After they arrived, the butler Farnsworth barely concealed his horror at her attire, though he didn’t speak a word to Lord Whitmore. It didn’t take long for her to be parted from the earl, escorted by servants to one of the guest rooms. One maid took away her tarlatan gown and replaced it with a gown owned by Stephen’s younger sister Hannah. The creamy muslin was printed with tiny violets, trimmed with purple ribbon. It was a gown meant for a younger girl, but since Emily had gone so long without decent food, it fit.

She kept her old shoes, for Lady Hannah’s feet were far smaller than her own. The worn soles were a reminder that, no matter how they might try to cover up her poverty, she was still the same underneath it all.

Oh, Lord help her, it was so tempting to stay here. The warmth of his home, the tray of food he’d had delivered to her room… Even now, the earl had been nothing but kind to her.

A lump caught in her throat, for she truly had no way to return the favors he’d given. She needed to speak with Whitmore, to even the score between them. With the help of a maid, she found the stairs and went in search of him. Farnsworth was standing in the foyer, looking disgruntled at her arrival.

“The earl is otherwise occupied,” he said stiffly. “But you may await him in the drawing room.” With a glance at her thin appearance, the butler added, “I’ll see to it that you have suitable refreshments.”

After he’d gone, Emily explored the small drawing room. The walls were papered, printed with hummingbirds and roses. A rich burgundy sofa was placed near the fire, and she instinctively moved toward the hearth.

The sound of the doors closing told her that Whitmore had arrived at last. She tried to relax, to rid herself of her sudden nervousness. But with each step he drew closer, her body reacted with the memory of last night.

He didn’t kiss or touch her when he reached her side, but his proximity made her even more attuned to him. When she turned at last, she saw him wearing evening attire. His dark brown hair was combed, his cheeks shaven. She inhaled the light hint of sandalwood, repressing the urge to throw herself into his arms.

Her heart was already lost again. It hadn’t taken more than a single day for her to ignore all the warnings and reach back to him.

“You look lovely,” he said. “I hope the servants met all of your needs?”

Not all of them. She wanted to embrace him, to rest her cheek against his shirt and feel the warmth of his arms around her. But instead, she nodded.

“I’ve sent word to your brother and demanded that he return.” His steel eyes were emotionless. “I think it would be best.”