Page 6 of The Accidental Countess (Accidentally in Love #1)

T he coachman brought a sleigh to take them back to Falkirk in the morning. Emily wore as many layers as she could, but she didn’t speak to Stephen on the way. Her heart was barely holding itself together, for last night was a precious memory. If she let herself even imagine a future with him, he’d break her heart again. She’d taken him into her arms, knowing that she would later hold regrets. And yet, she wouldn’t have changed any of it.

She was still in love with the earl after all these years. To marry a man like Stephen had always been her dream but not in this way. Not because he was forced to.

The drive back to his estate at Falkirk seemed to last centuries instead of minutes. She worried that she’d somehow become a burden to him, and that was something she’d never wanted.

After they arrived, the butler Farnsworth barely concealed his horror at her attire, though he didn’t speak a word to Lord Whitmore. It didn’t take long for her to be parted from the earl, escorted by servants to one of the guest rooms. One maid took away her tarlatan gown and replaced it with a gown owned by Stephen’s younger sister Hannah. The creamy muslin was printed with tiny violets, trimmed with purple ribbon. It was a gown meant for a younger girl, but since Emily had gone so long without decent food, it fit.

She kept her old shoes, for Lady Hannah’s feet were far smaller than her own. The worn soles were a reminder that, no matter how they might try to cover up her poverty, she was still the same underneath it all.

Oh, Lord help her, it was so tempting to stay here. The warmth of his home, the tray of food he’d had delivered to her room… Even now, the earl had been nothing but kind to her.

A lump caught in her throat, for she truly had no way to return the favors he’d given. She needed to speak with Whitmore, to even the score between them. With the help of a maid, she found the stairs and went in search of him. Farnsworth was standing in the foyer, looking disgruntled at her arrival.

“The earl is otherwise occupied,” he said stiffly. “But you may await him in the drawing room.” With a glance at her thin appearance, the butler added, “I’ll see to it that you have suitable refreshments.”

After he’d gone, Emily explored the small drawing room. The walls were papered, printed with hummingbirds and roses. A rich burgundy sofa was placed near the fire, and she instinctively moved toward the hearth.

The sound of the doors closing told her that Whitmore had arrived at last. She tried to relax, to rid herself of her sudden nervousness. But with each step he drew closer, her body reacted with the memory of last night.

He didn’t kiss or touch her when he reached her side, but his proximity made her even more attuned to him. When she turned at last, she saw him wearing evening attire. His dark brown hair was combed, his cheeks shaven. She inhaled the light hint of sandalwood, repressing the urge to throw herself into his arms.

Her heart was already lost again. It hadn’t taken more than a single day for her to ignore all the warnings and reach back to him.

“You look lovely,” he said. “I hope the servants met all of your needs?”

Not all of them. She wanted to embrace him, to rest her cheek against his shirt and feel the warmth of his arms around her. But instead, she nodded.

“I’ve sent word to your brother and demanded that he return.” His steel eyes were emotionless. “I think it would be best.”

A splinter of dismay caught at her heart, but she forced herself to agree. “You are right, of course.”

He’s changed his mind. He doesn’t want you to stay with him. You’re an inconvenience, nothing more.

She bit her lip hard to hold the tears back. The cool distance was back, the rational man who was completely in control of his fate.

He continued to speak, as though he weren’t breaking her heart all over again. “You may purchase a suitable wardrobe to replace what you’ve lost while you’re here.”

No. That’s not what I want at all. But instead she said, “That’s kind of you.”

He bowed and offered, “Make yourself at home here, until Hollingford arrives.”

And when he’d left the drawing room, she swiped at her wet cheeks and resisted the urge to throw something at the door.

Stephen stayed away from Emily for nearly a week to clear his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and God knew, he was letting his head be ruled by his body’s needs. Now that he’d taken her out of Hollingford House, he had to decide what to do with her. But somehow, asking her to become his mistress felt wrong.

During that time, he’d received daily letters from his mother. Blistering notes, reminding him of his duty to marry and demanding that he return. She’d even made an appointment for him to speak with the Archbishop, if he decided to wed by special license. And, in her last letter, she'd threatened to send Miss Harriet Hereford for a visit.

He’d had enough. Over the past few weeks, he’d been polite, simply ignoring his mother's wishes, but it was time to put a stop to it. Courtesy only went so far before a firm hand was necessary. He removed his grandmother’s ring from his waistcoat, setting it down upon the desk.

Stephen picked up a pen, intending to make it clear to his mother that he was not going to marry Miss Harriet Hereford or any other woman of his parents’ choosing.

As he began writing, the ruby ring caught the morning sunlight, flashing red and gold. No matter how he tried to envision the wife who would wear it one day, his obsession with Emily Barrow kept creeping to the forefront. He imagined her lying beneath him, her face enraptured with pleasure, her long legs wrapped around his waist.

She was the very last woman he’d ever imagined as his countess. His family would be appalled at the choice.

But, in marrying her, he could ensure that she never set foot in Hollingford House again. She would never have to worry about food or shelter, no longer dependent upon the whims of her brother. And Stephen wanted her to have that freedom.

If Emily agreed to wed him, he would gain his own independence from his family’s meddling. His parents would have no choice but to abandon their matrimonial quest if he returned to London with a wife.

The more he considered the idea, the more it held merit. Theirs could be a quiet wedding, perhaps an elopement in Scotland.

A resounding crash struck the window of his study, shattering glass everywhere. Upon his desk, Stephen saw a rock. When he looked outside, he saw a horrified Emily sitting on a tree branch. Now, how in the world had she managed to climb a tree while wearing a gown and petticoats? And why had she done so?

He crossed over to the windowsill, stepping over shards of glass. “Why, in heaven’s name, would you break my window?”

Emily chewed at her lip and offered an apologetic smile. “I’d meant to throw pebbles at your window to get your attention.”

“That was a pebble?” He held up the rock, which was the size of his thumb.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” She pulled up her hood, but her shoulders were shaking. By God, the woman was laughing. “I only thought to see if you wanted to come outside.”

“I do have doors and stairs, you know. There was no need to bring the snow inside.” From the look of it, at least two panels of the window would have to be replaced, if not the entire thing.

“I really am sorry. I only wanted to see you, since you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

“Wait there,” he warned. After hastily throwing on a cloak and hat, he pocketed his grandmother’s ring. Then he gave instructions for Farnsworth to order repairs for the window and sweep up the glass.

Outside, the snow had begun to fall again, and Stephen walked around the perimeter of the estate until he reached the tree outside his study. Emily was seated on a large branch, both arms clinging to the trunk.

He spied a small ladder, built of pieces of wood nailed into the trunk. And then he recalled that they had built the tree ladder when they were children, after they’d stolen a hammer from the gardener’s shed one summer. He'd completely forgotten about it.

It took only seconds to climb up to her. She wore a black cape covering the blue ragged tarlatan gown. Though he’d given her money to purchase new clothing, she hadn’t ordered anything from the village yet.

Her cheeks were bright with color, her brown eyes amused. “Are you going to take the cost of the window out of my wages?”

“I’m not paying you anything.”

“I can give you this old gown as remuneration,” she offered. “With your dark hair, the blue might be a fetching color. It even has a printed shawl.”

He slid an arm around her waist, pressing her against the tree bark. “There are better ways you can repay me.”

Her expression grew strained, and he corrected himself. “I meant with a kiss, Emily. Nothing more.”

She shivered a little, leaning forward to brush a light kiss against his lips. It wasn’t nearly enough, and he took her mouth deeper, nipping at her lips, his tongue sliding inside.

“I’m going to lose my balance if you keep kissing me,” she whispered, breaking away. He let her go, wondering how to broach the subject of marriage. He’d never proposed to a woman before, and there was no way of knowing whether she would agree to his suggested arrangement. Emily was the least predictable woman he’d ever met.

They sat together in the tree while a light dusting of snow drifted from the clouds. It coated her cloak, melting upon her nose. She reached up to touch his cheek. “Something is bothering you, Whitmore. Does it have to do with why you’re avoiding me?”

“I avoided you to keep from seducing you again.” He hadn't been able to drive her from his mind, and so many nights he'd awakened with a painful arousal, wishing he could be with Emily.

Her eyes widened slightly, and her cheeks colored. “Well. That was honest.”

“I didn’t think you would appreciate it if I had my way with you on top of the dining room table.”

A laugh escaped her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He only smiled at her. “Wouldn’t I?”

Emily picked up a handful of snow from the tree branch, crunching it into a ball. She tossed the snowball in one palm. “Daniel isn’t going to come for me, is he? I assume you haven’t heard from him.”

“No.”

“So now what will become of me? Shall I return to Hollingford House?”

“I’d burn it to the ground before I’d let you go back there.”

She crumbled up the snowball, letting it sift through her fingers to the ground. “Am I to become your mistress, then?”

“No.” Stephen reached into his pocket and pulled out his grandmother’s ring. “I was thinking you could become my wife.”

Had she really agreed to this? After days riding in a coach to Scotland, she was about to get married. Emily stared down at the heavy ruby ring Stephen had given her, her heart sinking. Though she’d dreamed of this day for all of her life, her instincts warned her that the earl had other reasons for wedding her. Reasons that had nothing to do with love.

She could tell, from the way he’d spoken of the marriage like a business arrangement. Although there was no doubt he desired her, she didn’t know if it would be enough. Everything had happened so fast. She hadn’t even had time to purchase a new gown but had borrowed another one from his sister’s wardrobe.

“The blacksmith will carry out the ceremony,” he explained, leading her toward the smith’s shop, “but I’ve also bestowed a goodly sum for the magistrate to register the marriage.”

Such measures would ensure a fully legal marriage. But why then, was she feeling so uncertain? With each step she took, her fears multiplied. And when they stood before the Scottish blacksmith at last, her trepidation transformed into wild fear.

If she married the Earl of Whitmore, she would become a countess. It was easy to hide away as Baron Hollingford’s forgotten sister. She had no social duties, and hardly anyone knew of her existence. But by becoming Stephen’s wife, everyone would have an opinion about her. And not a single one would be complimentary.

“Wait.” She gripped his sleeve. “We need to talk first.”

The expression on his face was less than pleased. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” Before it’s too late , she thought desperately.

He seemed to sense her panic, for he excused them from the blacksmith and took her into the stables for privacy. Though it was dark inside, she didn’t miss his displeasure. “Have you changed your mind after we’ve come this far?”

She couldn’t give him an answer. While her heart was irrevocably lost, her head was ordering her to do the right thing and let him go.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I can’t marry you.”

“Why?” The question was clipped, a wellspring of anger contained in a single word.

Because you don’t love me. Because you’re holding my heart in your hands, and I’m afraid you’ll break it again.

“Because I’ll never be a fitting countess. There’s nothing but scandal surrounding me. And I care about you too much to bring that shame upon you.” She drew off the ring and pressed it into his hand, her eyes blurred with tears. “I should have told you before we left England. But I wanted so badly to marry you. It was what I dreamed of, more than anything.”

He took the ring, remaining silent for a time. She waited for him to be angry with her about all the trouble she’d been. Instead, he glanced up at the rafters. “Do you remember the last time we were caught in the stables together?”

Of course she did. But why would he bring that up now?

A moment later, he took her into his arms and kissed her soundly. His fingers dug into her hair, fitting her mouth to his while he conjured up the memory of that Christmas evening, ten years ago. He dried her tears, lifting her cheek to rest against his.

“I hurt you that day, when my father forced us apart. And there will be times when I might hurt you again, without intending to.”

He drew back, his gaze solemn. “But there is something good between us. Something I never expected to find. And I think it was worth waiting for.”

He stepped back. “You’re stronger than any scandal surrounding your family name, Emily Barrow. And so am I.”

And with that, he walked toward the stable entrance. “I’ll wait for you, if you’ll have me. The way I should have waited, so many years ago.”

Nearly an hour passed, and Stephen called himself every kind of fool. She wasn’t going to come. She’d made her decision, and he was wasting the blacksmith’s time. He should have known that Emily Barrow wouldn’t let herself be used by any man.

But he wasn’t just any man. He was her friend and lover. He intended to be the man who was going to change her life for the better, giving her everything she should have had all her life.

“I've a lot of marriages to perform, my lord,” the blacksmith remarked, his patience wearing thin. “It’s St. Valentine’s Day, and there are others waiting.”

“Let them wait.” The words contained all of his frustration, his anger at himself. Stephen didn’t care if they had to wait all night.

He wanted to marry the woman who would throw snowballs at him and break his windows. The woman who baked him ginger biscuits and kissed him softly, touching his heart as she slept beside him.

“Stephen?”

He turned to the door and saw Emily standing there alone, a vision in blue. She’d gathered up a bouquet of holly and evergreens, for there were no flowers to be had. Slowly, she walked toward him, her blond hair tucked away in a blue silk bonnet. Her eyes were wet, but she braved a smile. “I’m ready now.”

He took her hand, relief washing over him. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

“I’ve dreamed of this, all my life. I’m in love with you, and though I may be the worst sort of countess, I’d be even more miserable without you.”

He ignored the blacksmith and the witnesses, taking her into his arms again and kissing her. “I’m going to take care of you and your family, Emily.”

She smiled and took his hand in hers. “We’ve waited long enough. Now give me the ring and become my husband.”