Her mouth dropped open. “I shall never…” she sputtered.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Never?” he asked. “More’s the pity.”

She glared at him. “If you don’t mind, I wish to get dressed.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said with a lazy drawl. “Feel free to do whatever you need to do while we talk.”

She stiffened. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, but we do. Your ridin’ lessons, for one.” He tossed a previously unnoticed package on the bed. “Your ridin’ outfit,” he said. “Mrs. Buttonwood was as good as her word. I’ll meet you at the stables first thing in the mornin’, and we’ll get started. Be ready.”

“And if I’m not?”

“If’n you can’t live up to your side of the bargain, then I shall be equally remiss in mine. In which case, you can say goodbye to your marital privileges.”

She stared at him. “My what?”

“As my wife, you’re entitled to my full support, and that includes an allowance. I’m sure you’ll find it quite generous.”

Seeming to assume the matter settled, he walked across the room with long, easy strides. Irritated that her circumstances made her dependent on him, she kicked a slipper across the room.

Stopping at the entrance to his personal room, he tossed a look over his shoulder. His dark, smoldering eyes glanced at the slipper before meeting her gaze.

“Tomorrow, after your lesson, we’ll discuss how to get you to town. You’ll need some decent foot leather and”—he glanced at her feathered French hat on the dresser—“a more practical conk cover.” He gave a slight nod. “Good night.” Without waiting for a response, he ducked through the curtains leading into the tiny anteroom.

No door separated the two rooms, only curtains. Thin black curtains. That meant he could pop into her room any time he downright pleased and without so much as a warning.

Forcing herself to breathe, Emily pressed her hands against her heaving chest. Never had she met a haughtier, more conceited and arrogant man. Ohhh. Of all the men she could have married, why, oh why did it have to be Chase McKnight?

The thought of having to put up with his condescending attitude for a year left her feeling bereft. Not even his promise of a generous allowance made the situation easier to bear.

“You can get dressed now, Mrs. McKnight,” he called from behind the curtains. “I won’t look.”

Seething, she reached on the bed for her linen nightgown. “You can look all you want, Mr. McKnight, but you won’t see a thing!” With that, she turned off the gas lamp, throwing the room into total darkness.

She quickly donned her nightgown and tried to ignore the warm chuckle floating from the other room.

* * *

Chase lay on the small cot, staring at the dark ceiling. He wished he could have arranged for better sleeping accommodations, but that would have aroused Cookie or his housekeeper’s suspicion. His father’s will specifically stated that the marriage had to be real.