When he reached Emily’s side, he noticed that her uncle was no longer with her. The idea of her being left alone appalled him.

“You’re here,” she said, her shoulders relaxing with relief. “I was so worried about you.”

“Of course I am here,” he murmured. “But you were supposed to remain at home for your own safety, my dear wife.”

“When have I begun taking orders I do not agree with?” she returned, smiling sweetly.

Stubborn woman. He overpowered her, pulling her toward a private alcove. “Come with me. We need to talk alone.”

“Where you can hide me away and pretend like we’re not married?” She sent him a pointed look.

Before he could say another word, Freddie Reynolds appeared. “Lady Whitmore, is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course.” Emily managed to smile, though Stephen noted her underlying anger.

Stephen had no intention of allowing the obsequious rodent near his wife. “Stay away from Lady Whitmore.”

Freddie did not back down but stared back with determination. He was not as tall and had to tilt his head back a little. “I believe Lady Whitmore is my partner for the next dance.”

Before Stephen could argue, a flock of matrons descended, surrounding him and pushing Emily back. His wife clasped the edges of her shawl, looking lost…and disappointed. She straightened her spine and stood outside the circle, quietly waiting. God, she was beautiful. The ivory gown complemented her fair skin, contrasting against the dark golden hair. He’d never seen her like this before, cool and confident. Like a countess. And she belonged to him.

The matrons continued speaking on top of one another. “My dear Lord Whitmore, what a pleasure—”

“I’ve heard the most amazing tale about you and Miss Barrow—”

“Why on earth would the two of you elope?”

Their mouths fairly dripped with anticipation. He, on the other hand, had better things to do than to answer their twittering questions.

“If you’ll pardon me,” he said, giving them a hard look, “I am going to have words with—”

His words broke off as he took a long look at Emily. She expected him to deny her. And he had every reason to ignore her, in order to keep her safe.

But damn it all, she had been cut down too many times. And he couldn’t let it happen again. Refusing to acknowledge her as his wife would not protect her. It would only slice another wound into their marriage.

“I need to have words with my wife.” He emphasized the last two words, making sure that everyone around them heard it.

Emily’s lips parted, but she did not speak. Instead, emotions welled up in her eyes.

Lady Thistlewaite looked as though she might swoon. Another matron fanned her face furiously, but Stephen did not remain to listen to the agitated women.

He closed the distance and raised her gloved hand to his lips. “Shall we, Lady Whitmore?”