Michelle Willingham - The Accidental Countess

She held the infant close to her cheek, while Royce clung to her skirts. Though she held her posture perfectly straight, her eyes were dimmed with exhaustion. How had she managed the two-day journey with no one but his coachman and the wet nurse as escorts?

‘There isn’t a nursery,’ Stephen apologised, leading them up the stairs to one of the bedchambers. ‘And obviously there are no servants at the moment.’ He ventured a rueful smile. ‘I hadn’t expected to move my belongings for another day or two. It wasn’t prepared for your unexpected arrival.’

‘It will do nicely.’ Emily ventured a smile, the first peaceful gesture he’d seen. ‘Can you help me find a place for Victoria to sleep?’

They went upstairs, and Stephen located two wingback chairs in one of the guest chambers. He pushed them together to form a bed for the baby. Victoria rubbed her eyes, fussing and arching her body.

Emily stroked the baby’s back and dropped a kiss upon her niece’s cheek. When Victoria would not quiet down, she reluctantly passed her over to Anna to nurse. Royce removed his shoes and dived into his own bed, burrowing under the coverlet as though trying to shut out the world. For a moment, Emily envied him, wishing that she could just as easily forget all that had happened.

Her husband was a stranger to her now, a man who felt nothing at all towards her. It was like a waking nightmare, to love someone and to be forgotten afterwards.

Would he expect her to share his bed tonight? She stiffened, wanting to avoid it for as long as possible. How could she share the most intimate act with him when he cared nothing for her?

Memories of his kiss, of the way he’d laid her down like a cherished bride, pulled at her heart. He’d made love to her, joining their bodies until she lost herself.

It was how she felt now. Lost.

He’d come riding into her life, and it had taken only days for him to rekindle the feelings she’d buried. Didn’t every girl want to believe in fairy tales? He’d made one happen for her.

But it had been a lie. And the only way to shield her heart was to stay as far away from him as possible.

Whitmore held out his hand to her. She forced herself to take it, even though she didn’t want to. His palm warmed hers, and he led her into the parlour, where he had lit a small fire.

The flames warmed the room, and Emily stood before the hearth, drying her clothes. Stephen sat down in a chair, watching her. His intense gaze embarrassed her.

‘Why are you staring at me?’ She held herself erect, gripping her arms until her fingers left marks on the skin.

‘I’m wondering if we really are married.’ He leaned forward to watch her. His hair still held droplets of rain, and one trickled down his cheek toward a sensual mouth. She tried not to remember the tantalising darkness of his kiss.

‘Of course we are married.’ She kept her eyes upon him, though his intense look made her skin flush.

He stood and walked behind her to close the door. Her damp clothes chafed against her skin, making her even more uncomfortable. Alone in the darkness with only the glowing coals upon the fire and a single candle, she felt more vulnerable than ever before.

‘Do you have any other living relations?’ he asked. ‘If I were not your husband, who would look after you and the children?’

‘My uncle. He lives in India.’ Tension hovered, and with every second that passed, she grew more nervous. Why was he asking this? Was he planning to send them away?

His grey eyes turned thoughtful. ‘I’ve sent word to the local parishes across the Scottish border. If you have lied to me—’

‘I haven’t.’

Despite her claims, he would not accept the truth. She doubted if even the scrawled signature upon the marriage certificate would satisfy him.

His gaze grew heated and he lifted her hand to his cheek. The rough edge of his face needled her fingers. ‘Did I share your bed?’

She fumbled for a lie, anything to keep him from touching her. ‘You left me a week after our wedding. We—we never consummated the marriage.’

‘Then it will be easy to get an annulment.’ He lifted her palm across his lips, and she fought the protests rising.

A razor of hurt slashed at her heart. She’d given herself to him, and he’d forgotten about it. The most wonderful night of her life had meant nothing to him.

‘Unless you want to share a bed with me?’ His dark voice grew compelling, seductive.

Emily closed her eyes to gather her composure. She hated the way her body came alive, the way she wanted his embrace. His mouth, hot and urgent, had haunted her ever since their wedding night. And she was deathly afraid that she would succumb to his desires.

‘If you have need of a woman, you can go to your mistress,’ she said. The very thought of the unknown woman infuriated her, for it brought back memories of Daniel’s death.

‘I’ve already told you. I don’t have one. Patricia and I haven’t been together since last autumn. And why would I need a mistress when I have a wife?’

She wavered, unsure of whether to believe him. But even if he hadn’t been with his mistress, she wasn’t about to share his bed again. Not if he was going to leave her.

‘I won’t be a wife to you. You’ll have to force me first.’

His grey eyes hardened like the barrel of a gun. ‘I would never force a woman.’ There was fury in his gaze, and Emily struggled to remain rooted where she was.

Stephen reached out and, with a single finger, brushed the tip of her breast. Instantly, her nipple hardened beneath the cold fabric. He used his finger to toy with the cockled nub and a hot aching grew, deep inside her womanhood. Her breath shuddered as he rubbed excruciating circles of heat.

Memories of loving him came flooding back. Her hands fell upon his shoulders, reaching for him.

Then abruptly he drew away. Emily could hardly breathe, her body completely aroused by just a single touch.

‘Goodnight.’ Stephen turned and walked away, leaving her behind.

She wanted to cry out in frustration, but she knew he had done it deliberately. He had intended to stimulate her senses, to make her beg him for more.

She was made of stronger stuff than the Earl could ever imagine. Let him try to make her feel passion. She would never forget the way he’d abandoned her and Daniel.

Never would she let him close to her again.

Stephen avoided Emily over the next week, only offering brief conversation now and then. They slept in separate bedrooms, and he was careful not to spend too much time with her. It would be easier to send her back, if they remained distant to one another.

But then the proof of his marriage arrived.

That morning, Stephen read the letter at least seven times, still in disbelief. Married. It was irrevocably true, every word that she’d said.

His father had invited him to a late breakfast, and Stephen brought the letter with him to Rothburne House. He picked at the toast and jam, his mind spinning.

He and Emily had wed in mid-February, a few miles past Gretna Green. His messenger had verified that he had seen the marriage recorded. Emily possessed a copy of the certificate, which she’d shown him earlier in the week. Everything was in order.

And yet he felt uneasy.

It opened up even more questions that begged for answers. Why had he married her? Had he wanted to protect her? Had he cared for her? Or had it simply been an act of defiance against his father?

There was no doubt she fired his blood, but could there have been more between them? Each time he tried to reach back, the memories of her remained clouded. Only events from ten years ago came to mind.

Emily, climbing a tree, laughing when he’d tumbled from a branch. Her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, dry leaves tangled in the ends.