“He made his choice to leave you and return home,” Lady Rothburne said, her words striking like a barb in Emily’s heart. “As far as London society is concerned, you trapped him into marriage, and he wants nothing to do with you. If you try to claim differently, you will be branded as a liar. No one will take your word against ours. You should remain in the countryside where you belong.”

The marchioness closed the door to the carriage, leaving her behind. Emily felt as though she’d taken a blow to her stomach. What had happened to turn Lady Rothburne against her?

You don’t belong here. They won’t ever accept you.

Did Stephen feel the same way? She thought of the last time she’d seen him when he’d sneaked inside her room. Her body warmed at the memory of the way he’d made love to her.

No. She couldn’t believe that his actions were a lie. He had to feel something for her. And marquess or not, she wasn’t about to let go of her husband without a fight.

Emily strode up the stone steps to Rothburne House, the packages of shoes in her arms. Rapping sharply on the door, she waited.

Phillips nearly closed the door in her face when he saw who it was. Emily trapped her hand in the door frame. “I am here to see my husband, the earl. He will be most displeased if I am denied entrance.”

“I have orders from Lord Rothburne—”

“Is the marquess receiving calls at the moment?” She cut him off, not caring what his orders were.

The footman hesitated. “That is not your concern.”

“In that case, I assume he’s not here.” Without waiting for permission, Emily forced her way across the threshold. “You risk your position if you deny me the right to see my husband.”

“I’ll lose my position if the marquess finds out,” Phillips muttered, but he didn’t stop her. “You may await the earl in the drawing room.”

He led her to a room decorated in shades of sea green and lilac. Gleaming white crown molding framed the window, and a rich burgundy Grecian sofa rested in front of it. Porcelain figurines stood here and there, while a row of porcelain plates adorned the fireplace mantel.

Emily handed him the packages meant for Stephen. “See to it that Lord Whitmore receives these.”

Phillips bowed and took the parcels away. Afterwards, she sat, folding her hands in her lap. She tried to don a calm presence of mind. With each passing minute, she longed to pace the room. Where was Stephen? Would he refuse to see her?

The sound of movement drew her attention. Anger punctuated the earl’s stride, fury lined in every muscle of his frame. Callous gray eyes incinerated her with the full force of his wrath.