A splinter of dismay caught at her heart, but she forced herself to agree. “You are right, of course.”

He’s changed his mind. He doesn’t want you to stay with him. You’re an inconvenience, nothing more.

She bit her lip hard to hold the tears back. The cool distance was back, the rational man who was completely in control of his fate.

He continued to speak, as though he weren’t breaking her heart all over again. “You may purchase a suitable wardrobe to replace what you’ve lost while you’re here.”

No. That’s not what I want at all. But instead she said, “That’s kind of you.”

He bowed and offered, “Make yourself at home here, until Hollingford arrives.”

And when he’d left the drawing room, she swiped at her wet cheeks and resisted the urge to throw something at the door.

Stephen stayed away from Emily for nearly a week to clear his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and God knew, he was letting his head be ruled by his body’s needs. Now that he’d taken her out of Hollingford House, he had to decide what to do with her. But somehow, asking her to become his mistress felt wrong.

During that time, he’d received daily letters from his mother. Blistering notes, reminding him of his duty to marry and demanding that he return. She’d even made an appointment for him to speak with the Archbishop, if he decided to wed by special license. And, in her last letter, she'd threatened to send Miss Harriet Hereford for a visit.

He’d had enough. Over the past few weeks, he’d been polite, simply ignoring his mother's wishes, but it was time to put a stop to it. Courtesy only went so far before a firm hand was necessary. He removed his grandmother’s ring from his waistcoat, setting it down upon the desk.

Stephen picked up a pen, intending to make it clear to his mother that he was not going to marry Miss Harriet Hereford or any other woman of his parents’ choosing.

As he began writing, the ruby ring caught the morning sunlight, flashing red and gold. No matter how he tried to envision the wife who would wear it one day, his obsession with Emily Barrow kept creeping to the forefront. He imagined her lying beneath him, her face enraptured with pleasure, her long legs wrapped around his waist.

She was the very last woman he’d ever imagined as his countess. His family would be appalled at the choice.

But, in marrying her, he could ensure that she never set foot in Hollingford House again. She would never have to worry about food or shelter, no longer dependent upon the whims of her brother. And Stephen wanted her to have that freedom.