“She had our last child… Daniel,” Rowan continued, his voice barely above a murmur. “I recall the day after she gave birth to him, she was already talking about a fourth child. Hoping that this time, it would be a girl, since she had secured the dukedom already with three boys. She wanted a girl for herself. But that night, she started to bleed again, and she passed. It was unexpected. Her death was very difficult for us. I mean, we never really shared a bond, but I felt her absence deeply.”
He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment, then opened them to meet Lucy’s gaze upon him. “Sometimes, I wish I weren’t so distant with her. We could have been good friends. But like you’ve always noted, I can be... extreme with my jokes. She never liked it when I told them.”
The room seemed to grow still, the storm fading to a soft patter against the window. Lucy’s mind raced with the depth of his confession, the way his eyes changed... darkened when he spoke of it, and how it shocked her that it was obvious even in that low-lit room.
“It must have been terribly difficult for you,” Lucy murmured, her gaze following the gentle rise and fall of his chest. “To navigate a newborn and two little children on your own. I cannot imagine how trying that time must have been.”
Rowan’s eyes flicked away, shadowed and distant, and for a moment, it felt like he had gone somewhere. Like he was no longer there. But she wanted to speak to him. To look him in the eyes and tell him he did a very good job raising three impeccable little boys.
So instinctively, her hand moved before her thoughts could intervene. A strand of hair had fallen across his forehead, brushing his eyes. She reached for it, a small, delicate gesture, intending only to tuck it behind his ear so she might see him properly, eye to eye.
Her fingers paused as they brushed his temple, lingering longer than intended, caressing the smooth line of his forehead. Rowan’s breath caught softly at the contact, and he finally turned his gaze to hers.
For a suspended heartbeat, they looked at each other fully, the air between them more potent than any words could be. His eyes, so familiar in their calm command, fell to her lips as theyalways did, but this time, there was a flicker, a vulnerability fleeting across the surface. He swallowed, and in the same motion, he regained his composure, setting his features into their usual calm.
Rowan gave a small, almost imperceptible nod toward Daniel, still resting against him. “We should get him settled in his room,” he said almost breathlessly. Lucy released Daniel’s hand reluctantly, her heart still caught in the echo of that exchange, and together, they rose as Rowan lifted Daniel gently.
Rowan lifted Daniel with careful strength, cradling him against his chest as they moved down the corridor. The loose fabric of his sleeping shirt parted slightly with each step, revealing the gentle curve of his shoulders and the warm line of skin across his chest.
“I will escort you to your room, then tuck him in for the night,” he said softly, as Lucy trailed behind.
They reached her door first. Rowan paused, looking down at her with that dark, unreadable expression in his sleepy eyes. “Goodnight, Lucy,” he said.
Her heart skipped a beat, a small, frantic flutter she tried desperately to ignore. She stepped forward, stopping him before he could leave, words tumbling awkwardly from her lips. “I… I’m sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to overstep. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted to… I don’t know. I just wanted to look at you. Wait, not exactly to look at you but... we were talking, and you went somewhere and…”
Her explanation faltered, unravelling under the weight of her own embarrassment. The more she tried, the less sense it made until she simply stopped, helpless and flushed, unable to form another coherent sentence.
Rowan’s expression softened. A small, knowing smile curved his lips. “It’s all right,” he said gently. “You don’t need to explain. It was a vulnerable moment, and I understand. Sleep well.”
Lucy watched as he lifted Daniel effortlessly, the boy nestling against his chest. The loose sleeping shirt still hung open, giving her glimpses of the warm line of his chest and the subtle definition of his torso. There was something achingly tender in the way he cradled his son, the careful, protective angle of his arms, the slight furrow of concentration in his brow, even as fatigue tugged at his eyes.
Her chest warmed as an involuntary smile tugged at her lips. There was a strength in him, yes, but also a softness, a vulnerability that he never allowed others to see. Then again, she wondered how anyone else could witness this side of him. Only someone present at this hour, in this dim, intense moment, could see him so utterly human, so exposed in his devotion to his child. Yet, she was here, observing, intruding almost, like a presence that felt entirely out of place. She was not meant to be the one to see him like this, and the awareness made her heart beat faster.
Before she could tame it, Lucy felt an unexpected surge of affection and admiration. It was too intimate of a moment for her to be in, one that stirred something deep within her, but for aheartbeat, she allowed herself simply to watch, unashamed and fully present.
“Sleep well, Your Grace,” she said, denying herself the pleasure of watching him walk away as she rushed into her room, shut the door behind her, and sank to the ground, utterly confused by the manner in which her own body was treating her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’m not quite sure I understand. You want me to… what?”
Lucy stood very still in the center of Rowan’s study, her gloves clasped so tightly between her fingers that the leather creaked. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching dust motes in the air. Rowan stood opposite her with an expression she had come to recognize far too quickly over the past days. He looked resolute, mildly impatient, and entirely convinced of the sense of his own intentions.
He had summoned her with unusual urgency, requesting her presence at once, which had naturally led her to assume that one of the boys had fallen ill or that Judith’s arrival had been brought forward without warning. It had not occurred to her, not even fleetingly, that she herself might be the cause of this sudden demand.
“I wish you to help me practice,” Rowan said plainly. “Before Lady Judith arrives, I want to practice.”
Judith was expected that evening. Rowan had written to her himself, inviting her to dine at the estate and to spend time with his sons. She had replied promptly, her acceptance warm and agreeable, and her arrival was now only a matter of hours. By nightfall, she would sit at his table, speak with the boys, observe them in their own home, and begin to know them not as names or duties but as children whose lives would be tied to hers if matters continued as they seemed to be doing.
Lucy blinked. Once. Then again, slower this time. “Practice,” she repeated faintly.
“Yes.”
“Practice… conversation?” she ventured. “That cannot possibly be what you mean.”
“It is precisely what I mean.”
Her brows drew together as she stared at him, searching his face for the slightest hint of jest. She found none. “Your Grace, you do not need help with conversation.”
