The memory faded, and Stephen stood from the chair. Quietly, he opened the adjoining door to his wife’s bedchamber. She had extinguished the candle, and the room was too dark for shadows.

“Emily?” he whispered.

There was no reply. But really, what had he been expecting? She didn’t want him to touch her, that was clear.

What he didn’t know was whether or not to remain married to her. The simplest solution was to let her go. She deserved a second chance at happiness.

She intrigued him in a way no woman had before. He couldn’t reconcile the two parts of her—the headstrong adolescent girl and the fiercely protective woman who was terrified of society.

And then, it struck him why. She hadn’t received the necessary training a baron’s daughter deserved. She hadn’t had the years of dancing lessons and etiquette. From her own mouth, she’d confessed her reluctance to embarrass him in public.

What if he gave her what she’d been missing? Gowns and jewels, and the tutors she needed. Perhaps it would atone for what he’d done.

In the morning, he would send word to the dressmaker’s and the jeweler’s that Emily was to be outfitted with the finest clothing and pearls to befit her rank.

And as an afterthought, he decided to order new shoes for Royce and clothing for the baby.

Wrenching tears broke from her, and Emily longed to throw something at the wall. It was just like before. Stephen had driven her into wild need, her body aching to receive him.

If there was any way to leave London, to hide elsewhere, she’d depart immediately. Being here with Whitmore only dredged up all the feelings she’d tried to bury.

He wanted to share her bed. She knew it, and even now, she wanted to feel his body against hers. But it would be wrong. To him, it would be nothing more than an act of passion. While to her, it would reopen the past.

More than ever, she wished she’d never married him. She hadn’t thought about the future, of what it would mean to be a countess. She would have to host parties, to assume the duties of being his wife. His position demanded more than she could manage.

She didn’t want to leave him, though it was the right thing to do. He deserved a better wife than she could be. With a sigh, she finished undressing and donned a nightgown.

And tried not to think of her husband in the next room.

Chapter Seven

The first flowers arrived on Monday. Stephen disregarded the bouquet of yellow tulips. On Tuesday, lilies of the valley were delivered. Wednesday and Thursday brought daisies and lilacs. By Friday, a dozen roses had arrived in every shade from the most delicate pink to the deepest ruby red.

They weren’t from him.