CHAPTER THREE

      Emma woke obscenely early, just as she had every morning she’d ever spent in Field House. The moment the scullery maid opened her door to lay the fire she snapped out of her repose. She kept as still as she could, faking the even breaths of sleep as she listened to the sounds of intrusion. Sometimes, if she were lucky, she’d slip back into the arms of slumber, but more often she lay awake staring up at the patterns on the bed canopy.

      It took a moment to realise that Lyle was not lying safe beside her. At home, he never strayed into her bedchamber, but in her father’s house there were appearances to maintain, as well as a shortage of rooms. She’d learned to tolerate Lyle’s presence in the bed. A line of pillows down the centre of the mattress formed a clear dividing line. She couldn’t have him touch her, no matter how much she cared for him, not even in sleep.

      Emma sat up. ‘Where is Mr Langley?’ she asked the dishevelled maid, who in her shock rubbed soot down the front of her homespun.

      ‘I’m sorry, milady. I don’t know.’

      ‘I’m right here, of course.’ Lyle sauntered into the room, still in his dress coat of the night before, carrying his waistcoat. At some point in the intervening hours he’d lost his cravat. The collar of his shirt hung open, revealing slivers of the fair skin beneath. He bore the glazed look of someone who has been awake too long, drunk too much or been kissed too hard. In Lyle’s case, she suspected all three. Something the marks around his neck seemed to confirm.

      Emma lowered her gaze. Her lips pressed tight together. She hardly needed to ask where he’d been or even who with. It made her stomach churn imagining Lord Darleston kissing Lyle so hard that he’d left such marks. ‘Leave us,’ she barked at the scullery maid, who gathered her things and fled.

      ‘Do we have something to talk about?’ Lyle wandered over to the sideboard and began removing his cufflinks and collar studs.

      ‘Where have you been? Have you slept?’

      ‘You know where I’ve been. Do we need to discuss it? And yes, thank you for asking, I have slept. Although I still require a good bit more.’ His coat and waistcoat followed the cufflinks, forming a jumbled heap upon the floor. Emma watched enraptured as he stepped out of his evening breeches and folded them over a chair back. Lyle was all straight lines. His body fascinated her in much the same way that she sometimes became entranced by a picture. She appreciated the aesthetic quality, but there was really no need to touch.

      He strode over to the bed, crushed shirt-tails dangling around his thighs and the neck open to his breastbone, so that the pale-gold hairs upon his chest were clearly visible. Up close the bruises on his neck were a vivid mix of crimson and purple. She half expected to see teeth-marks too. Lyle made no attempt to hide them.

      ‘I know the rules. I promise you, we were discreet.’ He destroyed the wall of pillows, casting all save one cushion onto the floor. The last he plumped instead and settled against.

      She couldn’t stay with him like this, with nothing between them but air and cold sheet.

      ‘Who was it?’ she asked quietly. There were things she instinctively knew about Lyle that only marriage exposed. She knew when he’d taken a lover and she knew when he’d drunk too much, without the need for questions or empirical evidence. Tonight she wanted actual confirmation, even though she knew it would smart to hear it. ‘Who?’

      Please say it was the footman or Aiken or anyone else. She clung tight to the slender thread of hope.

      ‘I thought we had an agreement that there was no problem with my choices. Why is it so important to know? What do you hope to learn? I wasn’t implying anything by removing the pillows. I just find it ridiculous that we have to sleep as though there are three of us in the bed.’

      ‘Don’t change the subject.’

      Lyle looked at her, his lips slightly parted as if about to speak. Instead, he smoothed a hand over the bedclothes so that he banished the wrinkles in the eiderdown. He frowned. ‘Why are we squabbling?

      They weren’t normally enemies over his infidelities – heavens, rather that than him seeking satisfaction from her – so she supposed it must seem odd to him that she was making an issue of it now.

      ‘Was it … was it Darleston? You know one another of old, don’t you? I just thought … I guessed after your greeting –’

       Oh, why did it have to be him? The only man she’d ever felt even the faintest connection with. Though hell knows why she felt it. They had nothing in common.

      Lyle’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

      ‘Yes, Darleston and I know one another. Why is it important?’ The bed groaned as he made a half-hearted attempt to tug the sheet over his shoulders. ‘Why the sudden interest in my doings? You’ve never taken any interest in my lovers before.’

      ‘No reason.’ She couldn’t confess. What was there, really, to confess to? She wasn’t about to act upon the curious tingle she felt inside when gazing at Lord Darleston. ‘I just thought it prudent to know. I wouldn’t want to intrude upon anything.’

      Lyle rolled over and gave her a hard stare. His nostrils flared slightly, causing Emma’s heart to thud. What if he suspected her affection? He might treat her differently if he saw she had intentions on another man. He might not be quite so amenable. God forbid, he might actually demand his conjugal rights.

      ‘Isn’t he a little notorious? I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.’

      ‘I won’t. Not as long as you’re with me.’ He reached out a hand to her, as if he meant to