For a long moment, he stared at the ceiling, not speaking a single word. Then, at last, he rolled over and turned his back to her.

Emily curled her hands into a fist, wishing she’d never let him back into her heart.

Chapter Thirteen

Upon their arrival at the house, Farnsworth mumbled apologies. “My lord, the other servants arrived only a few hours ago. I am so terribly sorry. I fear your rooms may not be ready yet.”

“Then prepare them now. Put my wife’s belongings with mine.”

Emily bristled at his order. Her face burned at the thought of their stolen night at the inn and her refusal to lie with him. “I would prefer to sleep in my own bedchamber.”

Stephen’s gaze fixed upon hers in a direct challenge. But he voiced his command to Farnsworth. “You heard my orders.”

Emily’s posture stiffened. So, he was angry. Nevertheless, she didn’t regret her decision. Too much was unsettled between them. There would be time to argue about this later.

Victoria awoke and started whining, her fists rubbing her eyes. Royce said nothing, hanging back behind her skirts. “Farnsworth, please prepare the children’s rooms first,” Emily instructed. Both children had reached the point of exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?” she asked Royce. They had eaten supper at a village hours ago, and the boy shook his head.

“Then let’s get the two of you off to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Royce’s face grew worried, and he stopped to tug at Farnsworth’s sleeve. “Did my father come for me while I was gone?”

The butler blinked. “I beg your pardon?” He sent Emily and Stephen a questioning look. She shook her head, sending him a silent warning.

“Royce, it’s late. We’ve discussed this before.”

“He wouldn’t leave us here without coming to get us. I know he wouldn’t.”

She didn’t know what to say. Though she had told him that Daniel was never coming back, her nephew still remained in denial.

Stephen took the boy’s hand in his. “It is time for bed, Royce.”

The boy fought him, kicking Stephen in the shins. “You cannot tell me what to do. You’re not my father!”

“Your father is dead,” Stephen said softly. Emily winced at his direct tone, but there was nothing to be done. “And you dishonor his memory with your temper tantrum.”

The boy let out an infuriated roar, pounding his fists upon the earl’s shoulder. “Let go of me! I don’t want to go to bed.”

Stephen ignored him. To Emily, he directed, “I shall look after him. See to the baby, if you would.”

She wanted desperately to interfere. Would he give the boy a whipping for his tantrum? The determined expression on Stephen’s face suggested that he would brook no further arguments.