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Emily Barrow once dreamed that she could marry Stephen Chesterfield, the Earl of Whitmore, and be saved from her dreary life. Then Stephen’s father sent him away, leaving Emily broken-hearted…
Now Stephen has returned to find Emily destitute and alone. He has vowed to help her without compromising her honor…but Emily has other ideas. She doesn’t want his charity, but she does long to know what it would be like to take him as a lover, even if marriage is out of the question. Confined to close quarters with their passion burning as brightly as ever, will Stephen be able to resist the temptation and rescue her, or give in to his desire and completely ruin her?
Michelle Willingham grew up living in places all over the world, including Germany, England and Thailand. When her parents hauled her to antiques shows in manor houses and castles, Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance.
She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame, with a degree in English, and received her master’s degree in Education from George Mason University. Currently she teaches American History and English. She lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword.
If you liked this story by Michelle Willingham, try more of her sensual historical romances always available in eBook format:
HER IRISH WARRIOR
THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH
HER WARRIOR KING
THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE
THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN
TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR
Plus, don’t miss the continuation of Emily and Stephen’s love story in THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS.
Author Note
Dear Reader,
I have always adored Cinderella tales, and my heroine Emily Barrow was a character who resonated with me in ways I never expected. Her courage and creativity in the face of poverty made it such a joy to write her story. Since Emily had to cook for herself after having to dismiss all the family servants, it gave me an excuse to rummage through historical recipe books. And like Emily, I believe that there’s nothing wrong with enjoying biscuits and sweets for dinner.
In An Accidental Seduction, Emily is reunited with her childhood sweetheart, the Earl of Whitmore. The two of them share a stolen night trapped in a crumbling manor house in the midst of a blizzard, and I hope you’ll enjoy this snowbound fairytale.
The story is the prequel to my historical romance novel The Accidental Countess, available from Mills and Boon Historicals in January 2010 and Harlequin Historicals in February 2010. I hope you will enjoy reading the continuation of Emily and Stephen’s love story in the full-length book.
I love hearing from readers and you may e-mail me at [email protected] or by regular mail at P.O. Box 2242, Poquoson, Virginia 23662 USA. Visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for a complete book list, behind-the-scenes information, recipes, and deleted scenes.
Chapter One
Hollingford House, England 1850
Well-mannered ladies were not supposed to chop wood. They were supposed to paint with watercolors, embroider cushions and pray for the day when they landed a rich husband.
“I wouldn’t mind having that rich husband now,” Emily Barrow muttered to a fallen log as she struggled to lift the heavy axe. It was freezing outside, unusually cold for early February. The clouds brooded overhead, threatening snow. And since she had no coal and didn’t want to burn any more of the furniture, she’d decided to attempt chopping wood in the forest. It was not going well.
“Servants would be nice, too. A footman, perhaps.”
But then, she’d had to dismiss all of the household help. There simply wasn’t any money left. Her brother, Daniel, had spent most of it on the governess he’d hired to care for his two children. Which was as it should be. Emily could cook for herself, bargain for what she needed and make do with what she had. She was nearly twenty-five, a woman firmly on the shelf. There would be no husband to rescue her from this drudgery.
But she would survive, even if it meant becoming a servant herself. And that predicament wasn’t too far away, unless Daniel returned.
Emily bit her lower lip and heaved the axe skyward. With a resounding thunk, the dull metal bit into the wood. It would have been satisfying, except that now she couldn’t get the axe out of the wood.
“Stupid axe,” she muttered, pulling with all of her weight against the trunk. She let out a growl, wishing the blasted thing would let go.
Behind her, she heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow. Probably Mr. Barmouth from the village, come to demand payment for the flour and sugar she’d bought a week ago. Without turning around, she asked, “Could you please help me with this?”
Dove-gray gloves reached around for the axe. She lost her breath when she saw Stephen Chesterfield, the Earl of Whitmore, standing before her. Dark brown hair framed a strong jaw and steel-gray eyes. Her pulse quickened at the sight of his firm mouth.
“You’re back,” she breathed.
Immediately, she wished she could knock her head against the tree. Not a polite hello, how are you, I haven’t seen you in ten years. No, she’d blurted out the first words that came to mind.
And, good heavens, she’d just asked an Earl to soil his hands by hefting an axe.
“Miss Barrow.” Lord Whitmore grasped the handle of the axe and wrenched it free of the wood. For a moment, he stood, eyeing the blade. “Are you planning to use this against me if I give it back to you?”
“Now, why would I do that?” She tried to behave as though nothing were wrong. Her heartbeat galloped in her chest, her face burning with embarrassment.
“Because I left you and never said goodbye.” He leaned the axe against the fallen trunk.
“Oh. That.” She waved her hand, as though he hadn’t broken her heart into a thousand pieces years ago. “Well, that was then.” The Marquess of Rothburne had caught them kissing in the stables. It had been enough for him to pack his eldest son off to Eton before the summer holidays had ended. She hadn’t seen him since.
“What brings you to Hollingford House?” she asked brightly. Pretend as if nothing’s wrong.
“I am visiting Falkirk. Escaping my meddling family,” he admitted. “I hadn’t seen you in so long, I thought I’d stop to pay a call. But no one answered the door.”
“The footman must not have heard you,” she offered. Because he lived over five miles away and had been dismissed last November.
Lord Whitmore glanced again at her fallen axe. “Do you require assistance with the wood?”
A lie poured from her mouth.
