Would he expect her to share his bed tonight? She stiffened, wanting to avoid it for as long as possible. How could she share the most intimate act with him after all that had happened? Memories of his kiss, of the way he’d laid her down like a cherished bride, pulled at her heart. He’d made love to her, joining their bodies until she lost herself.

It was how she felt now. Lost.

He’d come riding into her life, and it had taken only days for Stephen to rekindle the feelings she’d buried. Didn’t every girl want to believe in fairy tales? He’d made one happen for her.

But it had been a lie. And the only way to shield her heart was to stay as far away from him as possible.

Whitmore held out his hand to her. She forced herself to take it, even though she didn’t want to. His palm warmed hers, and he led her into the parlor where he had lit a small fire.

The flames warmed the room, and Emily stood before the hearth, drying her clothes. Stephen sat down in a chair, watching her. His intense gaze embarrassed her.

“Why are you staring at me?” She held herself erect, gripping her arms until her fingers left marks on the skin.

“I’m wondering if we really are married.” He leaned forward to watch her. His hair still held droplets of rain, and one trickled down his cheek toward a sensual mouth. She tried not to remember the tantalizing darkness of his kiss.

“Of course we are married.” She kept her eyes upon him, though his intense look made her skin flush.

He stood and walked behind her to close the door. Her damp clothes chafed against her skin, making her even more uncomfortable. Alone in the darkness with only the glowing coals upon the fire and a single candle, she felt more vulnerable than ever before.

“Do you have any other living relations?” he asked. “If I were not your husband, who would look after you and the children?”

“My uncle. He lives in India.” Tension hovered, and with every second that passed, she grew more nervous. Why was he asking this? Was he planning to send them away?

His grey eyes turned thoughtful. “I’ve sent word to the local parishes across the Scottish border for the evidence of our marriage. If you have lied to me—“

“I haven’t.”

Despite her claims, he would not accept the truth. She doubted if even the scrawled signature upon the marriage certificate would satisfy him.

His gaze grew heated, and he lifted her hand to his cheek. The rough edge of his face needled her fingers. “Did I share your bed?”

She fumbled for a reason to keep him from touching her. If he did, it would only break her heart. “You left me a week after our wedding. We—we never consummated the marriage.”