One evening, he confronted her as she prepared to retire. "Emma," he said abruptly. "You have spent a considerable amount of time with Mr. Harrow."
She froze. "We meet by chance," she replied honestly. "He is a neighbor."
Thomas's jaw tightened. "He is also a man known for seeking affection wherever he finds it."
"I assure you," Emma said evenly, "I have given him no reason to imagine such affection."
Thomas stared at her for a long, unreadable moment. "See that you do not," he said at last.
She felt heat rise in her cheeks, not from guilt, but from hurt pride. "Because it would reflect poorly on you?" she asked quietly.
"Because you are my wife," he answered, more sharply than intended. The words struck her like a blow and warmed her unexpectedly. But then he continued, "And because if Camden suspects discord between us, he will use it to undermine our marriage. We cannot afford impropriety."
Her brief flicker of hope extinguished instantly. Of course. Always duty, always practicality, never desire, never love.
Chapter 3: Secrets of the Heart
Weeks passed, and Emma's interactions with Mr. Harrow became the subject of increasing speculation. Though she remained entirely proper, village gossip saw opportunity; and Thomas, who had intended their marriage to be temporary, found himself restless, irritable, and inexplicably possessive.
One night, returning late from estate meetings, he saw candlelight beneath Emma's parlor door. He hesitated, then knocked.
"Come in," she called softly.
She sat on a small sofa, a book open on her lap. Her hair was down, loosely braided, and her feet were tucked beneath her. She looked soft, lovely, entirely unguarded.
"Thomas," she said in surprise. "I did not expect you."