Page 13 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

“L ook at these, my lady!“ Her maid Beatrice carried several large boxes with her, beaming as she entered the parlor. She laid the boxes upon a velvet-upholstered sofa, bubbling with youthful excitement. “The master asked me to help you prepare for the musicale tonight. He sent you these.”

Emily reached inside the largest box and found a modest gown of lavender tarlatan. White panels of intricate scalloped lace overlapped the skirt, and the waist ended in a sharp vee. The sleeves would leave her shoulders bare, while the bodice consisted of swags of more white lace. As she ran her fingers across the delicate fabric, she remembered how she had once sewn a gown such as this. She had remade her mother’s gowns, bringing up the hemline. As the years passed, she’d lowered the hems until she had gained the height of a young woman. It had been so long since she’d had a new gown of her own.

This was a gown worthy of a princess. And yet, the idea of wearing it out in society made her feel terrified. She’d never had a Season, didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.

Opening the other boxes, Emily found silk stockings, petticoats, gloves and, last, a pair of fine kid-leather slippers.

Never had Emily owned a pair of shoes as fine as these. She touched the leather, marveling at its buttery softness. Unable to resist the urge to try the shoes on, she was dismayed to find them too small. She could squeeze her feet into them, but the toes pinched her.

It was just as well. She could not attend the musicale, even wearing the new dress. It would only make Stephen more aware of her shortcomings. The earl mistakenly believed that if he gave her a beautiful dress and brought her into his world of affluence, she would metamorphose.

He might clothe her in the gowns of a future marchioness, but inside she felt like the same Emily. No one would forget her family’s scandal, and they would be quick to shun her.

And what if she happened upon Lord Rothburne? The marquess despised her.

No, that wasn’t right. She was nothing more than dust to him, something to be ignored and swept away. Only now, when she threatened his son’s future, was she a danger.

It chilled her to think of it. She didn’t fear her husband, but Lord Rothburne’s power was far greater than Stephen’s. If she attended the musicale, she would invoke his fury.

She dismissed her maid and sat down, touching the gown with her fingertips.

If only…

Stephen drummed his fingers against his thigh as the Yarrington daughters performed, one by one. He’d waited for over two hours, and there was still no sign of Emily.

He never should have agreed to go on without her. She’d claimed she needed more time to alter the gown he’d sent. Now it seemed she had no intention of coming.

He was barely aware of Miss Julia Yarrington’s rendition of Mozart’s Sonata in C upon the piano, to great applause. Beside him, Miss Hereford sent him a quiet smile. He didn’t return it. Though he would not humiliate her by avoiding her, he could not encourage her thoughts of marriage.

And what of his own? Emily claimed she’d wanted a new beginning. He’d invited her to attend, as a way of becoming better acquainted. Though she’d protested the event, he’d believed she would succumb to the temptation of a beautiful gown and an evening spent together.

Instead, she’d lied, remaining at home. This wasn’t the old Emily he was used to. She’d never been frightened of anything, a daredevil who had called him a coward when he wouldn’t climb upon the roof of her father’s house.

When had she changed? What had happened? He’d heard the whisperings about the family scandal surrounding her father’s death. But had that truly been enough to transform her?

The Yarrington sisters paused for a brief intermission, and he thought about returning home. He wanted to understand why she’d married him, why he’d married her.

What if he kept her as his wife? Could they make the most of their arrangement?

He rose from his chair, intending to find out. Before he could leave the room, the marquess blocked his path. “The evening has not yet concluded.” A threat underlined his father’s tone.

“I am aware of that,” Stephen said, keeping his voice low. “But I have decided to return home to my wife.”

“This impulsive wedding was a ridiculous idea. William would never have done something so foolish without thinking of the consequences.”

“You are right,” Stephen conceded. “William would have married any woman of your choosing.” His brother had been the perfect son, the perfect heir. Stephen was the disappointing spare.

His father suddenly brightened, his attention focused behind Stephen. “Miss Hereford. Are you enjoying yourself?”

The young woman blushed, lowering her eyes and dropping into a curtsy. “Yes, my lord. I am enjoying the evening very much.”

The silent message from his father said: This is the woman you should have married. She is far more suitable.

Stephen bowed politely and made his excuses to Lady Yarrington. With a tight smile to his father, he departed.

Emily’s maid was unlacing her corset when he opened the door to her bedchamber. He didn’t apologize for the intrusion but ordered the maid, “Leave us.”

The maid fled, closing the door behind her. Emily tried in vain to cover herself. It did no good—he could easily see the curves of her breasts rising from the chemise, the small waist accentuated by the corset. Thankfully, she had already discarded the heavy crinoline and several petticoats.

With each step closer, she took another step back. “What are you doing here? This is my room. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I am your husband. I’ve every right to be here.” His tone came out sharper than he’d intended, but he was completely distracted by her state of undress.

Her golden hair was unbound, falling to her waist. He needed to touch it, to wind it around his wrist while he captured her sweet mouth.

“Why didn’t you come to the musicale tonight? I thought you wanted to begin again.” He reached out to her waist and turned her back to him, revealing her partially unlaced stays. Slowly, he drew another lace out.

“I did—I mean, I do.” She lowered her chin, and he moved her hair over one shoulder while continuing to unlace her. “But I couldn’t go.” She shivered at his touch, trying to push his hands away.

He lowered his mouth to her nape, not really caring how discomfited she was. He wanted to taste her skin, to know if it was as soft as he suspected. At the touch of his lips, gooseflesh rose upon her skin.

“Stephen, please don’t,” she whispered. But he kept her trapped, using his mouth to trail a path of heat across her collarbone.

“Why did you stay behind?” he asked again.

“I told you. I’m in mourning for my brother.”

“I don’t believe you.” He removed the corset until only a thin layer of fabric covered her body. His groin tightened, and he pulled her against him, caressing her with the cloth between them. He spanned her waist with his hands, tantalizingly close to her breasts. “What are you afraid of?”

“I cannot be your wife in front of everyone else.”

“Why?”

“Your father won’t allow it. Did you forget that he tossed us into the streets? What do you think he would have done tonight? Embarrassed both of us in front of everyone, that’s what. I would never humiliate you like that.”

He didn’t want to admit that she was most likely correct. But he would have defended her if anyone had dared insult her. It was a matter of pride. “You should have had more faith in me.”

“There’s nothing you could have done.” She turned to face him. “It’s better for everyone if I just stay out of society.”

“Then you’ve already given up, haven’t you?” There wasn’t any hope of starting over again if she wasn’t going to try. He wouldn’t force her to stay here against her will. “I’ll send you back to your brother’s home with the children. We’ll end the marriage and go our separate ways.”

“There’s nothing for me to go back to. I can’t take them home again. There’s hardly any furniture, and I need money for food. Royce has outgrown his shoes, and he needs a new coat. Victoria will need dresses, soon enough.”

“I’ll give you the funds you need.” When she remained silent, he prompted, “Isn’t that what you want? Your freedom and a means of caring for them?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She hugged her waist, fighting back tears.

“Which is it, Emily?”

She shook her head and crossed the room to the door. With her hand resting on the knob, she said, “I…I think you should go.”

Her indecision made him question what it was she truly meant. He needed to break through her shield of indifference, to find the Emily he’d known before.

He pulled her mouth to his, kissing her with all the pent-up frustration he felt. Her lips were slightly open, and he stole her mouth, tasting the warm sweetness of her.

Unexpected desire blasted through him. She tried to push him away, but within seconds her hands relaxed until she was kissing him back. It was the innocent kiss of a woman who had not been kissed in a long time. The years seemed to fall away until she was once again the young girl he’d practiced kissing in a stable. Only now, he held a woman in his arms. A beautiful woman who made him lose his sense of reason the moment he touched her.

He drew her against him, molding the base of her spine while his body ached to claim her. He cupped her firm backside, pressing himself against the juncture of her thighs.

He broke away, his pulse pounding. He wanted to strip her bare and make love to her. He’d been married for nearly four months now, and he’d never seen his own wife naked.

There was something inherently wrong with that.

“Do you still want me to go?” he breathed against her mouth. Her face was flushed, her breathing unsteady.

“Please. I can’t bear it when you touch me.”

Stephen let her go, unable to say anything. Her words bruised his mood, and he didn’t bother to look at her before he closed the connecting door, leaving her alone.

Tonight, she had proved that she didn’t want him at all. As a husband, he was failing miserably. He would never force himself upon a woman who didn’t want him. And her rejection cut him deeper than the knife wound across his ribs.

What would it be like to have her willing? He pictured her full of fire, as passionate as he. Long ago, it had been that way between them.

A flash of memory took hold, and he saw a vision of Emily laughing, pulling him into her arms. Only it wasn’t the young girl whose face he saw.

It was his wife’s face. A recent memory—one he’d never seen before—and he fought to hold on to it.

In the vision, he saw a breathtaking woman who hugged him while snowflakes fell from the sky, lightly dusting her hood. One flake fell upon her lashes, drawing his attention to her brown eyes. Her cheeks were bright from the winter chill, her smile welcoming.

Icy snow dampened his shoulders and hair, and she tempted him with the spicy darkness of her kiss. He could see the love in her eyes, feel it from the warmth of her embrace.

A cloak of guilt shadowed the memory. He’d given her the security of his name, an arranged marriage to bring her out of the hardships she was enduring. In return, she’d helped him to break free of his father’s interference. She’d asked only one thing of him—that he would find her brother and bring him home again.

And in that, he’d failed.

The memory faded, and Stephen stood from the chair. Quietly, he opened the adjoining door to his wife’s bedchamber. She had extinguished the candle, and the room was too dark for shadows.

“Emily?” he whispered.

There was no reply. But really, what had he been expecting? She didn’t want him to touch her, that was clear.

What he didn’t know was whether or not to remain married to her. The simplest solution was to let her go. She deserved a second chance at happiness.

She intrigued him in a way no woman had before. He couldn’t reconcile the two parts of her—the headstrong adolescent girl and the fiercely protective woman who was terrified of society.

And then, it struck him why. She hadn’t received the necessary training a baron’s daughter deserved. She hadn’t had the years of dancing lessons and etiquette. From her own mouth, she’d confessed her reluctance to embarrass him in public.

What if he gave her what she’d been missing? Gowns and jewels, and the tutors she needed. Perhaps it would atone for what he’d done.

In the morning, he would send word to the dressmaker’s and the jeweler’s that Emily was to be outfitted with the finest clothing and pearls to befit her rank.

And as an afterthought, he decided to order new shoes for Royce and clothing for the baby.

Wrenching tears broke from her, and Emily longed to throw something at the wall. It was just like before. Stephen had driven her into wild need, her body aching to receive him.

If there was any way to leave London, to hide elsewhere, she’d depart immediately. Being here with Whitmore only dredged up all the feelings she’d tried to bury.

He wanted to share her bed. She knew it, and even now, she wanted to feel his body against hers. But it would be wrong. To him, it would be nothing more than an act of passion. While to her, it would reopen the past.

More than ever, she wished she’d never married him. She hadn’t thought about the future, of what it would mean to be a countess. She would have to host parties, to assume the duties of being his wife. His position demanded more than she could manage.

She didn’t want to leave him, though it was the right thing to do. He deserved a better wife than she could be. With a sigh, she finished undressing and donned a nightgown.

And tried not to think of her husband in the next room.