Michelle Willingham - An Accidental Seduction

Emily Barrow once dreamed that she could marry Stephen Chesterfield, the Earl of Whitmore, and be saved from her dreary life. Then Stephens 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 honorbut Emily has other ideas. She doesnt 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?

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 theres 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 youll 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 Stephens love story in the full-length book.

I love hearing from readers and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com 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.

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 wouldnt 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 didnt want to burn any more of the furniture, shed decided to attempt chopping wood in the forest. It was not going well.

Servants would be nice, too. A footman, perhaps.

But then, shed had to dismiss all of the household help. There simply wasnt any money left. Her brother, Daniel, had spent most of it on the governess hed 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 wasnt 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 couldnt 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 shed 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.

Youre back, she breathed.

Immediately, she wished she could knock her head against the tree. Not a polite hello, how are you, I havent seen you in ten years . No, shed blurted out the first words that came to mind.

And, good heavens, shed 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 hadnt 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 hadnt seen him since.

What brings you to Hollingford House? she asked brightly. Pretend as if nothings wrong.

I am visiting Falkirk. Escaping my meddling family, he admitted. I hadnt seen you in so long, I thought Id 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. No, no. Its fine, really. I was justtrying to see if I was strong enough to lift the axe. Not because the house was freezing cold, and she desperately needed the wood to build a fire. No, no, that had nothing to do with it.

Whitmore looked as though he wanted to argue, but instead, he tipped his hat. I am sorry I interrupted you at an inconvenient time. Would you prefer it if I returned another day?

Of course not. If youd like, I could make us some tea. Her face reddened when she remembered that she was out of tea. Orif youre too busy just now, perhaps another time.

Thank you, but I cannot stay long. He glanced toward Hollingford House and frowned. I came to invite you to a small gathering for dinner tomorrow evening at seven oclock.

If that were the only reason, then why hadnt he simply sent an invitation? Earls didnt typically pay calls, not when there were servants to do their bidding. Her suspicions deepened when he didnt elaborate.

But she voiced a polite reply, Dinner would be lovely. Ill see you tomorrow, then. At the very thought of it, her stomach wrenched with hunger. Food. Oh, sweet heaven, there would be glorious food.

What about your axe? he inquired.

Oh, one of the servants can bring it back, she lied, for she had no intention whatsoever of admitting how desperate her circumstances had become. She walked with him around to the front of the house, where his gleaming black brougham waited.

I look forward to renewing our acquaintance, he said, tipping his hat again. His deep baritone was like rich toffee pudding, tempting her back to her past infatuation.

When his carriage reached the end of the drive, Emily walked calmly inside her brothers house. Curse it all, she hadnt a thing to wear. All of her expensive gowns had been sold. She had nothing but the brown cotton day dress she was wearing now, a black serge mourning gown and a threadbare blue tarlatan dress.