She gripped her hands together so tightly her knuckles whitened. With a light shrug she met his gaze. “You said you wanted to take care of me, to help our family. And like a fool, I wanted to believe you loved me.”

He studied her for a moment. She looked so lost, so vulnerable. Behind her mask of bitterness, he caught a glimpse of the girl he’d once known. She’d been his best friend, long ago. And now she was his wife.

The lost three months felt like a lifetime.

“How did it happen?” he asked. Had he courted her? Was it an impulsive move, or had he been forced into it?

“It was just after St. Valentine’s Day,” she remarked with a hint of irony. “In Scotland. I have the marriage certificate if you want to see it.”

“Perhaps later.” Documents of that nature could still be forged. He preferred to send a trusted servant to see the parish records.

He suspected that he would not get an honest answer from her, not when she was so desperate to protect the children’s welfare. It must have been an arrangement between them, a bargain of sorts.

Emily tried to pull away again, but he refused to let her escape. She was so fragile within his grasp, like a glass about to shatter.

“Were there feelings between us?” he asked. He leaned in so close he could feel her breath on his face. If he moved his mouth to the side, it would graze her lips in a soft kiss. He waited for her to push at him, to curse him for touching her.

She gave him no answer. Instead, her body seemed to conform to his. Her hands rested upon his shoulders while he idly traced a path up her spine. The years seemed to fall away until she was once again the young girl he’d practiced kissing in a stable. Only now, he held a woman in his arms. A beautiful, hot-tempered woman who made him lose his sense of reason the moment he touched her.

He didn’t kiss her, though he wanted to. There were too many unanswered questions.

When he stepped backwards, Emily grasped her arms to shield herself. “Are you going to annul our marriage?”

The fear in her eyes made him hesitate. He wanted to say yes. Instead, he answered truthfully, “I don’t know yet.”

He traced the outline of her face with his thumb. “I am going to find out what happened to me, Emily,” he told her. “Stay here until I return from London.”

Her broken smile bothered him. “Where else could I go?”

“Sweet Christmas.” Christine Chesterfield, the Marchioness of Rothburne, covered her heart with her palm when she saw Stephen. He embraced his mother, and she squeezed him tightly just before she lightly boxed his ear.