A Countess For Christmas. Christy McKellen
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to have his pound of flesh and he took a deliberate step towards her and, lifting his hand, he slid it roughly under her jaw and into her hair. His grip was decisive and strong and she acknowledged a twinge of unease in the pit of her stomach as she realised how alone they were in here, away from the rest of the party.
He began to stroke his thumb along her jaw, grazing the bottom of her lip. Waves of revulsion flooded through her at his touch, but she didn’t move. She needed to brazen this out. She knew exactly what he was like—if you showed any sign of weakness that was it, you were fired on the spot.
‘Well, you ruined it for me,’ he growled, moving even closer so she could smell the sharp tang of whisky on his breath. ‘But perhaps we can figure out a satisfactory way for you to make it up to me,’ he said, his gaze roving lasciviously over her face and halting on her mouth.
She clamped her lips together, racking her brains for a way out of this without making the situation worse.
‘Jolyon, let go of me,’ she said, forcing as much authority into her voice as she could summon, which wasn’t a lot. ‘I need to get back to the party and serve your guests and they’ll be missing you, wondering where you are,’ she said, grasping for something—anything—to aid her getaway. Appealing to his ego had worked well before, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that it wasn’t going to fly this time. He wanted much more than a verbal apology from her.
The thought made her shudder.
Taking a sudden step backwards, she managed to break his hold on her. ‘I need to get back. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, shall we?’ Before he could react, she turned and walked swiftly out of the door and back towards the noisy hubbub of the party, her heart thumping hard against her ribcage and the erratic pulse of her blood spurring her on.
She heard him come after her, his breath rasping in his throat as his movements picked up into a drunken jog. She’d just made it to the living-room doorway when he caught up with her, grabbing hold of her arm and spinning her around to face him.
‘Jolyon, please—’ she gasped, then froze in horror as his lips came crashing down onto hers, his arms wrapping around her like a vice. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, her heart hammering hard in her ears as she struggled to get away from him—
Then suddenly he seemed to let go of her—or was he being dragged away? The loud ooof! sound he made in the back of his throat made her think that perhaps he had been and she spun around only to come face to face with Jack.
His mesmerising eyes bore into hers, blazing with anger as a muscle ticced in his clenched jaw, and her stomach did a slow somersault. His gaze swept over her face for the merest of seconds before moving to lock onto Jolyon instead, who was now leaning against the doorjamb, gasping as if he’d been winded.
‘What do you want, Westwood?’ Jolyon snapped at Jack, flashing him a look of fear-tinged contempt.
Jack glared back, his whole body radiating tension as if he was having to physically restrain himself from landing a punch right on Jolyon’s pudgy jaw.
He took a purposeful step towards the cowering man and leaned one strong arm on the jamb above Jolyon’s head, forming a formidable six-foot-three enclosure of angry, powerful man around him.
‘I want you to keep your hands off my wife!’
JACK WESTWOOD KNEW he’d made a monumental mistake the moment he heard the collective gasp of the crowd in the room behind him.
What the hell had he just done?
It wasn’t like him to lose his head, in fact he was famous in the business circles in which he presided for being a cool customer and impossible to intimidate, but seeing Emma again like this had shaken him to his very soul.
It occurred to him with a sick twist of irony that the last time he’d acted so rashly was when he’d asked her to marry him. She’d always had this effect on him, messing with his head and undermining his control until he didn’t know which way was up.
Logically he knew he should have stayed away from her tonight, just until he was mentally prepared to see her again, but after finding he couldn’t concentrate on a word anyone had said to him after he’d spotted her earlier his instinct had been to search her out, then jump in to defend her when he’d seen Fitzherbert trying to kiss her.
She was still his wife after all, even if they hadn’t had any contact for the last few years—that was what had prompted him to do it. That and the fact he hated any kind of violence towards women.
The searing anger he’d felt at seeing this idiot being so rough with her still buzzed through his veins. Who did he think he was, forcing himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t interested in him? And it was obvious that Emma wasn’t. He knew her too well not to be able to read her body language and interpret her facial expressions, even when she was trying to hide her true feelings.
‘Emma, are you okay?’ he asked, turning to check her face for bruises. But it seemed all that was bruised was her pride. At least that was what the flash of discomfiture in her eyes led him to believe.
‘I’m fine, thank you, Jack. I can handle this,’ she said, laying a gentle hand on his arm and giving him a supplicatory smile.
Unnerved by the prickle of sensation that rushed across his skin where she touched him, he shook the feeling off, putting it down to his shock at seeing her again mixed in with the tension of the situation. Nodding, he took a couple of steps backwards, allowing Jolyon to push himself upright, and watched with bitter distaste as the man brushed himself down with shaking hands and rolled back his portly shoulders.
‘I’d like you both to leave,’ Fitzherbert said, his voice firm, even if it did resonate with a top note of panic.
Jack turned to see Emma looking at Fitzherbert with a pleading expression, making him think that leaving was the last thing she wanted to do. Why on earth would she want to stay? Unless they were together as a couple?
The thought of that made him shudder. Surely she couldn’t have stooped so low as to have attached herself to a playboy like Fitzherbert. He knew she’d been brought up living the high life, was used to being taken care of by other people, but this was beyond the pale.
‘Jolyon, please, this is just a misunderstanding. Can we talk about it—?’
Fitzherbert held up a hand to halt her speech and shook his head slowly, his piggy eyes squinty and mean.
‘I don’t want to hear it, Emma. I want you to leave. Right now. The other girls can cover for you. From what I’ve seen tonight that’s already been happening anyway. Whenever I’ve looked for you, you’ve been skulking in the kitchen.’
‘I’ve been orchestrating the party from there, Jolyon—’
He held up his hand higher, his palm only inches away from her face.
Jack experienced a low throb of anger at the condescension of the act, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t think Emma would appreciate him butting in right now. He’d let her handle this.
For now.
‘Didn’t you hear me, Emma? You’re fired!’ There was no mistaking Fitzherbert’s tone now. Even though he was drunk, his conviction was clear.
Fired? So she was working for him? Jack found this revelation even more shocking than the idea that they’d been a couple.
She went to argue, but Fitzherbert shouted over her.
‘I specifically requested the agency find me a housekeeper that wasn’t married so there wouldn’t be any difficulties with priorities. I need someone who can work late into the evening or on short notice without having to check with a partner first. I’ve been burned by problems like that before.’
He glanced at