Page 3 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

S tephen 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 return 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 embraced him. Emily had offered a piece of herself back to him, of the innocent girl who had loved him long ago. And he couldn't deny that he craved her with every breath.

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. He didn't exactly know what that would mean for her, but he couldn't turn his back on Emily Barrow. She had been his friend all those years ago, someone who had made his father's overbearing control more bearable. She didn't deserve a life like this, and by God, he was going to change it.

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 wasn’t a stranger—she’d been his closest friend once. And though years had passed, tonight it seemed like only yesterday since 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 got caught up in her skirts when she tried to stand and fell against the wooden floor. Groaning to herself, she rubbed her elbow and winced. “Take them. I surrender.”

He reached out and touched her arm gently. “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 from him, as if she needed his hands upon her. Seeing her veiled yearning only intensified the dishonorable needs rising inside him.

Stop touching her. Leave her alone. He let go of her arm and stood, 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 along with 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.”

“This is about your survival, not charity. Why is it so difficult for you to set aside your pride?”

“Pride is all I have left.” She rose to her feet and went to stand beside him. The warm firelight illuminated her hair, the honeyed strands gleaming. Worry creased her face, and she avoided his gaze. “I can’t repay you.”

Money wasn’t a concern of his, and the cost of providing her with food and supplies for a few months wouldn’t be a noticeable expense. “You don’t have to.”

With her standing so close, he could smell the fragrance of vanilla emanating from her skin. She held herself motionless, as though uncertain about what to do. A soft tendril of blond hair curled against her breast, and she kept her eyes averted.

Her cheeks flushed with color, and she swallowed hard. “Are you expecting me to become your mistress in exchange for the supplies?”

Her bluntness caught him unawares. The thought hadn’t entered his mind, and it irritated him that she would think that. “I’m not that mercenary. You need my help, and I intend to grant it. Nothing more.”

That wasn’t the sort of man he was. After all the years they’d known each other, surely she had to know this.

“Then why did you kiss me before?” Emily looked at him, her brown eyes searching. She drew his coat tighter around her shoulders, her expression vulnerable.

He didn’t answer. How could he answer the question when he didn’t know the answer himself? She should have been a stranger to him, a woman he hardly knew. And yet, he found the past merging with the present, blurring lines he should not have crossed.

“I apologize.” He gave a slight bow. “You should be warm enough for the night. I’ll find another place to sleep.”

She offered him his coat back, and he took it, abandoning the meager plate of food. Behind him, the door swung closed, and he left her alone.

What had come over him? There was no reason to touch Emily again, no matter what had happened between them years ago. She had her own future apart from his. Though he wanted to alleviate her hardship, he knew better than to trespass upon the boundary of their friendship.

His imagination flared with thoughts of her smooth skin, the dip of her stomach and the curve of her breasts. When he’d kissed her earlier, there had been a madness, an instinctive craving. A night such as this made it easy to fall prey to desire. Being trapped in a house, alone with a beautiful woman…it was like walking upon shifting sands.

He needed to keep as much distance as possible between Emily’s room and his own. The house was cold and dark, forcing him to don the coat once more. Hardly any furnishings remained, and when he searched the house, he discovered that none of the bedrooms had a single mattress.

At last he gave up, deciding to sleep upon a sofa he’d located earlier. A gust of cold air swept into the drawing room from the hall, and he wondered if there was a window that needed to be sealed off. Stephen buttoned his coat to ward off the freezing chill, following the source of the cold until he saw Emily standing at the back door. It was open slightly, and snowflakes were drifting into the hall.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, moving forward to close the door. But she placed herself in the door frame, blocking him.

“Come here,” she ordered. She held a lantern in her hand, and the amber glow revealed swirls of white snow. Dizzying fat flakes fell so fast he could hardly see beyond the garden. The wind slashed at his coat, but Emily didn’t seem to notice the cold. Her face was shining with a wide smile, her lips wet from the cold. “Look.”

“It’s freezing, and you’re going to make yourself ill if you remain out in this weather.”

She lifted her hood as a compromise, and dashed forward. Leaning down, she reached into the wet drift and formed a snowball.

“Don’t even think of it, Emily. We’re not children anymore.”

But she took aim and fired it at his shoulder. “What good is snow if you can’t play in it?”

With the snow falling against her hood, a few flakes landed upon her lashes. Her brown eyes were dark and mischievous, like the eyes of the girl he’d known. In that moment, he no longer cared that it was the middle of the night, and they were caught in a snowstorm. It didn’t matter that he was an earl with a respectable reputation to uphold.

He strode forward with a snowball in his own hands. “Do you really want to play, Emily?”

Before he could throw it, his foot caught on a patch of ice and he stumbled forward. He grabbed Emily’s hands, trying to regain his balance, but he tipped over, dragging her with him.

She laughed, smashing snow into his collar. He didn’t find it amusing at all, but with her body straddled atop him, unexpected desire roared into full force. His hands moved into her hair, dragging her mouth down to his. Though her lips were cold, he didn’t care. The spiraling attraction made it impossible to think clearly, the kiss tempting him beyond reason.

He kept waiting for her to strike out at him, but she didn’t. Instead, she cupped her hand to his face, seeking comfort. She nipped at his upper lip, and when her silken tongue touched his, it took everything he had to break free from the spell she’d cast upon him.

“Emily, stop.”

His hardened erection pressed against her body, and right now he wanted to unfasten his breeches, burying himself inside her warmth. He wanted her naked skin against his, her body at his beckoning. “This isn’t a game anymore.”

It was becoming physically painful to have her body so intimately pressed against his. Gingerly, he lifted her off him and stood. “Let’s go inside.” Or better yet, she could go inside, and he could go stand in a snowdrift to cool his ardor.

“Wait. I want to watch the snow for a moment.” A wistful smile curved at her lips. “I used to love seeing it fall against my window during the wintertime. I’ve always thought it was enchanting.”

To indulge her, Stephen stood while the snow swirled around them. Emily didn’t look at him, but her fingers brushed against his in silent invitation. He took her cold hand in his, trying to warm it.

The wild flakes blew wherever they wanted to, gracing tree branches and bushes with a rich icing of white. There was no pattern to it, nothing predictable. Only freedom in its purest form. And in that moment, he understood why she loved it so.

Though her teeth were chattering, he waited until Emily was ready to return. Her hair was dotted with white, for her hood had slipped off.

“That was foolish of me, I know,” she said, when they entered the house once more. “My clothes are soaked.”

He walked her to the stairs. “I’ll put some hot water on the stove for you. You can bathe and warm yourself.”

“But the wood—I need to make it last.”

“We’re going to use it all up tonight, Emily,” he informed her. “I’ll be sending you coal in the morning.”

She sobered, then gave a nod. “I suppose.” Even so, she appeared uneasy, almost afraid of him. It was his own fault for touching her.

“I’m not going to ask anything of you tonight,” he swore. “You’ll get warm and sleep in your own bed. I won’t come near you.”

Her brown eyes gazed into his, and with trembling hands, she reached out to him. He saw the same aching desire that he was feeling, mingled with her fears.

“What if I want you to?”