be.”
Stephen reached into his pocket for an orange he’d gotten in his own stocking and offered it to her.
“I don’t care about that.” Another tear slid down her cheek, and she sniffled. “But if you could have seen my mother’s face…It broke her heart that she had nothing to give us.”
He put his arm around her shoulders. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched her, but this time, Emily stiffened. “I didn’t come here for your pity.”
“I never thought that.” He peeled the orange and divided a section. Juice dripped from his fingers as he slipped it into her mouth. He’d wanted to console her, but when his fingers touched her lips, something changed. It was a ripple of intensity, an awareness that he tried to push below the surface.
The rose gown outlined firm breasts, while her slender waist swelled into rounded hips. The need to hold her, to caress the softness of her skin, evoked strange feelings inside. He shifted his coat, trying to hide his unbidden response to her. To distract himself, he tasted a slice of the orange. There was a hint of tartness beneath the juice, but it was sweet just the same. He gave Emily another piece, and after she ate it, he saw a droplet of juice upon her lips.
“Why are you looking at me that way?”
Stephen found himself leaning in, letting instinct guide him. He wanted to soothe her wounded feelings, though he was afraid she might push him away. “It’s going to be all right, Emily.”
As though coaxing a wild animal to draw closer, he cupped the softness of her cheek. He traced the fragile jaw, the delicate eyelids. She closed her eyes, as though drinking in his touch.
“Whitmore, I’m not sure you should—”
He cut off her words, kissing her. Her lips were warm, supple and smooth. He tasted the orange mingled with her tears, the worries she held deep inside. He’d meant only to offer comfort, but a moment later, her arms wound around his neck. She poured her heart into the kiss, and her innocent response shredded his control.
Stephen ran his hands down her spine, bringing her hips close. Her lean body fitted to his, and in that moment, he ignored everything he’d been taught about the ways between a man and a woman. There was nothing dignified or respectful about what he was feeling right now.
He wanted to lower her bodice, to bare the skin of her breasts. Through the thin fabric, he could see the cockled nipples, and without asking permission, he moved his hands to touch them. She let out a gasp of shock but didn’t pull away.
It should have been awkward, but instead, it was wondrous to discover that there was something more, beneath their friendship. Something forbidden.
He’d wanted to explore it further, but Emily drew back. “Don’t. I can’t breathe right now.”
Her face was bright red, and she trembled. His own breathing was shaky, and the pain of unresolved desire was making itself known. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you like that.”
“Why did you?” She was holding herself far away from him, as though she didn’t trust him to keep his distance.
Right now, he wasn’t certain himself. “I don’t know.” To break up the raw nerves gathering in his stomach, he offered her the rest of the orange. Emily divided it, handing him the larger section.
For a long time, they stayed silent, not looking at each other. He was afraid that with one glance at her face, he would fall under her spell once again.
“When I was little,” Emily whispered, “I used to dream that a handsome prince would come and rescue me from my family.” She uttered a harsh laugh. “Do you think that will ever happen?”
He extended his open palm to her. She took it, holding his hand. “For your sake, I hope it does.” A part of him hoped that he might be the one to rescue her.
She ventured a smile, and he leaned in to kiss her again. The intensity of her mouth upon his drove out all knowledge of his surroundings. Sensual and giving, she’d kissed him back until his body ached for more.
He hadn’t heard anyone entering the stables, but strong arms grasped his shoulders, wrenching him away from Emily. He’d lost his balance, falling to the stable ground before he felt the crack of his father’s riding crop across his shoulders.
And after that night, he hadn’t seen her again.
Emily huddled beneath her cloak, trudging across the pasture. Years ago, her father had bred horses. Now, there was nothing left but barren land. The grass was damp with frost, and the sky was growing darker, clouded with the portent of snow.
It would take nearly an hour to walk the distance to Falkirk, and she didn’t want to be caught in the darkness.
You could have told Lord Whitmore that you didn’t have a horse. He’d have sent a carriage for you.
She knew that, in her heart. But a little walking never hurt anyone.
The snow began to fall, a veil of flakes coating the grass. The cold didn’t bother her, for the brisk walk kept her spirits high. But when the sky grew even darker, the snow drifting faster, she cast a backward glance at Hollingford House. The manor sat against the hill, a small dot in the distance. Likely by now it was safer to continue toward Falkirk than to turn back. Doggedly, she kept onward, praying that she wouldn’t lose sight of the road.
With one foot in front of the next, she followed the disappearing path. A light note of fear rose up when she realized that within a few more minutes, the road would be gone beneath a blanket of snow.
She peered hard into the distance, hoping for a glimpse of Falkirk. It couldn’t be very far now. Before her anxiety could deepen, she saw a coach approaching. She stepped to the side, intending to let it pass, but instead it came to a stop before her.
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