Page 2 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

E mily 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, Miss Barrow. I’ll bring you home.”

She hesitated, for she didn’t want to go back. Tonight, she’d looked forward to a hot 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.”

She relaxed somewhat when she realized he was worried about her. 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. “We used to be friends." The hurt balled up inside her, and she forced herself to continue. "I know you must have visited Falkirk. Why did you finally come to pay a call 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 come to see you. There are no excuses for my absence.”

But Emily knew the reason. The marquess ruled his son with an iron rod, and she wasn't good enough for him. She still wasn't. And now she wished he'd never come at all, making her wish for things she wouldn't have.

“And last night, you suddenly changed your mind?" she ventured. "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 since she was in no position to do so. 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, fully aware of 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 never should 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—”

“You cannot stay here. I won't allow it.” He cut her off without another word.

Her mouth dropped open. Why on earth would he say a thing like that? “It’s no concern of yours.”

She gathered the edges of her cloak, feeling unsettled by the question. 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.

The earl glanced around. “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 to fetch the supplies he'd ordered. 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 told the earl. “Daniel will be returning here, soon enough. He asked me to look after the estate.”

“This is unacceptable. He was irresponsible to ask such a thing of you.” His tone was clipped and revealed his fury at her brother.

“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 never should have left you here with no servants.”

“Daniel 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 gently. “What do you mean, he doesn't know?”

“I had to dismiss the servants. There wasn’t enough money to pay them.”

His gaze widened with horror. “It’s dangerous for a woman to live alone.”

“Don’t you think 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 so many years ago.

“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 or 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.”