She whirled with the rolling pin, touching her hand to her throat. “Oh, heavens, you scared me.” Just as quickly, she stepped away and tried to set the utensil down. “I was just…making something for breakfast. Some fried dough dipped in sugar.”
“Breakfast is another three hours away, at least.” He saw her wipe the tears away, her face turning red.
She returned her attention to the dough, shaping it into a ball to rise. “I know.” After she placed the dough in a bowl and covered it with a cloth, she braved a smile. “You should go back to bed.”
“So should you.”
She wiped her floured hands upon the apron. “Oh, I will. As soon as this is done.”
Which wouldn’t be until dawn, he guessed, judging from the hours it would take for the dough to rise twice. She was clearly avoiding him.
“Emily, we should talk.”
She turned away from him. “About what? It was my fault that any of this happened,” she pointed out. “You aren’t to blame.”
But he was. If he’d had any willpower at all, he’d have left her alone and slept upon the sofa. He moved to stand in front of her. “As soon as my coachman arrives, we’re returning to Falkirk. We’ll decide what’s to be done then.”
Her expression turned guarded. “What’s to be done?” She gripped her arms, rubbing them as though she were cold again. “There’s nothing to be done, Whitmore. You’ve no obligation to me at all.” With a brittle laugh, she added, “It isn’t as though you could marry me. We both know that.”
“Do we?” He reached for her waist, his palm against her spine. “You’re a baron’s daughter. And if memory serves, I just took away your chances of making a successful marriage.”
“I was already ruined, Whitmore. No decent man in London would have me, not after…my father died.” She tried to pull away, but he refused to release her.
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Though he wanted to reassure her, she put her hands up and continued, “You’ll go back to Falkirk, and I’ll stay here until Daniel comes. I will be all right.” Despite her words, the tears gleamed in her eyes.
“Emily, I’m going to take care of you.” He would find a way to give her the sort of life she deserved. His mind turned over different ways of taking care of her, but the truth was, he didn't want to let her go.
“I don’t need you,” she snapped. “I can take care of myself. And for God’s sake, I don’t want your pity. I seduced you, and I won’t feel sorry for it.”
He reached out to caress the curve of her cheek. “I’m not sorry for it, either. But we have to decide on your future and where you’ll live.”
“It’s my decision, not yours. And I’ve chosen to live here.”
Damn her for her stubbornness. “If you think I’m going to let you live like a servant, you’re wrong.”
“Stop trying to control my life, Whitmore. You, of all men, ought to understand what it’s like to have someone forcing your every move. I won’t allow it.”
The pointed reminder wasn’t lost on him. But he wasn’t behaving like his autocratic family. This was about taking care of Emily, ensuring her safety.
She tried to break free of his embrace, but he held her fast. The top button of her gown hung open, baring her throat to him. The glimpse of skin made him hungry to taste, to tantalize her. He didn’t want anger between them, not after all that had transpired.
He held her wrists captive while he bent forward and kissed her neck. As soon as his mouth touched the spot, her posture stiffened. “What are you doing, Whitmore?”
“Distracting you. I find that I’m hungrier than I’d thought.” To emphasize his words, he nipped at her throat, moving closer to her mouth.
“I—I suppose I could find more biscuits, if you—”
He cut her off with the kiss, taking what he wanted most. Her mouth, her lips…her tongue. He kissed her deeply, and she responded as though she didn’t want their night to end. And neither did he. Desire flared through him once again.
Emily wound both arms around his neck, kissing him with the reckless abandon he loved about her. He unbuttoned the rest of her gown, pleased to find that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. Baring her breast, he leaned in to suckle the tip. She gasped and reached beneath his shirt to touch his chest. Nipping her gently, he turned his attention to the other breast.
She consumed him, making him lose sight of every good intention. He wanted her, and not just for this night. He sensed that even if they had a thousand nights together, he’d never be satiated.
He tasted and stroked, his tongue moving over the soft nipple. Her fingers dug into his scalp, and when he slid his hands up her skirts, he found her wet between her thighs. The need to take her, to claim her body with his, drove out all rational arguments. He guided her toward the wall, resting her palms upon it. “Stand here, Miss Barrow. I’m going to ravish you.”
