“I don’t want to go,” she said quietly. “Nigel never did anything for us while we were struggling to keep the estate running. Why would he help us now?”

“He’s old, Emily. He admitted that he wanted to make up for what happened years ago.”

“I don’t like it. And I don’t want you taking the children, either.”

“The will states—”

“Hang the will. If you try to take them, I’ll find a way to stop you.”

“How? By sabotaging the carriage?” The flicker of interest in her eyes made him wish he hadn’t made the sardonic remark.

“I will do whatever it takes.” And with that, she left his bedchamber and stormed off to the adjoining room.

Emily couldn’t breathe with the suffocating fury infusing her. Sleeping was utterly impossible. If Stephen thought he was going to take the children from her, then he was sorely mistaken.

She paced the floors of her room, trying to think. What could she do? She dismissed the idea of tampering with the carriage, for that would only hurt the children.

In the looking glass, she caught a glimpse of herself. Her pale face appeared haunted and drawn. Blonde hair tumbled about her shoulders, looking desperately in need of attention. Raising her palms to her cheeks, she realized she would make any man run in horror. Simply dreadful.

After removing the pins, she began to brush her hair. She had to stop Stephen from leaving the house. Somehow, some way. If he couldn’t leave, then he couldn’t take the children.

Would seducing him change his mind? She knew a woman could control a man with her body. Emily glanced down at her own form, doubtful that she could do the same.

Yet, she didn’t rule out the possibility. Her skin prickled at the thought.

She pulled on her wrapper and padded downstairs to the kitchen. The scullery maids were sleeping in a corner of the room, and Emily tried not to awaken them while she made herself a cup of tea. The scent of burning coal mingled with the faint aromas from the evening meal. The large wooden table held knife scars where the servants had sliced vegetables.

As she rubbed her cold feet near the stove, an idea formed. There wasn’t much time. But it might work.

She opened a drawer and searched for the sharpest knife she could find. This wouldn’t be easy. But then again, nothing worth doing was easy. She lifted the knife and headed upstairs to Stephen’s bedchamber.

The next morning, Stephen did not wait for his valet to help him dress. He’d slept poorly that night, wishing he could have coaxed Emily to go with him to Nigel’s residence.

He pulled on a shirt and waistcoat, fumbling with the buttons in the darkness. When at last he was fully dressed, he reached for his riding boots and slid them on.