The Accidental Countess. Michelle Willingham

his wife and children freezing out in the cold.

      Before she could stop herself, she opened the door.

      ‘Where are you going, my lady?’

      ‘Tell the driver to circle around the streets. Keep going, and don’t stop until you see me outside again.’

      The sheer force of her will-power drove her to do something rash. The rain blinded her, but she pushed through it, moving toward the servants’ entrance. As she’d hoped, it was unlocked.

      The kitchen staff stared at her in shock. A plump cook nearly dropped the kettle she held in her hands.

      ‘I won’t be but a moment,’ Emily said to them, holding up the ruby ring. ‘I’m going to collect my husband.’

      Emily found the back staircase and took the steps two at a time before the startled servants could pursue her. If Stephen were here, she would find him.

      Dripping wet, she steeled herself in case the Marquess appeared. He didn’t. She listened carefully at each door, moving down the hall. Not knowing her whereabouts, at last she chose a door and opened it.

      A snowy-haired woman in a champagne-coloured dress sat reading. She stifled a shriek at the sight of Emily. ‘Emily Barrow, what on earth are you doing here?’

      She recognised the Marchioness, Lady Rothburne. ‘I am looking for my husband.’

      Lady Rothburne gaped at her. ‘Does Stephen know you are here?’

      Emily shook her head, just as a footman burst in through the open door. ‘My lady, I am so sorry. She came in before we could stop her.’

      ‘It is all right,’ Lady Rothburne said, dismissing the footman. ‘I know Miss Barrow.’

      Emily held back her sigh of relief. ‘Please forgive me, Lady Rothburne, but I am in a bit of a hurry. Which room is he in, please?’

      Lady Rothburne tilted her head to one side, a curious look upon her face. ‘My husband doesn’t know you are here, does he?’

      Emily didn’t want to admit the truth, so she said, ‘I must see the Earl. I would not be here, if it were not urgent.’

      ‘He is down the hall, second door on your left.’ Lady Rothburne eyed Emily’s sodden clothing. ‘Would you care to change your dress? I believe my daughter might have a spare gown or two. Hannah is away at school, and she would not mind.’

      ‘Thank you. But I won’t be long.’ Emily nodded a farewell to Lady Rothburne and peered out the door. No one was about, so she tore across the hallway. Throwing open the door, she closed it behind her. Stephen was in the midst of disrobing, his shirt fully unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders.

      Upon the back of his neck was a black tattoo, similar to her brother’s. Now where had he gotten that? He hadn’t had it on their wedding night.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ Stephen pulled the shirt back on, a frown upon his face. ‘I thought you were going to stay at Falkirk.’

      At the sight of his bare chest, she backed away. Where was his valet? Being alone with a half-dressed man was not at all wise.

      He moved towards her, and Emily averted her eyes, trying not to look at his chest. Deep ridges of muscle were marred by a jagged scar several inches long. The skin had healed, but the redness remained from the knife wound.

      ‘I changed my mind.’ She offered no explanation, hoping he wouldn’t enquire further. He likely wouldn’t believe her, even if she told him the truth.

      ‘You’re soaking wet. Come over by the fire and dry off.’ He studied her hair and Emily realised that most of the pins had come out. It lay in tangled masses, half-pinned up beneath her bonnet, half-hanging about her shoulders. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear, though it did nothing for her appearance.

      ‘I don’t have time. The children are outside,’ she said. ‘I would have brought them with me, except your father tossed me into the streets.’

      Stephen’s face tightened with anger. ‘Did he?’

      It infuriated him that his wife had come to London, and James had treated her poorly. ‘I am glad you didn’t let that stop you.’

      He took a step forward and removed her bonnet, then the rest of the pins holding back her hair. Freeing the dark golden locks, he finger-combed it, stroking his thumb along her jaw. Even as bedraggled as she looked, she captured his attention.

      ‘Stand by the hearth and warm yourself,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll send a servant to collect the children.’

      ‘They aren’t valises,’ she argued. ‘And your father won’t want them here.’

      He didn’t particularly care what James wanted, but it was late, and he had no interest in arguing. ‘I’ll make other arrangements, then. I just purchased a town house a few miles from here. It should do well enough, although I haven’t hired a staff yet, and there aren’t many furnishings.’

      He palmed the back of her nape, massaging the tension. The softness of her skin intrigued him, and he let his hand slide lower.

      Her hollowed face held him spellbound. Soft full lips tantalised him, and her womanly curves made him want to remove the layers between them and touch her.

      ‘What—what are you doing?’ Her skin rose with goose bumps, her voice shaky. ‘Keep your hands to yourself, Whitmore.’

      She was behaving like a virgin, not at all like a woman he’d married. He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, inhaling the vanilla scent of her skin.

      She shivered. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes bleak. ‘Don’t make me remember this.’

      He stopped, but held her hand, his fingers encircling the heavy gold ring. She behaved like an untouched woman, innocent and fresh. But she didn’t push him away, either. Her consternation made him suspect that there had once been more between them. Reluctantly, he let her go.

      Her shoulders lowered with relief. Stephen donned his shirt and waistcoat, hurrying with the buttons of his frock-coat. ‘Come.’

      He took her by the hand, leading her down the servants’ back staircase. ‘The coach is outside?’

      She nodded. Stephen located his overcoat and an umbrella, following her. The freezing rain buffetted the umbrella, and she was forced to remain beside him to be shielded from the rain. He took her palm, and she studied the streets. ‘There. I see it.’

      Stephen signalled to the coachman and within moments he helped Emily inside the vehicle. He recognised the driver from Falkirk House and was thankful that at least his wife had enough sense to bring an escort with them. After giving the coachman directions, they were on their way.

      When he sat beside Emily, the young boy scowled. ‘What is he doing here?’

      ‘Royce,’ Emily warned.

      ‘I am taking you to a warm bed to sleep,’ Stephen remarked. ‘Unless you’d rather I leave you outside in the rain?’

      Royce’s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms. ‘I’d rather sleep anywhere than in your house.’

      Stephen was not about to tolerate such insolence. Knocking against the coach’s door, he ordered the driver to stop.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Emily looked horrified.

      Stephen opened the door. ‘Be my guest,’ he invited the boy. The rain splattered against the coach door, the wind blowing it in their faces. At the sudden rush of cold, the infant began howling, her face pinched with surprise.

      There was just enough fear, just enough uncertainty to keep Royce frozen in his seat. When he didn’t move, Stephen shut the door.

      ‘Understand this. I will not abide rudeness in the presence of your aunt. You will respect my authority and obey.’

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