He took a sharp breath and straightened his shoulders, pulling his ducal mask back into place with a cold, practiced efficiency.
“The only reason I agreed to any of this was because of you and Anthony. Why does it feel like I am the only one taking it seriously?” he asked, his voice now dangerously level.
Lucy recoiled. “For me?”
“You wanted to prove your worth as a matchmaker, did you not? You wanted this ‘deal’ to be your crowning achievement,” he said, though the words felt like they were being forced out. “I stayed at that table and put up with the polite chatter and the performance because I made a promise to Anthony that I would try. I made a deal with you. I expected you to see it through to the end, side by side. If I am to be paraded in front of a prospective bride, I expected the person who orchestrated it to at least have the grace to stand by me while I did it. But clearly, I was mistaken about your commitment to the ‘deal’.”
Lucy let out a long, frustrated sigh, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You aren’t listening to me, Your Grace! That is your problem. Your greatest flaw. You refuse to actually hear anyone else. You just barge ahead and do exactly what you want, regardless of how it affects anyone else.”
“I do what I want?” Rowan’s voice rose, a sudden, jagged heat breaking through his cold exterior. He took a predatory step toward her, his shadow falling over her completely. “If you believe that, then you haven’t been paying attention at all. Sincethe very moment I met you, Lucy, I have not done a single thing that I actually wanted to do.”
Lucy froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. The air between them felt thick, charged with a sudden, electric current that made the skin on her arms prickle. “If only you knew,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly vibration that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
“Knew what?” Lucy whispered, her breath hitching. She didn’t back away this time. Instead, she tilted her head up, searching his dark, turbulent eyes. “Knew what... Rowan?”
The garden seemed to fall away. The birds went silent, and the wind died down, leaving nothing but the sound of their shared, uneven breathing. Rowan looked down at her, his gaze intense and hungry, fixed on her lips as if he were fighting an internal war. He leaned in, his hand twitching at his side as if he were seconds away from reaching out and pulling her against him. The tension was so tight, it felt as though the slightest movement would shatter it.
He moved a fraction closer, his warmth radiating off him, and for a heartbeat, Lucy was certain he was finally going to close the distance.
“Your Grace?”
The heavy, rhythmic crunch of gravel broke the hold on them. Rowan snapped his head toward the house, his jaw tight as he practically recoiled from Lucy.
The butler stood a few yards away, looking perfectly composed and entirely unaware of the storm he had just interrupted. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace, but a carriage has just entered the drive. A Lady Selina Mullens has arrived and is asking for Miss Crampton.”
Lucy stood back, her eyes widening in genuine shock. The intense haze evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold spike of dread.
“Lady who?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Did you say Selina Mullens?”
“Ah, my dearest niece!”
Lucy barely had time to register the voice before she was caught in it, wrapped in familiar arms scented faintly of lavender. For one stunned heartbeat, she simply stood there in the drawing room, frozen between disbelief and relief, and then the shock gave way entirely. Her hands came up of their own accord, clutching at her aunt’s pelisse as though Selina might vanish if she did not hold on tightly enough.
“Aunt Selina,” Lucy breathed, her voice unsteady despite herself.
She had not expected this. Not here. Not now. The sight of her aunt standing in the hall of Langridge manor felt unreal, as though some private longing had taken form without warning.Lucy stepped back only far enough to look at her aunt properly, her eyes burning as she took in the familiar tilt of her head, the sharp, affectionate scrutiny that her aunt always had to offer her.
Selina’s hands moved to Lucy’s cheeks at once. “Look at you,” she said. “I was half-afraid I would arrive to find you vanished entirely, spirited away by some grand misunderstanding.”
Lucy laughed though it came perilously close to tears. “You frightened me,” she said, and then corrected herself. “No, that is untrue. You startled me, but in a good way. I am—” She stopped, swallowing. “I am very glad to see you.”
Selina studied her for a moment longer, her expression sharpening with concern. “You look thinner,” she observed then waved a hand dismissively. “No matter. That can be remedied.”
Lucy shook her head, still trying to steady herself. “You did not write to say you were coming.”
“I did not wish to give you time to concoct excuses,” Selina replied mildly. “I wanted to see for myself. You left with such confidence, Lucy. Then days passed. Then more. I began to wonder whether I had been foolish to let you go so easily.”
Lucy hesitated, then asked the question that had been hovering since the first embrace. “Is that why you are here? To check on me?”
“Well, you refused to write to me.” Selina’s lips curved. “You were meant to arrange a match for a duke,” she said. “Despite my doubts, you appear to have remained here far longer than anyone expected. I thought it was time I saw this miracle for myself.”
Selina removed her gloves with deliberate care and led Lucy to the sofa to sit. Lucy sat with her, folding her hands in her lap, suddenly uncertain where to begin now that the moment had arrived.
For a brief stretch of time, Selina said nothing. She merely watched her, the way she always had when she wished to hear the truth rather than whatever polite version Lucy might attempt first.
At last, Selina spoke. “Now,” she said calmly, “you will tell me what has kept you here.”
Lucy drew a breath. “I have been occupied,” she began, then winced at her own choice of words.
