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, in her last letter, she'd threatened to send Miss Harriet Hereford for a visit.
He’d had enough. Over the past few weeks, he’d been polite, simply ignoring his mother's 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 Harriet 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 set foot in Hollingford House again. She would never have to worry about food or shelter, no longer dependent upon the whims of her brother. And Stephen wanted her to have that freedom.
If Emily agreed to wed him, he would gain his own independence from his family’s meddling. His parents would have no choice but to abandon their matrimonial quest if he returned to London with a wife.
The more he considered the idea, the more it held merit. Theirs could be a quiet wedding, perhaps an elopement in Scotland.
A resounding crash struck the window of his study, shattering glass everywhere. Upon his desk, Stephen saw a rock. When he looked outside, he saw a horrified Emily sitting on a tree branch. Now, how in the world had she managed to climb a tree while wearing a gown and petticoats? And why had she done so?
He crossed over to the windowsill, stepping over shards of glass. “Why, in heaven’s name, would you break my window?”
Emily chewed at her lip and offered an apologetic smile. “I’d meant to throw pebbles at your window to get your attention.”
“That was a pebble?” He held up the rock, which was the size of his thumb.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” She pulled up her hood, but her shoulders were shaking. By God, the woman was laughing. “I only thought to see if you wanted to come outside.”
“I do have doors and stairs, you know. There was no need to bring the snow inside.” From the look of it, at least two panels of the window would have to be replaced, if not the entire thing.
“I really am sorry. I only wanted to see you, since you’ve been avoiding me all week.”
“Wait there,” he warned. After hastily throwing on a cloak and hat, he pocketed his grandmother’s ring. Then he gave instructions for Farnsworth to order repairs for the window and sweep up the glass.
Outside, the snow had begun to fall again, and Stephen walked around the perimeter of the estate until he reached the tree outside his study. Emily was seated on a large branch, both arms clinging to the trunk.
He spied a small ladder, built of pieces of wood nailed into the trunk. And then he recalled that they had built the tree ladder when they were children, after they’d stolen a hammer from the gardener’s shed one summer. He'd completely forgotten about it.
It took only seconds to climb up to her. She wore a black cape covering the blue ragged tarlatan gown. Though he’d given her money to purchase new clothing, she hadn’t ordered anything from the village yet.
Her cheeks were bright with color, her brown eyes amused. “Are you going to take the cost of the window out of my wages?”
“I’m not paying you anything.”
“I can give you this old gown as remuneration,” she offered. “With your dark hair, the blue might be a fetching color. It even has a printed shawl.”
