Exactly what was going on? Had his wife entertained gentlemen callers while he was visiting his family? He wanted to find the fop who’d sent them and wrap the long-stemmed roses around the gentleman’s neck.

He discovered Emily arranging the blooms in the parlor. She wore the dress he hated, the black one with the frayed hem. Why she insisted on wearing the Dress of Martyrdom when he’d presented her with a dozen dresses in every color, he didn’t know. At the very least she could wear a gown that didn’t look as though it had been dragged through the ashes.

“Who sent these flowers?” he asked.

Her cheeks flushed. “Freddie—I mean, Mr. Reynolds did.”

Freddie Reynolds? Damn it all, now what was that little weasel doing in London? He’d never liked Reynolds, even when his father had invited their family to attend a small gathering or an evening supper.

Short of stature, and dressed like a dandy, Reynolds was the sort of man to charm the ladies with the most inane conversations about hothouse flowers and the latest fashions.

Stephen glanced at one of the cards.

Your eyes are like the bluest ocean,

Your lips as red as my heart’s blood

Which I would gladly shed

If I could but walk upon the same grains of sand

Tread upon by your feet.

“Good God. What is this?” he demanded. The verse held some of the most ridiculous lines he’d ever read.

“Poetry, I believe.” Emily sniffed one of the red roses before arranging it with the lilies.

“Your eyes aren’t blue. They’re brown,” he pointed out. “He’s got it all wrong. And what’s this bit about sand? We’re in London, not the Sahara.”

Had his wife lost her mind? He had sent her pearls and the finest ballroom attire that she still hadn’t worn. But when Freddie Reynolds sent her flowers, she was beaming and snipping the stems?

Not likely.

“You should not accept flowers from other gentlemen.” Stephen grabbed the bouquet of roses and tossed them in the hearth. When the blossoms scattered with a soft thump, he felt better.

She sighed. “I told him I had married you. But I’ve known Freddie for years, and he’s not a man who abandons a courtship easily. I suppose you don’t remember him from when we grew up together.”

“I remember him well enough, and if he doesn’t cease this nonsense, I’ll shove the damned roses down his throat.”

Emily shrugged. “It’s harmless, really. He told me…what was it? He is adoring me from afar.”

“What utter rubbish.”

“I think it is rather flattering, actually. Like an unrequited lover, pining for me.” She picked up another bloom and adjusted it in the vase. “And I suppose I should keep my options open.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“In case you divorce me and I decide to remarry.”