And after that night, he hadn’t seen her again.
Emily huddled beneath her cloak, trudging across the pasture. Years ago, her father had bred horses. Now, there was nothing left but barren land. The grass was damp with frost, and the sky was growing darker, clouded with the portent of snow.
It would take nearly an hour to walk the distance to Falkirk, and she didn’t want to be caught in the darkness.
You could have told Lord Whitmore that you didn’t have a horse. He’d have sent a carriage for you.
She knew that, in her heart. But a little walking never hurt anyone.
The snow began to fall, a veil of flakes coating the grass. The cold didn’t bother her, for the brisk walk kept her spirits high. But when the sky grew even darker, the snow drifting faster, she cast a backward glance at Hollingford House. The manor sat against the hill, a small dot in the distance. Likely by now it was safer to continue toward Falkirk than to turn back. Doggedly, she kept onward, praying that she wouldn’t lose sight of the road.
With one foot in front of the next, she followed the disappearing path. A light note of fear rose up when she realized that within a few more minutes, the road would be gone beneath a blanket of snow.
She peered hard into the distance, hoping for a glimpse of Falkirk. It couldn’t be very far now. Before her anxiety could deepen, she saw a coach approaching. She stepped to the side, intending to let it pass, but instead it came to a stop before her.
The door opened, and she saw Whitmore beckoning. “Get inside. I’ll bring you home.”
She hesitated, for she didn’t want to go back. Tonight, she’d looked forward to a meal she wouldn’t have to cook and a house that was warm and cozy. Now it appeared that the weather had changed the Earl’s plans.
With the greatest reluctance, she allowed him to help her inside the coach. Once the door was closed, his kind manner vanished. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a horse?”
“I could have walked.” She’d made it this far, hadn’t she?
“Were you planning to walk through a blizzard?”
What right did he have to be so angry? He wasn’t the one trying to walk across a muddy pasture in the snow. “I’ve no control over the weather, Whitmore. And I didn’t want to stay home.”
“I’ve postponed the dinner party. Few of the guests could come on a night like this. It’s becoming dangerous.”
The coach continued down the road, jostling her against the seat. Emily didn’t look at him, trying to keep him from seeing her frustration.
Her stomach churned at the thought of another night of potatoes. She tried to think of something amusing to say, something witty. But all she wanted to do right now was bawl on his shoulders like a little girl. Her evening of escape was already over, and she couldn’t push aside the bitter disappointment.
While they continued back to Hollingford House, she studied Lord Whitmore. Cool and collected, he was nothing like the young man she’d known so many years ago. There was a shield to his demeanor, as though he were a statue, molded into the shape his father had wanted.
“You never came to see me, all those years before,” she said slowly. “I know you must have visited Falkirk. Why now?”
He studied her, his gray eyes discerning. Almost as if he were trying to find a reasonable explanation. He reached forward and drew the folds of her cloak together. “I should have. There are no excuses.”
“And last night, you suddenly changed your mind? After ten years?”
“The time was right,” was all he would say.
Right for what? she wanted to ask. Once, she’d hoped for someone to sweep into her life and rescue her. Someone to fix her brother’s disastrous finances. But if that was why he’d come, why had he waited so long?
Her suspicions wouldn’t let go of the sense that something was wrong. There was pity on his face, not interest. And she didn’t want that at all.
When they arrived back at Hollingford House, the Earl escorted her to the front door and rapped on it sharply.
“There’s no need to knock,” Emily pointed out. “I’ll be fine now. Thank you for bringing me home again.”
Stephen ignored her bidding and pushed the door open. The interior had grown colder, since she hadn’t been able to light a fire. Nor would it have been a wise idea to keep one burning when she wasn’t at home.
He stared at the dusty interior, and she shrank back from his disgust. The bare rooms were hideous, devoid of furnishings. Bare patches lightened the wallpaper where paintings had once hung. It was an embarrassment to her family.
Stephen stared into her eyes. “Tell me you’re not living here alone.”
Not wanting to lie exactly, she offered, “When Daniel is in town, I’m not living here alone.”
“Your brother should never have left you like this.” His anger cut through the silence, making her even more uncomfortable. Before she could say another word, she overheard him giving orders to his coachman, to bring back food and coal from Falkirk.
She should have been grateful for it, but instead, she was annoyed by his charity. “You didn’t have to—“
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” He cut her off.
Her mouth dropped open. Why on earth would he ask a thing like that?
“It’s no concern of yours.” She gathered the edges of her cloak. He wasn’t suggesting that they…share a bed, was he? Shock and outrage were replaced with an unsettled feeling. Her skin prickled within her gown, and she cast a furtive glance toward him. His expression was masked, and she could not read his intentions.
“You’ll need a fire to keep you from freezing to death. From your earlier attempts at chopping wood, I’ll wager you don’t have anything to show for your efforts.”
“I have a few pieces,” she admitted. “But not enough. And the wood outside will be wet from the snow. It won’t burn.”
He muttered a few indistinguishable curses. “I’ve changed my mind. You can’t stay here.” He opened the door to call back the coachman, but the driver had already left. The snow fell thickly, the flakes swirling against his hair.
Frustration punctuated his mood as he slammed the door shut. Just as quickly, he masked the anger. “When the driver returns, we’ll go back to Falkirk, and I’ll make arrangements for your belongings to be brought there. You may stay in one of the guest rooms until I’ve located your brother.”
He was treating her like a lost dog, separated from its master. She resented his insinuation that Daniel was incapable of being head of the family. Her brother was doing everything he could to restore their fortunes. And were it not for the shadow of scandal over her family name, she might have tried to find a husband, to relieve Daniel’s burden of supporting her.
Who would marry a woman like you? her common sense argued. You don’t even know how a Baron’s daughter is supposed to behave in society. You’ve never been to a single ball.
“Don’t trouble yourself about me,” she said to the Earl. “Daniel will be returning here, soon enough. He asked me to look after the estate.”
“And you’ve done a good job of it, have you?”
“I did what I could, with what little money he left me.” Her own mood was growing waspish. Whitmore wasn’t behaving like a prince rescuing her from drudgery—he was bullying her into leaving her home behind while he took command of her life.
Squaring her shoulders, she faced him down. “I’m staying right here.”
“Your brother is irresponsible to have left you here with no servants.”
“He doesn’t know.” The confession escaped her before she could stop the words.
Whitmore walked closer to her, his intense scrutiny unreadable. Emily felt rather like a deer cornered by a wolf. In the shadowed darkness, he caught her wrist. “What do you mean?”
“I had to dismiss the help. There wasn’t enough money to pay them.”
“It’s dangerous for a woman to live alone.”
“Don’t you thin
k I know that? Do you think I enjoy living in this place, wondering whether or not I’ll get any money from Daniel to pay for food? I’ve sold off everything I could. But I just…don’t know what to do now. If our circumstances don’t improve, I’ll hire myself out as a cook.” She couldn’t become a governess, for her education wasn’t nearly good enough.
Stephen removed one glove and brought his hand up to touch her face. The warmth of his palm, the gentle caress, made her legs go weak. His other arm came around her waist, and despite the snow, she didn’t feel cold at all.
“You should let someone else take care of you,” he murmured.
In shock, she stood motionless while his hands traced her jaw, moving down her throat. He parted the edges of her cloak, and with each touch, he rekindled the memories.
Unwanted feelings welled up inside her. Every cell in her body was attuned to him, as though he were still the same boy in the stable. But that couldn’t be true. Not after all these years.
“You’re not responsible for me,” she managed.
Though she tried to break free of him, his hands caught the edges of the floral shawl she’d cut from the sofa. “This is a hideous wrap.”
“Have you a better one I could borrow?” she shot back.
A faint smile caught the corner of his mouth. “I might.” He removed his coat and set it across her shoulders. She could feel the warmth of his body, and his spicy scent surrounded her.
“You’re—you’re going to be cold without it,” she warned.
His gray eyes were unfathomable, and his hands moved to her waist. She wanted to run from him, to gather up the pieces of her traitorous heart and try not to remember all the reasons she’d loved him.
“You’re even more beautiful than I’d remembered,” he said. With his knuckles, he grazed her temples, taking her face into his hands.
“We haven’t seen each other in a long time.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, her heart trembling in her chest.
“Too long.” His mouth moved to her throat, gently kissing the bared skin. With the touch of his lips on her nape, her body rose up, straining for something she couldn’t understand. When at last his mouth covered hers, heat flared through her body. This wasn’t an adolescent kiss, nor a tangle of inexperienced mouths. No, he conquered her mouth in a way that brought back every unrequited feeling.
Desire and need poured over her, and her skin ached to know more, her body awakening in ways she’d never expected. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, her breasts tightening against her gown.
She kissed him back, tentatively learning the shape of his mouth. He reacted with a slight jerk of motion, as though she’d startled him. His tongue moved against hers, sending an unfamiliar ache between her legs. She shifted restlessly, caught up in the forbidden moment. Without thinking, she released the feelings she’d held trapped for the past ten years. The kiss turned hotter, hungrier.
The change in Stephen was immediate. He brought her up against the wall, trapping her in his embrace. His kiss grew more insistent, while his hands moved over the thin tarlatan gown, making her imagine all the wicked things a man might do to a woman. He drew her lower lip into his mouth, tasting her as though she were a delicious confection.
“I’d forgotten what it was like,” he murmured against her face, even as his hands poised at the buttons of her gown. When he realized where his hands were, he took a step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She didn’t know what to say. Her mouth was swollen, her body alive and tingling. The desperation of her circumstances, and the heartbreak still frozen inside made her uneasy.
“Emily.” His use of her name was intimate and rough. “I didn’t come here for this. I came to look after you.”
“I know it.” She crossed her arms, drawing his coat around her. All of a sudden, she felt the cold, the dreariness of the house. For a single moment, he’d made her forget her loneliness and how awful it was living here.
Whitmore seemed lost in thought, as though deciding what to do. From the intensity on his face, she knew she’d affected him just as strongly.
“I’ll—I’ll prepare something for us to eat,” she said at last. “You can try to build a fire to warm the house.”
But Stephen caught her arm, refusing to let her go. His gray eyes stared into hers, his gaze penetrating. “You need someone to take you away from this place. You’re a Baron’s daughter, not a scullery maid.”
Bittersweet feelings tightened her throat, and she willed herself not to let the tears fall. “I’m more of a servant than you’d know.”
Chapter Two
Stephen made several trips up to her bedchamber, his arms loaded with wood. Emily was downstairs in the kitchen, preparing a meal for them with God only knew what. He wasn’t sure if she was planning to spin straw into bread, but perhaps by some miracle his coachman would make it back to the house with supplies. From the way the weather had worsened, it seemed unlikely.
He dumped the last of the wood on the hearth, using the physical labor to distract himself from thinking about their kiss earlier. Try as he might, he couldn’t forget the sweet surrender of her lips beneath his. Or the way her arms had reached up to embrace him. Emily had offered a piece of herself back to him, of the innocent girl who had loved him long ago.
What kind of a man took advantage of a woman living in distress like this? Only a damned reprobate. He wouldn’t let himself fall into temptation again. He’d come here to rescue her, not to ruin her.
It took him nearly an hour to get the fire started, and even more tinkering with the damper to keep the room from filling with smoke. Once it was done, he turned and saw Emily’s bed. At least four quilts covered it, lending evidence that she’d slept without a fire on more than one night. It bothered him to think of her huddled beneath the covers, struggling to stay warm.
“I’ve made us something to eat.” Emily’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and she stood at the doorway, a covered tray in her hands. There was no table, and she looked around as if searching for a place to set it down.
“Wait a moment.” He lifted one of the quilts off her bed and spread it on the floor. “We’ll eat here, in front of the fire.”
“An indoor picnic.” Her lips curved upward, as though she hadn’t expected it. “At least it’ll be warm.”
He took the tray from her hands and set it down between them.
“I apologize in advance for the food,” she began. “There wasn’t much in the house, and I haven’t had the opportunity to go and get more.”
“You didn’t have the money for supplies, did you?”
Her cheeks flushed, and she shook her head. “Not really. But we won’t starve.”
He lifted the cloth covering the tray and found two chipped plates. Thinly sliced potatoes were roasted and seasoned with salt and pepper. She grimaced at the plate, but forced herself to take a bite. “I’ve been eating potatoes for the past fortnight. I’ll be happy if I never eat another.”
“You won’t have to,” he promised. “I’ll see to it.” Guilt slid over him, and he decided that once he got her out of Hollingford House, he’d feed her the greatest of feasts, with succulent meats, soft breads and exquisite cheeses.
Upon his own plate, he spied something unusual. “Are those…ginger biscuits?”
Emily stiffened, though he hadn’t meant to insult her. “Taste them before you decide you don’t want them.”
“I’m sure they’re fine. It’s just that I didn’t expect to see them as part of my dinner.” Stephen reached for one to pacify her. Even if the biscuits were dry and tasteless, he’d eat them. It was possible that she’d only had flour and spices on hand.
As she sat across from him, nibbling at the food, he saw the circles beneath her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept well. And was it any wonder, given the way she’d been living? It was unacceptable. Even if she were a complete stranger, he couldn’t allow a lady to live like this.
But Emily Barrow w
asn’t a stranger—she’d been his closest friend once. And though years had passed, tonight it seemed like only yesterday that he’d seen her last. It was impossible to tear his attention away.
He found himself staring at everything about her, from the way she savored each bite of the food, to the way she tried to hide the jagged seams of her gown. She sat with her posture straight, as though she were a princess locked in a tower, waiting for someone to steal her away.
To distract himself, Stephen bit into one of the biscuits. He was startled to find it moist and delicious. Rich black treacle blended with ginger seamlessly, and he found himself reaching for another.
“What do you think?” Emily prodded the potatoes on her plate as though she weren’t certain she wanted to hear his reply.
“I’ll have to taste a few more before I decide if I like them or not.” He devoured the others and eyed the two resting on her plate.
“Don’t even think about it, Whitmore. Those are mine.”
“Are they?” He pushed his plate aside and eyed them with full intent to capture.
Emily grabbed both biscuits and tried to scramble away, but she tripped over her skirts and fell onto the hard floor. Groaning to herself, she rubbed her elbow and winced. “Take them. I surrender.”
He reached out and touched the invisible bump on her arm. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine. You needn’t worry about me.”
He couldn’t stop himself from caressing her elbow, trying to ease the pain. Emily closed her eyes, but didn’t pull away. It was as if she needed his hands upon her, and seeing her veiled yearning only intensified the dishonorable needs rising inside of him.
Stop touching her. Leave her alone. He let go of her arm and stood up, trying to put more space between them.
Outside, the wind howled, whirling against the chimney flue. “If my coachman doesn’t arrive with supplies tonight, I’ll send a small staff and everything you need, tomorrow morning.”
She shook her head, already protesting. “Whitmore, you’re not responsible for me. I won’t take any charity from you.”
An Accidental Seduction Page 2
