She had avoided the thought deliberately, telling herself there would be time, that she would find the right words later. Now, with him standing in her room, holding the door open andwaiting for her response, she had nothing prepared to say to him.
For a fleeting moment, she considered not answering at all. The silence would be discourteous, but it would spare her this. It would postpone the reckoning she had been dreading.
She inhaled, smoothing her nightdress. “You shouldn’t be inside my bedchamber, Your Grace. It’s not proper. ”Rowan did not move back. If anything, he stepped further in, the door closing behind him. “It does not matter,” he said evenly. “We are to be married. Soon. Whatever propriety you think we are breaching will cease to exist the moment vows are spoken.”
Lucy lifted her head then, meeting his gaze despite the quickening of her pulse. “It does matter,” she replied. “We are not married yet, and even when we are, it does not mean we would have that sort of relationship.”
He continued toward her as he spoke, his presence filling the room. “I don’t understand it. You speak as though there will always be a distance between us,” he said. “As though marriage is merely a formality you intend to endure.”
“Your Grace?—”
“Your Grace?” He cut in at once. “When did you begin calling me that again?”
She faltered and looked away. His pace slowed, but he did not retreat.
“Only hours ago,” he continued, “you spoke my name as though it came naturally to you. Now...” His gaze sharpened. “... now you sound like you are addressing a stranger.”
Lucy did not answer.
He stopped a few steps away from her. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that she felt the space between them keenly.
“Tell me what you meant, Lucy,” he said. “Just now. When you said that even marriage would not grant us that sort of familiarity.”
She lifted her chin though her breath was unsteady. “I meant that marriage does not erase boundaries simply by existing.”
“And in the garden?” he pressed. “When you reduced everything between us to duty. When you spoke like nothing else could possibly matter.”
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her nightdress. “I was being honest.”
“That’s not true,” he said quietly.
Lucy looked at him then, properly, and something in his expression made her breath catch. His composure was still intact, but there was a tightness about his eyes that puzzled her, like he were watching her with concern, worried.
“Why did you agree to this arrangement at all?” he whispered. There was no need to speak loudly. They were already standing so close to each other. “You made it clear, repeatedly, that marriage held no appeal for you. Yet now you stand before me as though you are bracing yourself for a sentence rather than an engagement.” His voice lowered. “Is that why you looked so unhappy this afternoon? Why you seemed in pain?”
She stiffened.
“Is that why you have changed?” he continued, unable to stop himself now. “Why you have grown distant with me? Cold? You no longer seek me out; you smile with the boys but not with me.”
Lucy could not have said what she saw in his eyes, only that it was something she had not expected, something that made her heart give an unsteady leap. She refused to examine it too closely. Whatever it was, it could not matter.
“I am honoring our agreement,” she said, the words chosen with care. “That is all I ever promised you.”
“That is not an answer,” Rowan replied. “It is a deflection.”
She drew in a breath. “I agreed because it was necessary. Because it solved a problem for us both.”
“At what cost to you?” he asked.
Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her nightdress, knuckles whitening. “That is not your concern.”
His brows drew together. “It became my concern the moment you agreed to marry me.”
She shook her head faintly. “You wanted a wife. I needed security. The terms were clear.”
“Clear,” he echoed, and his gaze dropped to her lips. “That is all? You are certain that there is nothing else you are keeping from me? Because you can tell me, Lucy. We can talk about it.”
Her heart stuttered at the gentleness in his voice. It was not the questions themselves that unsettled her, but the patience with which he asked them, almost as if he were prepared to wait as long as necessary for an answer she did not know how to give.
