"Lady Denmore, what is wrong?"
She snapped her eyes up from the triangle of naked chest that she hadn't meant to stare at. "I. . . I need your help, Lancaster."
He nodded, an impatient jerk of his head. "Of course. Are you in trouble? In danger?"
"No, I . . ." Her nerves were taut, straining, so Emma jumped to her feet. "I'm sorry to come at such an ungodly hour."
"For God's sake, Lady Denmore, will you only tell me what is wrong?"
She didn't know how to start. "Please call me Emma."
"Emma." He didn't make her name a caress as Hart did. It was more of a growl really, a threat of violent impatience.
She was staring at his chest again and noticed the strange roughness of a scar against his neck. The whole width of his neck. When she frowned, Lancaster's hands rose to fasten the buttons of his shirt, and he scowled when she met his eyes.
"I need help," she finally said. She paced over to the small hearth and the fire the maid had started. When she glanced back, Lancaster was standing with hands on hips, still scowling. She had no choice. "Someone . . . a man from Cheshire has followed me."
"Followed you?"
"He was . . . He developed an interest in me even before my husband's death. After Lord Denmore died, he became . . . intent. He would not leave me be, he insisted that he loved me and we must marry. He would not accept my refusal. And then he began to imagine things."
Lancaster shook his head. "I don't understand."
Emma bit the inside of her lip and called up the lies she'd created. "He began to speak as if I'd never been married. He claimed that Lord Denmore had not been my husband. I grew frightened. I decided to move to London and put him and my husband's death behind me. But he has followed me here."
"You saw him?"
"Yes." Emma did not have to feign her distress as she pressed a hand to her stomach. "I came home last night and found him in my bedroom. Waiting."
Sharp alarm sparked in his eyes. "Emma?" he asked, but she shook her head.
"I talked him into leaving. He is coming back this afternoon. He insists that we will return to Cheshire and marry, says he'll ruin me if I don't agree."
Lancaster's eyes narrowed, he cocked his head in question. "He did not hurt you? Is that the truth?"
"I'm fine. Just frightened and. . . I need some time. I will move my household, but I need days, maybe weeks, to find lodging and make arrangements . . ."
"Do you wish to stay here?"
"Oh! Well. . . I'm flattered, I'm sure."
He flashed a quick smile that made him look quite wicked. "I meant that I would decamp, of course."
"Oh, um, of course. No, I would not risk angering him or . . . anyone else."
"And why have you not called on Somerhart for help? Not that I mind at all, you understand."
Emma clasped her hands together and held on tight. "Things are not as they seem. We are no longer involved. Even if we were, he is not the most understanding of men."
"Ha. Very true. Well then, I'm relieved you are uninjured and I'll do anything I can to help." He waved her toward the settee and followed her over. "You sound as if you have some idea you'd like set in motion."
"Do I?"
He smiled again as she poured him a cup of tea. "You may be in need of help, but I seriously doubt that you are ever helpless."
"Mm. I do have a small plan. I just need him kept from me so that I can leave."
"But where will you go? He will find you again. He may hurt you."