Why had she ever let herself fall prey to his promises? The earl had rescued her from a crumbling, debt-ridden estate. He’d sworn that he’d find her wayward brother and pay off Daniel’s debts. She had been so infatuated, she hadn’t stopped to wonder why. And now, he was a stranger to her.

A knock sounded, but instead of a maid, the disapproving eyes of Farnsworth frowned upon her. Emily sensed the butler’s silent censure of her clothing and her mannerisms. She was supposed to behave like a countess, not a servant. Emily straightened, though it would do nothing to change Farnsworth’s opinion of her.

“Bring Lady Whitmore a plate of her own. And more tea,” Whitmore added.

“No, really, it’s all right,” she protested. “I don’t need a thing.”

His dark glare silenced her. When the butler had departed, the earl folded his arms across his chest. “We must come to terms on a few things. In this household, if I give an order for the sake of your well-being, you must obey.”

Did he think he was the King of England? “Must I, Your Majesty?”

He, apparently, found no amusement in her mockery. “Furthermore, when Farnsworth brings up the tray, you are to eat every morsel of food.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Now he truly was being overbearing. “And if I don’t?”

“You wish for the children to eat, do you not?”

At his implied threat that he would refuse them food, her fury exploded. “You wouldn’t dare starve innocent children on your own ridiculous whims.”

“They aren’t my children,” he pointed out. “And if you want me to house them, clothe them and feed them, you will take care of your own needs.”

Emily only crossed her arms and glared at him.

Stephen felt a slight trace of guilt for making the threat. Not too much, however. From the looks of it, Emily had not eaten a full meal in far too long. If a false implication would encourage her to eat, he had no qualms about exaggerating.

Her cheekbones stood out in a face so delicate, it could have been crystal. Her eyes were large, a haunting whisky brown. A stray tendril of golden hair rested against her cheek where a smudge of flour marred her skin.

“The children are your responsibility now,“ she said.

But he didn’t see it that way at all. He wasn’t a complete monster—it wasn’t as if he intended to turn them out on the streets. But they were her weakness, and he wouldn’t hesitate to exploit it, if it meant she began taking care of herself.

Farnsworth returned with the tray a few minutes later. Emily ate, her eyes blazing with murder. And yet, he could see the desperation in her carefully controlled appetite.

“I have some questions I want you to answer,” he began. “Starting with our wedding day.”