didn’t know her any more. He’d broken promises and betrayed her with another woman. She couldn’t let go of that.
She blinked back the emotions threatening to spill over. Whitmore didn’t feel anything towards her any more, and she didn’t know if he ever would again.
‘Are you planning to set that down or continue staring at me?’
Her face flamed, but she managed to lower the tray. ‘Your breakfast, sire.’ She bobbed a false curtsy.
‘I would prefer “my lord”.’
Emily had meant the address as sarcasm, but clearly the Earl did not recognise it. Her temper flared. ‘Will there be anything else? Shall I bow down before you and lick your boots?’
‘Perhaps later.’ The interest in his voice made it sound as if he didn’t mind that idea at all. She whirled and marched towards the door.
‘I am not finished with you yet,’ he said. She sent him a look filled with venom, but his attention remained on The Times. He lifted a pair of spectacles to the bridge of his nose. She had never seen them before, never knew he wore them for reading. It reminded her that this was not a man who could be easily fooled.
Proper, stiff and steadfast in his beliefs, he had become every bit the shadow of his father, the Marquess. Her nerves coiled in her stomach at the thought.
‘Would you care for tea?’ she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.
He lowered the paper and regarded her. ‘Is it poisoned?’
His overbearing attitude made her consider dumping the pot over his head. ‘You won’t know that until you are dead, now, will you?’ She smiled sweetly and poured the tea into a china cup. ‘Milk and sugar?’
‘I drink mine black. There’s less chance of you adding something to it.’
‘Unless I already have,’ she dared, offering him the cup. Perhaps he’d choke on it.
His expression remained neutral, and he refused to take the cup. ‘You drink first.’
‘I haven’t poisoned it,’ she insisted.
‘Drink.’
The arrogant tone of his voice annoyed her, but she obeyed. The hot tea tasted of rich spices with a heady aroma. ‘There. Are you satisfied now?’
‘Not quite.’ The Earl set the newspaper aside and gestured toward the food. ‘I want you to taste everything that is on the tray.’
‘I am not hungry.’
At those words, he sent her a look that said he knew she was lying. ‘You look as though you haven’t eaten properly in weeks. You’re too thin. I won’t have the servants believing I don’t feed my own wife. If that’s what you are.’
‘I don’t care what they think.’
‘But I do. And if you wish to remain in this household along with the children, you will heed my wishes.’
There. The threat was out. He really could make things worse for her, forcing her and the children to leave. And then where would she be? She could not support the children, nor give them a home.
Emily’s cheeks flamed, but she stabbed a sausage with a fork. She wished it were one of his more delicate parts.
She took a bite of the eggs, savouring the flavor. Oh, sweet saints above. She closed her eyes for just a second, enjoying the food. Perhaps with a bit more salt or even chopped pieces of bacon, the eggs would taste even better. Ideas for cooking recipes swarmed through her mind as she enjoyed the taste of Elysium, courtesy of His Arrogance.
The sound of a ringing bell broke through her moment. Emily opened her eyes, but the Earl gave no hint as to why he had summoned the parlour maid.
‘I did not spit in your food.’
His eyes held not a trace of humour. ‘I never said you did.’
She pushed the plate towards him, but the awkwardness continued, making her wonder what else he wanted. ‘You may eat,’ she said. ‘As you can see, I am still alive.’
He made no movement towards the food. He stared at her, his gaze questioning. His eyes were the soft grey of a London morning, his mouth firm and stoic. She had thought him to be a handsome man at one time. His features were strong, as though carved from stone.
He was a statue now. A man with no feelings, who never revealed a trace of what he was thinking.
Why had she let herself fall prey to his promises? The Earl had rescued her from a crumbling, debtridden estate. He’d sworn that he’d find her wayward brother and pay off Daniel’s debts. She had been so infatuated, she hadn’t stopped to wonder why.
A knock sounded, but instead of a maid, the disapproving eyes of Farnsworth frowned down upon her. Emily sensed the butler’s silent censure of her clothing and her mannerisms. She was supposed to behave like a Countess, not a servant. Emily straightened, though it would do nothing to change Farnsworth’s opinion of her.
‘Bring Lady Whitmore a plate of her own. And more tea,’ Whitmore added.
‘No, really—I don’t need a thing.’
His dark glare silenced her. When the butler had departed, he folded his arms across his chest. ‘We must come to terms on a few things. I give the orders, and you are to obey them.’
Did he think he was the King of England? ‘Yes, your Majesty.’
He, apparently, found no amusement in her mockery. ‘Furthermore, when Farnsworth brings up the tray, you are to eat every morsel of food.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘You wish for the children to eat, do you not?’
At his implied threat that he would refuse them food, her fury exploded. ‘You wouldn’t dare starve innocent children on your own ridiculous whims.’
‘They aren’t my children,’ he pointed out. ‘And if you want me to house them, clothe them and feed them, you will obey.’
Stephen saw the look of fear in her eyes and felt a trace of guilt for making the threat. Not too much, however. From the looks of it, Emily had not eaten a full meal in far too long. If a false implication would encourage her to eat, he had no qualms about exaggerating.
Her cheekbones stood out in a face so delicate, it could have been crystal. Her eyes were large, a haunting whisky brown. A stray tendril of golden hair rested against her cheek where a smudge of flour marred her skin.
‘They are your responsibility,’ she said.
Farnsworth returned with the tray a few minutes later. Emily ate, her eyes blazing with murder. And yet, he could see the desperation in her carefully controlled appetite.
‘I have some questions I want you to answer,’ he began. ‘Starting with our wedding day.’
She
