Page 5 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

S ometime, in the middle of the night, Emily left the bed. Stephen heard the clatter of pots in the kitchen and knew she must have gone to cook something. Likely she needed the distraction as much as he did. He rolled over, staring at the spot where her head had rested. The sheets were warm from her body heat, and he reached out to touch them. Never in all his years, had he done something like this.

He couldn’t quite grasp what had happened between them. Right now he should be consumed with guilt, furious with himself. He’d come here to look after her, to ensure her comforts. Not to seduce her.

He’d lost sight of everything when she’d begged him to stay. He couldn’t have denied her anything in that moment. And though Emily would likely hate him for taking her innocence, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Never before had any woman made him feel this way.

Now, more than ever, he intended to ensure that she had everything she ever wanted. He’d take care of her, seeing to all her needs.

Stephen got up and dressed quietly. It was too dark to see how snowy it was, but he didn’t doubt that his coachman would eventually return when the weather cleared. He walked downstairs and found Emily in the kitchen, attacking dough with a rolling pin. Her hair was wild, tangled across her shoulders, while she wore the gown she’d had on earlier. A long apron was tied about her waist.

She was crying.

Damn it all. He’d never meant to hurt her. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Emily.”

She whirled with the rolling pin, touching her hand to her throat. “Oh, heavens, you scared me.” Just as quickly, she stepped away and tried to set the utensil down. “I was just…making something for breakfast. Some fried dough dipped in sugar.”

“Breakfast is another three hours away, at least.” He saw her wipe the tears away, her face turning red.

She returned her attention to the dough, shaping it into a ball to rise. “I know.” After she placed the dough in a bowl and covered it with a cloth, she braved a smile. “You should go back to bed.”

“So should you.”

She wiped her floured hands upon the apron. “Oh, I will. As soon as this is done.”

Which wouldn’t be until dawn, he guessed, judging from the hours it would take for the dough to rise twice. She was clearly avoiding him.

“Emily, we should talk.”

She turned away from him. “About what? It was my fault that any of this happened,” she pointed out. “You aren’t to blame.”

But he was. If he’d had any willpower at all, he’d have left her alone and slept upon the sofa. He moved to stand in front of her. “As soon as my coachman arrives, we’re returning to Falkirk. We’ll decide what’s to be done then.”

Her expression turned guarded. “What’s to be done?” She gripped her arms, rubbing them as though she were cold again. “There’s nothing to be done, Whitmore. You’ve no obligation to me at all.” With a brittle laugh, she added, “It isn’t as though you could marry me. We both know that.”

“Do we?” He reached for her waist, his palm against her spine. “You’re a baron’s daughter. And if memory serves, I just took away your chances of making a successful marriage.”

“I was already ruined, Whitmore. No decent man in London would have me, not after…my father died.” She tried to pull away, but he refused to release her.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

Though he wanted to reassure her, she put her hands up and continued, “You’ll go back to Falkirk, and I’ll stay here until Daniel comes. I will be all right.” Despite her words, the tears gleamed in her eyes.

“Emily, I’m going to take care of you.” He would find a way to give her the sort of life she deserved. His mind turned over different ways of taking care of her, but the truth was, he didn't want to let her go.

“I don’t need you,” she snapped. “I can take care of myself. And for God’s sake, I don’t want your pity. I seduced you, and I won’t feel sorry for it.”

He reached out to caress the curve of her cheek. “I’m not sorry for it, either. But we have to decide on your future and where you’ll live.”

“It’s my decision, not yours. And I’ve chosen to live here.”

Damn her for her stubbornness. “If you think I’m going to let you live like a servant, you’re wrong.”

“Stop trying to control my life, Whitmore. You, of all men, ought to understand what it’s like to have someone forcing your every move. I won’t allow it.”

The pointed reminder wasn’t lost on him. But he wasn’t behaving like his autocratic family. This was about taking care of Emily, ensuring her safety.

She tried to break free of his embrace, but he held her fast. The top button of her gown hung open, baring her throat to him. The glimpse of skin made him hungry to taste, to tantalize her. He didn’t want anger between them, not after all that had transpired.

He held her wrists captive while he bent forward and kissed her neck. As soon as his mouth touched the spot, her posture stiffened. “What are you doing, Whitmore?”

“Distracting you. I find that I’m hungrier than I’d thought.” To emphasize his words, he nipped at her throat, moving closer to her mouth.

“I—I suppose I could find more biscuits, if you—”

He cut her off with the kiss, taking what he wanted most. Her mouth, her lips…her tongue. He kissed her deeply, and she responded as though she didn’t want their night to end. And neither did he. Desire flared through him once again.

Emily wound both arms around his neck, kissing him with the reckless abandon he loved about her. He unbuttoned the rest of her gown, pleased to find that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. Baring her breast, he leaned in to suckle the tip. She gasped and reached beneath his shirt to touch his chest. Nipping her gently, he turned his attention to the other breast.

She consumed him, making him lose sight of every good intention. He wanted her, and not just for this night. He sensed that even if they had a thousand nights together, he’d never be satiated.

He tasted and stroked, his tongue moving over the soft nipple. Her fingers dug into his scalp, and when he slid his hands up her skirts, he found her wet between her thighs. The need to take her, to claim her body with his, drove out all rational arguments. He guided her toward the wall, resting her palms upon it. “Stand here, Miss Barrow. I’m going to ravish you.”

“But you—that is, I’m not sure—”

He lifted her skirts to her waist, baring her firm bottom. “I’ll stop, if you’d rather not.” But he caressed the curve of her hip, moving his hand between her legs to the damp curls. He teased her, stroking her with his hand until she lowered her head, still balancing her hands against the wall. Her breathing was unsteady when he moved between her legs. She gasped when he unfastened his trousers, using his length to rub between her legs against her moist center.

“I don’t think—men and women behave like this—in the kitchen, do they?”

He probed her wet entrance with his shaft, and she bent forward to grant him easier access. “Only if you want me to.” He kept himself pressed close, as his hands moved around to her breasts. He slid against her, and her slick softness made him groan.

She could hardly speak but managed, “Stephen, please."

"What do you want, Emily?" He adjusted his erection until he rested at her entrance.

"I need you inside me." Her voice was tremulous, and she tried to guide him.

In one slick stroke, he filled her, and she uttered a cry of shock. Her tight warmth surrounded him, and he shuddered at the contact. He fought to keep his penetration gentle and deep, since she would be sore from the last time. But she kept backing against him, quickening the tempo.

Before he knew what was happening, her inner walls squeezed his shaft, and he could no longer restrain himself. He drove harder, pulling her waist toward him with each penetration.

“You’re going to stay with me, Emily,” he swore, fighting for control when she bucked her hips against him. “I’m not letting you go.”

He felt himself losing the battle, succumbing to the sweetness of her flesh. He joined their bodies together, meeting thrust for thrust until she arched suddenly, her body shattering with pleasure. When he felt her squeezing him tight, he shouted with his own release, filling her inside. He had trouble catching his breath, but he held her close, joined intimately.

“Come back to bed,” he murmured against her shoulder. “I want to sleep beside you.”

She kept her face turned away, and when at last he withdrew, she spoke. “I’ll go with you to Falkirk tomorrow. But that’s all.”

He turned her to look at him, raising her chin so he could see her eyes. “For now.”