“Breakfast is another three hours away, at least.” He saw her wipe the tears away, her face turning red.

She returned her attention to the dough, shaping it into a ball to rise. “I know.” After she placed the dough in a bowl and covered it with a cloth, she braved a smile. “You should go back to bed.”

“So should you.”

She wiped her floured hands upon the apron. “Oh, I will. As soon as this is done.”

Which wouldn’t be until dawn, he guessed, judging from the hours it would take for the dough to rise twice. She was clearly avoiding him.

“Emily, we should talk.”

She turned away from him. “About what? It was my fault that any of this happened,” she pointed out. “You aren’t to blame.”

But he was. If he’d had any willpower at all, he’d have left her alone and slept upon the sofa. He moved to stand in front of her. “As soon as my coachman arrives, we’re returning to Falkirk. We’ll decide what’s to be done then.”

Her expression turned guarded. “What’s to be done?” She gripped her arms, rubbing them as though she were cold again. “There’s nothing to be done, Whitmore. You’ve no obligation to me at all.” With a brittle laugh, she added, “It isn’t as though you could marry me. We both know that.”

“Do we?” He reached for her waist, his palm against her spine. “You’re a baron’s daughter. And if memory serves, I just took away your chances of making a successful marriage.”

“I was already ruined, Whitmore. No decent man in London would have me, not after…my father died.” She tried to pull away, but he refused to release her.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

Though he wanted to reassure her, she put her hands up and continued, “You’ll go back to Falkirk, and I’ll stay here until Daniel comes. I will be all right.” Despite her words, the tears gleamed in her eyes.

“Emily, I’m going to take care of you.” He would find a way to give her the sort of life she deserved. His mind turned over different ways of taking care of her, but the truth was, he didn't want to let her go.

“I don’t need you,” she snapped. “I can take care of myself. And for God’s sake, I don’t want your pity. I seduced you, and I won’t feel sorry for it.”

He reached out to caress the curve of her cheek. “I’m not sorry for it, either. But we have to decide on your future and where you’ll live.”

“It’s my decision, not yours. And I’ve chosen to live here.”

Damn her for her stubbornness. “If you think I’m going to let you live like a servant, you’re wrong.”