“I understand. Please forgive me for asking.” He coughed and then asked her for directions to the house.

Emily told him the way and within minutes, they had arrived. Freddie’s expression darkened at the sight of her residence. “It is my fervent hope that your husband brings you the greatest happiness, Lady Whitmore. And if ever there is a time when you need a friend, please know that I am your most humble servant.”

He meant that, and so she exhaled a sigh of relief. “Mr. Reynolds, it really has been good to see you again.” She smiled and offered her hands.

Freddie gave her an answering smile, and as he helped her from the carriage, his gloved hands lingered upon hers. “The pleasure was mine, dear lady. I shall waste away, pining for the moment when I may look upon your face once more.” He gave a gallant bow, tipping his hat. Emily watched him ride away, the packages still clutched in her hand.

It really was not good form to laugh, though she longed to release the mirth bubbling inside her. Emily bit her lip instead while the footman opened the door for her. “My lady, may I take those for you?” he offered.

“I will see to them, thank you.”

Inside, she found the earl pacing the floors, a scowl lining his aristocratic face. “Are you all right? Where have you been?” Whitmore didn’t wait for a reply before he frowned at the condition of her clothing. “What happened? You look as though you’ve been rolling in the gutter.”

“Perhaps I have,” she retorted. “Forgive me while I change my gown.” His arrogant tone annoyed her. Did he think she’d fallen in the mud on purpose?

“Where is your maid?” Stephen asked. “She can prepare a bath for you.”

“She is busy taking tea with the queen.” Emily thrust her purchases into Stephen’s arms. “I took the footmen instead.” She pointed toward the kitchen and held out her packages. “Put these away, if you do not mind.”

Stephen handed her purchases to the waiting footman and followed her upstairs. And just why was he doing that?

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

He reached over and turned the doorknob. “We need to talk. Alone.”

Not in her bedchamber. Absolutely not. She remained outside the room. “We can talk downstairs in the parlor like most civilized people do.”

“I don’t want the servants listening to our conversation.”

The blood within her body grew cold. If he wanted to be alone with her, the conversation would not be a good one. He would annul the marriage. Or divorce her. All the breath seemed to leave her lungs at the thought of being alone again. She hadn’t forgotten the hard times they’d endured before.

Was there a way to convince him to…keep her as his wife? As she followed him up to his bedchamber, she fought against her instincts to flee. His hand captured hers, warm and imprisoning. She kept her eyes wide open to hold back the emotions threatening.