“Unless I already have,” she dared, offering him the cup.

His expression remained neutral, and he refused to take the cup. The daring look in his eyes seemed to reach down inside her. “You drink first.”

“I haven’t poisoned it,” she insisted. But when she met his gaze, the sudden intensity in his eyes unraveled her thoughts. She wanted to set the cup down and sit in his lap, feeling his arms around her.

But she couldn’t. Not if he didn’t remember her.

“Drink,” he commanded.

The arrogant tone of his voice annoyed her, but she obeyed. The hot tea tasted of rich spices with a heady aroma. “There. Are you satisfied now?”

“Not quite.” The earl set the newspaper aside and gestured toward the food. “I want you to taste everything that is on the tray.”

“I am not hungry.”

At those words, he sent her a look that said he knew she was lying. “You look as though you haven’t eaten properly in weeks. You’re too thin. I won’t have the servants believing I don’t feed my own wife. If that is indeed who you are.”

“I don’t care what the servants think of me. It’s none of their affair.”

“But I do. And if you wish to remain in this household along with the children, you will heed my wishes.”

There. The threat was out. He really could make things worse for her, forcing her and the children to leave. And then where would she be? She could not support the children or give them a home.

Emily’s cheeks flamed, but she stabbed a sausage with a fork and ate it. Then, she took a bite of the eggs, savoring the flavor. Oh, sweet saints above. She closed her eyes for just a second, enjoying the food. Perhaps with a bit more salt or even chopped pieces of bacon, the eggs would taste even better. Ideas for cooking receipts swarmed through her mind as she enjoyed the taste of Elysium.

The sound of a ringing bell broke through her reverie. Emily opened her eyes, but the earl gave no hint as to why he had summoned the parlor maid.

She pushed the plate toward him, but the awkwardness continued, making her wonder what else he wanted. “You may eat,” she said. “As you can see, I am still alive.”

He made no movement toward the food. He stared at her, his gaze questioning. His eyes were the soft gray of a London morning, his mouth firm and stoic. She had thought him to be a handsome man at one time. His features were strong, as though carved from stone.

He was a statue now. A man with no feelings, who never revealed a trace of what he was thinking.