An Accidental Seduction (3 page)

But honor shielded him. He wouldn’t touch her, so long as he believed he was taking something away from her. Didn’t he know he was granting her a gift?

She took his hands and brought them to the front of her gown. She’d had to alter this dress, sewing the buttons down the front since she had no ladies’ maid to help her. Stephen’s gaze was unrelenting, his eyes burning into hers. “You owe me nothing, Emily.”

“Show me what it would have been like,” she whispered, “if your father hadn’t taken you away from me.” Though it went against everything she’d been taught, she wanted a memory that would last for always.

His mouth drifted against hers, in a kiss that was hardly there. She unbuttoned her own gown, placing his hands upon her chemise. His hands curved over the damp fabric, and when he encountered no barrier, he demanded, “Why aren’t you wearing a corset?”

“I’ve no one to help me dress. It was impossible to put on by myself.” Her cheeks grew warm with the confession, but his palm reached out to cup her breast. His thumb stroked the erect tip through the fabric, caressing her as he had that night in the barn. A flood of rich pleasure welled up inside her, and she found herself reaching for his shirt, lifting away the cambric.

His chest was broad and muscled, his firm shoulders ridged with a quiet strength. She laid her palms over his heartbeat, wishing she could make him feel the same longing she was feeling.

He removed the rest of her clothing until she stood naked before him. It was cold in the room, and her nipples were taut in the frigid air. Emily removed the remaining pins in her hair until it spilled over her shoulders, down to cover her breasts.

Stephen’s eyes were raw with need, and he pushed the hair aside to look at her. “Don’t cover yourself in front of me. You’ve nothing to hide.”

He lifted her into his arms, setting her down into the hip bath. The water warmed her skin, tingling all the way to her toes. He scooped up a handful and let it spill over her throat, down her breasts and stomach.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?”

She shook her head, and his hands moved through the water to rest upon her skin. “You’re driving me to madness.” He reached for the soap, his voice turning wicked. “And now, I’m going to make you feel the same way.”

He rubbed the cake of foaming soap, bringing his hands to the curve of her breast. He rubbed circles over her skin, the slippery motion arousing her sensitive flesh. When his palms cupped her nipples, she felt an answering warmth between her thighs. He leaned in to kiss her while his hands soaped her breasts, rubbing the nipples over and over in a slow rhythm.

More warm water rinsed her skin, and his hands were replaced by his mouth. He kissed her shoulder, trailing down to the side of her breast. His tongue slid under the curve, and then his mouth fastened upon her nipple.

He sucked gently, and Emily moaned at the contact. Beneath the water, his hands roamed lower. Past her stomach, to the juncture of her thighs.

“I’m going to touch you there,” he promised, moving his hand against her delicate flesh. His fingers stroked her, and he brought her other hand to her own breast. “I want you to touch your breasts while I do.”

Emily’s face turned scarlet, but she obeyed. It was strange, to touch her own body. She felt shy about it, but he coaxed her to rub the nipples, to pinch them gently. Aching heat rose through her as she caressed the tips, and he supported her hips, using his other hand to explore her womanhood.

“Do you know how much I wanted you that night in the stable?” he murmured, kissing her rib cage. “It’s even worse now. I want to kiss you, fill you up inside.” He slid a finger into her warmth as he spoke, and she shuddered against his hand. His thumb flicked the nub above her entrance, and as she continued to caress her nipples, a dark warmth began to descend. She felt herself straining against him, none of the cold air bothering her now. Her body was unbearably hot, reacting to his touch until she shivered. But she couldn’t seem to understand what it was she needed so badly.

He inserted another finger, mimicking lovemaking. Her body stretched against the unfamiliar invasion, and yet the torment went on. Over and over, he caressed her, while she touched her breasts. Something strange began to happen to her, a wild blossoming heat in her center. Stephen increased the pressure, and her hands suddenly gripped the edges of the tub, while shimmering tremors racked her body, flooding it with a release so hard, she nearly wept from the intensity.

She was boneless, melting against the edges of the tub as he lifted her up and dried her off with a linen towel. Naked and shivering, he laid her down upon the bed, covering her body with the sheets. His expression was dark, almost pained. But he made no further move toward her.

He was going to stop now, she realized. He wasn’t going to become her lover tonight. He’d given her unspeakable pleasure, while he’d taken nothing for himself.

She didn’t like it. It wasn’t fair, and she wanted him to experience the same wildness. Was it the same for a man, as a woman?

He was starting to reach for his shirt, but she stopped him. “Where are you going?”

“To my own bed. Probably after I go and stand outside in the snow for an hour.” He sat up tentatively, but she reached out to touch his shoulder.

Embarrassment colored her skin, but she didn’t want him to go. Not yet. The thought of him spending the night in a cold room, away from her, was unbearable.

“I’ve done something wrong, haven’t I?” Her voice caught in her throat, and he rolled over to face her.

“No, Emily. I’m the one who’s done something wrong.” He closed his eyes, still lying beside her.

Though tears stung her eyes, she forged ahead. He wanted her still, she could see it. But likely he feared he’d have to marry her now. She understood that it couldn’t happen. They were as far apart as a prince from a serving maid. Even so, she didn’t care.

Her cheeks burned with fear and embarrassment, and she realized that he wasn’t going to touch her again. But could she…touch him?

Without asking permission, she ran her hands over his warm skin, across his shoulders and down to his stomach. His face tightened, but he made no move to stop her.

When her hands moved to the button of his trousers, he caught them. “What are you doing?”

She froze, wishing she could hide her head beneath the covers and die. Had she misread him? But beneath her hands, she felt his rigid manhood. It swelled, straining against the fabric of his trousers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just didn’t want you to stop.”

She moved her hands away, but he took them and brought them around his neck. Her bare breasts rested against his warm chest, and as soon as their skin touched, her arousal heightened. “I’ve never asked you for anything, Whitmore,” she breathed against his throat. “Not in all the years we’ve known each other. I would never make demands that you couldn’t give.” She hoped he would understand that this night was not a means of trapping him.

His hand moved down her spine, tracing a silken trail to her hips. His eyes were hooded, like a man on the brink of losing control. “You deserve better than this.”

“No, I don’t.”

She leaned forward to kiss him, and he raised her leg over his hip. His hand palmed her bottom, torment etched upon his face. Once more, she reached for the buttons of his trousers, but this time, he removed the rest of his clothing. Skin to skin, he embraced her. The heat of their bodies evoked needs she didn’t know she had.

The iron ridge of his manhood glided against her intimately, and a breathless moan escaped her. Her body welcomed him, the slick moisture making her desire more.

“I want you, Emily,” he said roughly. “Even more now than I did ten years ago. But I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

“The only regret I’ll have is if you leave me tonight,” she murmured. “Please don’t.”

He lowered his mouth to her collarbone, pressing soft kisses upon her skin. She sighed with thankfulness, welcoming him. His mouth moved over the curve of her breast, his tongue swirling over her nipple. Teeth nipped the edge, before he suckled the tip. Her hands dug into his hair as he feasted upon her body, his warm mouth and tongue making her forget the devastating loneliness.

Between her thighs, she felt the thickness of his shaft, the head probing into her wetness. The foreign sensation startled her, and as he lifted her knee, he ran his mouth over the sensitive skin. Her hips spasmed at the shock, and he cupped her bottom, kneading the skin as he eased himself inside.

He was larger than she’d expected, and it was difficult for her to take him into her body. Emily fought to relax, but instead of thrusting inside, he began to move gently. Only an inch within, he used his manhood to caress her warmth. And when his mouth came down on hers, his tongue slid inside in the same manner. Slowly. Gentle and deep, he continued to move.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, and she nodded. There was nothing at all invasive about his lovemaking, only the deepest caress. His face was strained, as though he were fighting against himself.

A little farther inside, and she felt her body trembling harder. He pressed his hand against her center, while sliding his shaft within. Emily gripped his neck, raising her knees to bring him closer. When he breached her virginity at last, she was so ready for him, the full contact made her shudder.

She let out a gasp as he withdrew, holding himself poised at her entrance. “No, don’t—” she pleaded.

A knowing smile crossed his face, as he slid back inside. The feeling of his full length pressed within was intoxicating, a sweet hunger that kept building higher. Stephen palmed her hips, forcing her close as he kissed her mouth. Then he moved her hand to the hooded flesh above her womanhood, touching her fingertips to a sensitive place.

“Hold your hand there,” he commanded. He withdrew his length, and when he plunged inside again, she cried out at the delicious pressure. “Do you feel it?”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think clearly. His hard length filled her while the tight bud beneath her fingers seemed to intensify the pleasure. “As I take you, give yourself the pleasure you need.”

His mouth moved back to her breasts, sucking hard while he increased the pace. With each stroke, he brought her closer. The crescendo building up inside her was a wave, threatening to spill over.

“Let go, Emily,” he said. And suddenly his lovemaking turned from gentle to savage. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her, thrusting deep as she cried out. The pleasure poured over her, a violent release that pounded even harder as he pumped against her body. She throbbed against his length, tears spilling from her eyes as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

With one final thrust, he found his own release, and he entered and withdrew a few times more. At last, he rested his cheek against hers, their bodies still joined.

He fell silent, not speaking as he finally pulled away from her body. She couldn’t read his thoughts as he wrapped her in the heavy quilts, moving to the opposite side of the bed. The fire crackled on the hearth, making the only sound in the room.

And, God help her, she didn’t know what he must think of her now.

Sometime, 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.”

“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. “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 moved forward and reached for her waist. “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’s suicide.” She tried to pull back, 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. It will be all right.” Despite her words, the tears started again.

“Emily, I’m going to take care of you.”

“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 seized the ties of her apron, using them to pull her into his arms. “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.”

“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 skin, 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 against the kitchen table, and she responded as though she didn’t want their night to end. And neither did he.

She 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, still keeping most of her gown buttoned.

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 behind, 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 weight 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 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.

She could hardly speak, but managed, “Please. I can’t bear it.”

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,” 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.”

The 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 had to.

They hadn’t spoken of marriage again, though she knew it preyed on his mind. The drive back to his estate at Falkirk seemed to last centuries instead of minutes. There was the sense that she’d 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, Lady 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…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 her, nor touch her, 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 the last letter threatened to send Miss Lily Hereford for a visit.

He’d had enough. Over the past few weeks, he’d been polite, simply ignoring her 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 Lily 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 again set foot in Hollingford House. She would never have to worry about food or shelter, no longer dependent upon the whims of her brother. He wanted her to have that freedom.