make a lovely backdrop.’

  She stood up from the armchair that she’d been perched on and Jack and Emma stood up awkwardly too.

  Judging by the look on Emma’s face, Jack was pretty sure she was as desperate for this to be over as he was.

  ‘Are you ready for us, David?’ Perdita called out to her photographer.

  ‘As I’ll ever be, Perdie,’ David replied, shooting them all a wink.

  They allowed Perdita to manhandle them into a ‘loving’ clinch on the sofa by the window, and Jack’s spirits sank even lower as he felt Emma tense as he wrapped his arms around her.

  ‘Okay, let’s have a lovely kiss now, shall we?’ Perdita purred, giving them a lascivious smile.

  To his horror, he realised Emma was actually vibrating with tension now and when he turned his head to look at her, his gut twisted as he saw only a cool remoteness in her eyes.

  Leaning forwards, he pressed his lips to hers, hoping he could somehow wake the Emma from last night, to remind her how good it had been between them, and how good it could be again, if only she’d let him back in.

  Her mouth was cool and pliant beneath his, but he could feel the reluctance in her, taste it on her lips, sense it in the raggedness of her breathing—as if she was only tolerating his touch until she could get away from him without looking bad in front of Perdita.

  The rejection tugged hard at him, causing pain in his chest as if she’d torn something loose inside him.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Perdita said, as they drew apart.

  ‘Is that it?’ Jack asked gruffly, at the very end of his patience with the woman now. He wanted her and her nauseating presence out of his house so he could be on his own with Emma again and finally be able to find out what was going on with her.

  ‘We’re done,’ Perdita said, all businesslike now as David gathered up his equipment behind her.

  ‘I’ll let your mother know when to expect to see the article,’ she said.

  As soon as he shut the door on Perdita’s designer-suited back, Jack returned to the living room to find Emma perched on the arm of the sofa, staring out of the window.

  ‘Thank you for doing that,’ he said, walking towards her. ‘I’m sorry to put you through it.’

  She shrugged, but didn’t look at him.

  ‘I guess it’ll satisfy your parents. At least for a while.’ She took a deep shaky-sounding breath. ‘I’m going to go now, Jack,’ she said quietly, still not turning around.

  His heart turned over at her words. ‘What are you talking about?’

  She turned to face him, her expression shuttered. ‘I need to get out of here.’

  * * *

  Emma took a deep breath, trying not to let Jack’s incredulous glare stop her from saying what needed to be said.

  ‘I don’t need to stay here now the journalists have stopped prowling around the house and Perdita’s got her pound of flesh from us,’ she said, keeping her voice steady and emotionless, even though it nearly killed her to do it.

  Jack stared at her in shock. ‘But you don’t need to go, Em. You should stay. I want you to.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t stay here now, Jack, not now we’ve crossed an irreversible line by sleeping together, something we agreed not to do.’

  Couldn’t he see that they shouldn’t risk putting themselves in a position where it might happen again, that it would only make things harder and more complicated later when they started the inevitable divorce proceedings?

  ‘I thought it’s what you wanted too,’ he ground out, his troubled gaze boring into
hers. ‘It certainly seemed like it last night.’

  She folded her arms across her chest, hugging them around her. ‘You didn’t really think that one night together would fix what’s wrong with our relationship, did you?’

  His steady gaze continued to bore into hers, his eyes dark with intent. Sitting down opposite her, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned forwards, his eyes not leaving hers. ‘Emma, I want us to try and make this marriage work.’

  Her mouth was suddenly so dry she found it hard to swallow and she was aware of a low level of panic beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘We’ve been apart for too long, Jack. How can we expect to make a relationship work now?’ Her voice shook with the effort of keeping her emotions at bay.

  ‘But it does work, Emma, we proved that last night.’

  ‘You didn’t really think we could just pick up from where we left off, did you?’

  He blinked at her in surprise, then opened his mouth as if to answer.

  But she couldn’t let him try and persuade her otherwise; this was hard enough as it was. She really couldn’t bring herself to trust that it could all be okay with them this time. What guarantees did they have that it wouldn’t all fall apart again?

  ‘We shouldn’t have let last night happen. Sex always messes things up,’ she said, her voice wobbling with tension.

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘Are you telling me you regret what happened now?’ A muscle was twitching in his jaw and his brow pinched into a disbelieving frown.

  She was hurting him; she could see it in his eyes and it was tearing her apart.

  ‘I—can’t do this again, Jack.’ But her voice held no conviction. She could see that he thought so too by the way he was looking at her.

  As if he knew how very close she was to giving in.

  He was still looking at her that way as he got up and walked towards her. Still looking as he pushed his hand gently into her hair and tilted her face towards him. Still looking as he brushed his lips against hers with a feather-light kiss that made her insides melt and fizz.

  ‘Don’t, Jack...’ she murmured against his mouth, her willpower a frail and insubstantial thing that she was having trouble holding onto.

  To her surprise he drew back, giving her the space she needed.

  Finally acting as though he was listening to her.

  Sliding his hand out of her hair, he took a deliberate step backwards, but didn’t stop looking at her.

  She felt the loss of his touch so keenly her body gave a throb of anguish.

  ‘I want us to have another try at our marriage.’ He took a breath. ‘I need you.’

  The passion and the absolute certainty she heard in his voice sent her heart into a slow dive, but she fought the feeling, still too afraid to believe what he was saying was true. ‘You don’t need me, Jack.’

  ‘Yes, I do! There’s this big hole in my life without you that I’ve never been able to fill. It’s like part of me is hollow. A wound that just won’t heal.’

  ‘You’re comparing me to a wound now? How romantic.’ But despite her jibe she was aware of a warm glow of longing pulsing deep in her chest now.

  She pushed it away, telling herself not to be a fool. It was dangerous to hope for this to work out after last time. Too much time and pain and heartache had come between them since those happier days. He was being naïve to think they could get back what they once had.

  He locked his gaze with hers, his expression sincere. ‘I’m going to be here for you this time, Em, every step of the way. I’ll look after you, I promise.’

  ‘Promises aren’t enough, Jack.’

  He ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking tired. ‘Then what do you want from me? Tell me, Emma!’

  ‘A divorce! Like we’d planned!’ she shouted back in frustration.

  He stared at her in shock. ‘You want to get a divorce after what happened between us last night?’

  ‘It was just sex, Jack. We were both a little tipsy and feeling lonely. It was inevitable, I suppose, after all the time we’ve been spending together. But it didn’t mean anything to me.’ She swallowed hard, forcing back a lash of anguish as he stared at her with pain in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t tell me last night didn’t mean anything to you because I won’t believe you, Emma. You’re not that good an actress,’ he shot at her.

  She recoiled at the fury in his voice, resentment suddenly rising from the pit of her belly at the unfairness of it all. ‘You want to bet?’ she retorted in anger. ‘I’ve had years to perfect my mask. Years of smiling and looking serene in the face of some very taxing situations.’

  ‘Is that what our marriage is to you? A taxing situation?’

  ‘It hasn’t been a marriage for years, Jack, just an inconvenience,’ she shouted in utter frustration, feeling a jab of shame at how cruel that sounded.

  Unable to bear the look of hurt on his face any longer, she strode away from him, banging her shin hard on the coffee table in her haste. But she didn’t stop to soothe the pain away. She had to get out of there. Away from his befuddling presence. He was making her crazy—bringing back all these feelings she didn’t want to have again.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he said, trying to block her path with his body, but she pushed past him, dodging away from his outstretched hand.

  ‘Emma, can we please talk some more about this?’

  ‘It’s not what I want, Jack. I’ve already explained that. There’s no point trying to hold onto the past. We can never get back what we once had. Everything’s different now.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be, Em. Fundamentally we’re still the same people. We can make this marriage work.’

  Shaking her head, she backed away from him. ‘No, I’m sorry, Jack.’ She took a deep shaky breath and dug her nails into her palms. ‘I don’t want to be married to you any more.’

  * * *

  Jack felt as though his heart were being crushed in his chest.

  ‘Don’t leave, Emma. Please. Stay and we’ll talk some more about it.’ He put a hand on her arm, aware that he was vibrating with fear now. ‘Please.’

  Shaking her head, she pulled away from his touch and stumbled backwards. ‘I can’t, Jack.’

  Her gaze met his and all he saw there was a wild determination to get away from him.

  Chest tight with sorrow, he tried one last time to get through to her. ‘Emma, I love you, please don’t leave me again.’

  Putting up a hand as if to block his words, she took another step away, reinforcing the barrier between them, rebuffing his pleas.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said, her voice rough and broken. ‘I can’t be here any more. Don’t follow me. I don’t want you to.’

  And with that, she turned on her heel and strode away from him.

  Frozen with frustration, he remained standing where she’d left him, listening to her mount the stairs and a minute later come back down, hoping—praying—that she’d pause on her way out, to stop and look at him one last time. If she did that, he’d go to her. Hold and comfort her. Tell her she could trust him and he’d make everything okay.

  If she did that, he’d know there was still a chance for them.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead he saw a flash of colour as she walked quickly past the doorway to the living room, and a few seconds later he heard the front door open, then close with the resounding sound of her leaving.

  Silence echoed around the room, taunting him, widening the hollow cavity that she’d punched into his chest with her words.

  Picking up a vase that Emma had bought as part of the house redecoration project, he hurled it against the wall with all his strength, drawing a crude satisfaction from seeing it smash into tiny little pieces and litter the floor.

 
He knew then that this was why he hadn’t been back to see her in the six years since he moved to America. His heart had been so eviscerated the first time he hadn’t wanted to risk damaging it again.

  But the moment he’d seen her again at Fitzherbert’s party he’d known in the deepest darkest recesses of his brain that he had to have her back. She was the only woman he’d ever loved and making himself vulnerable again for her would be worth the risk.

  But it had all been for nothing.

  Six years after she’d first broken his heart she’d done it to him all over again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  EMMA GOT OFF the plane in Bergerac, head-weary and heart-sore.

  The very moment she saw her mother’s anxious face in the crowd of people waiting to pick up the new arrivals at the airport, the swell of emotion that she’d been keeping firmly tamped down throughout the journey finally broke through. Tears flowed freely down her face as she ran into her mother’s arms and held onto her tightly, burying her face in the soft wool of her jumper and breathing in her comforting scent.

  ‘Darling, darling! What’s wrong? I was so worried when I picked up your message. Is everything okay?’ her mother muttered into her hair.

  It took the whole of the thirty-minute journey to her mother’s house in the tiny village of Sainte-Alvère for Emma to explain—in a halting monologue broken with tears—about the marriage and aborted elopement and all that had happened to her since Jack had made his shocking reappearance.

  Her mother listened in silence. Only once Emma had finished did she reach out her hand to cover her daughter’s in a show of understanding and solidarity.

  It was such a relief to finally talk to her mother about it all. She apologised profusely for keeping her in the dark for all this time, but, in a surprising show of self-awareness, her mother seemed more concerned with apologising to Emma for not being there to support her through such tough times.

  A little while later they were ensconced on her mother’s plant-pot-filled terrace sitting under thick woollen blankets, looking out over the fields behind the house with steaming cups of coffee cradled in their hands.