Emily’s cheeks flamed, but she stabbed a sausage with a fork and ate it. Then, she took a bite of the eggs, savoring the flavor. Oh, sweet saints above. She closed her eyes for just a second, enjoying the food. Perhaps with a bit more salt or even chopped pieces of bacon, the eggs would taste even better. Ideas for cooking receipts swarmed through her mind as she enjoyed the taste of Elysium.
The sound of a ringing bell broke through her reverie. Emily opened her eyes, but the earl gave no hint as to why he had summoned the parlor maid.
She pushed the plate toward him, but the awkwardness continued, making her wonder what else he wanted. “You may eat,” she said. “As you can see, I am still alive.”
He made no movement toward the food. He stared at her, his gaze questioning. His eyes were the soft gray of a London morning, his mouth firm and stoic. She had thought him to be a handsome man at one time. His features were strong, as though carved from stone.
He was a statue now. A man with no feelings, who never revealed a trace of what he was thinking.
Why had she ever let herself fall prey to his promises? The earl had rescued her from a crumbling, debt-ridden estate. He’d sworn that he’d find her wayward brother and pay off Daniel’s debts. She had been so infatuated, she hadn’t stopped to wonder why. And now, he was a stranger to her.
A knock sounded, but instead of a maid, the disapproving eyes of Farnsworth frowned upon her. Emily sensed the butler’s silent censure of her clothing and her mannerisms. She was supposed to behave like a countess, not a servant. Emily straightened, though it would do nothing to change Farnsworth’s opinion of her.
“Bring Lady Whitmore a plate of her own. And more tea,” Whitmore added.
“No, really, it’s all right,” she protested. “I don’t need a thing.”
His dark glare silenced her. When the butler had departed, the earl folded his arms across his chest. “We must come to terms on a few things. In this household, if I give an order for the sake of your well-being, you must obey.”
Did he think he was the King of England? “Must I, Your Majesty?”
He, apparently, found no amusement in her mockery. “Furthermore, when Farnsworth brings up the tray, you are to eat every morsel of food.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Now he truly was being overbearing. “And if I don’t?”
“You wish for the children to eat, do you not?”
At his implied threat that he would refuse them food, her fury exploded. “You wouldn’t dare starve innocent children on your own ridiculous whims.”
“They aren’t my children,” he pointed out. “And if you want me to house them, clothe them and feed them, you will take care of your own needs.”
Emily only crossed her arms and glared at him.
Stephen felt a slight trace of guilt for making the threat. Not too much, however. From the looks of it, Emily had not eaten a full meal in far too long. If a false implication would encourage her to eat, he had no qualms about exaggerating.
Her cheekbones stood out in a face so delicate, it could have been crystal. Her eyes were large, a haunting whisky brown. A stray tendril of golden hair rested against her cheek where a smudge of flour marred her skin.
“The children areyourresponsibility now,“ she said.
But he didn’t see it that way at all. He wasn’t a complete monster—it wasn’t as if he intended to turn them out on the streets. But they were her weakness, and he wouldn’t hesitate to exploit it, if it meant she began taking care of herself.
Farnsworth returned with the tray a few minutes later. Emily ate, her eyes blazing with murder. And yet, he could see the desperation in her carefully controlled appetite.
“I have some questions I want you to answer,” he began. “Starting with our wedding day.”
She gave her full attention to the eggs, behaving as though she hadn’t heard him. Stephen reached out and took her left hand. Upon her third finger rested the family heirloom ring. A large ruby glinted from the gold band. He rubbed his finger across the stone, her fingers cool within his palm.
“I don’t remember the marriage ceremony at all. I don’t even remember giving you this ring. For all I know, you stole it.”
She glared at him. “Do you want it back?”
“Possibly.” He stared at the ring, trying to piece the memory together. Emily struggled to pull her hand away, but he held it fast.
“Tell me about our wedding.”
“It snowed that day,” she whispered. The look upon her face was of a woman lost.
“Did we have feelings for one another?” he asked quietly.
