"I'd like you to have supper with me this evening," he called out, in jovial expectation of her ready agreement. Emma walked circumspectly toward him, so that she wouldn't be forced to shout her refusal for the entire town to hear. "Fulton," she said in a moderate tone, "we have already discussed this matter. And I've told you that I think you and I have spent entirely too much time together." He looked more annoyed than disappointed. "I would have thought you'd be over that nonsense by now. I'll come by for you at seven, and we'll dine at the hotel." Although she could feel her color rising, Emma kept her temper. "Please do not trouble yourself, Mr. Whitney. I will be dining alone and retiring early." With that, she turned to walk briskly away. Fulton's fingers bit into her upper arm, hard enough to leave bruises, and when Emma looked up into his eyes in furious surprise, she was frightened by the cold anger she saw there. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'll give you up so easily, Emma," he breathed, "because I won't." She rubbed her arm as she walked away, torn between puzzlement and outrage. Uneasiness quivered in the pit of her stomach. When"