“There is nothing to tell,” she said, a touch too quickly. “I have been honest with you, Your Grace.”
Rowan did not argue. Instead, he studied her, his attention so focused it made her acutely aware of every shallow breath she took, every place where her resolve felt thin.
“Honest about the terms,” he said. “About the children. About duty.” His voice softened further. “But I did not ask you about any of that.”
She shifted, angling her body slightly away from him. “The children are the reason this matters at all,” she replied. “I have explained that. Everything we are doing, everything we agreed to, exists because of them. Their stability. Their future.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I am grateful for it. But they are not a shield.”
Her fingers tightened at her sides. “They will be my responsibility.”
“They are mine.” He hesitated, then added, “But I am asking you about you. I want to hear about you.”
The words landed too close. Lucy moved to step past him, but he shifted with her, not blocking her path, only remaining near enough that retreat felt conspicuous.
“Lucy,” he murmured.
She remained perfectly still, her breath catching as the sound of her name on his lips vibrated through the small space between them. Before she could find the strength to step back, he moved closer. He reached out and settled his hand against the curve of her waist, his palm warm even through the fabric of her gown. There was a profound deliberateness in that gesture. He heldher with a soft, lingering pressure that was firm yet entirely respectful, leaving the choice of what happened next solely in her hands.
She stood rooted to the spot, making no effort to break the contact. The fact that she chose to stay, welcoming the heat of his touch—the heat of his body— instead of retreating into her usual shell, filled her with a sudden, sharp sense of alarm.
“My feelings are entirely focused on Anthony and his siblings,” Lucy breathed. “I’ve become fond of them, and I won’t see them neglected. That is the beginning and the end of my motivation.”
“I don’t believe you,” he murmured. He leaned in closer, his head dipping so that his breath brushed against her temple. His hand on her waist tightened just a fraction, pulling her a hair’s breadth nearer. It was a silent plea for honesty, a beckoning for her to drop the armor she wore so well.
The tenderness in his tone was more terrifying than his anger. It threatened to undo weeks of careful self-reliance. If she looked at him then, she knew she would see something in his eyes that would make the ‘business arrangement’ impossible to maintain.
Desperate to reestablish the boundary, Lucy reached down. She placed her hand over his—the one resting on her waist—and tried to gently but firmly pry his fingers away, but she couldn’t bring herself to, so her hand remained on his. Her skin felt electric against the touch of his hand, but she kept her voice as cool as a winter morning.
“You are looking for depth where there is only a shallow pool, Your Grace,” she said, finally forcing herself to look up, though she focused on his chin rather than his eyes. “Whatever you think I am hiding, whatever grand emotion you believe is simmering beneath the surface... You are mistaken. We have a contract. We have a plan. We will sign the papers, and I will continue my work while you continue yours. That is the only reality we need to discuss.”
“There is nothing else to discuss. No secrets, no hidden depths. Just a very practical solution to a very practical problem. I told you before, you need not worry about me,” she concluded.
Rowan’s hand dropped from her side as if the touch had suddenly burned him. The warmth that had filled the space between them vanished, replaced by a sudden, biting chill. He stayed quiet for a while, as if contemplating what to say next.
“I see,” he finally said, his voice stripped of the tenderness that had just been there. He took a long step back, creating a gap that felt miles wide. “Then I must thank you, Miss Crampton. Your honesty is, as always, remarkably efficient.”
Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, cutting her off. His eyes were no longer searching hers. They were shuttered, as dark and unreadable as a midnight sea.
“However,” he continued, “I find that I will not be needing your help anymore. Not as a matchmaker and certainly not as a bride. You have done quite enough. You have unmasked a predator in my house and secured my sons’ immediate safety. For that,I am eternally in your debt, but there is no reason for you to go through with this marriage. None at all. Not when you so obviously hate the idea of it.”
“Your Grace, the boys...”
“The boys will be fine,” he interrupted, and his eyebrows twitched in that instant. “We have managed just fine up until now. I was a fool to think I could simply import a heart for this house. I will not be the man who forces a woman into a life of cold duty just because my sons could use a mother’s influence. You value your freedom, Lucy. It would be a hollow victory for me to take it from you under the guise of a ‘practical solution’.”
He turned toward the door. The vulnerability he had shown moments ago was gone, replaced by the impenetrable armor of the Duke of Langridge.
“I release you from your duties and from our deal,” he said, not looking back. “I will have my man deliver the full payment for your services to your rooms by morning, along with a carriage to take you and your aunt wherever you wish to go. You are free to return to your life in London, exactly as it was before you met us.”
He didn’t wait for her response. He walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Lucy stood in the corner of the drawing room, surrounded by the remnants of her ‘victory,’ feeling a sudden, terrifying hollowness. She had won her independence back. She hadsecured her career. But as she looked at the empty space where Rowan had stood, she realized she had never felt more utterly defeated.
Even minutes after Rowan left, she still stood motionless in the silence, the coldness of the room seeping into her bones as the reality of his departure settled over her.
In that moment, she felt a sharp, agonizing sensation in her chest, a slow, jagged tearing that she couldn’t rationalize away. It was a hollow, suffocating ache that defied all her logic, a silent breaking of something she hadn’t even realized was whole until the moment Rowan walked out of her life for good.
CHAPTER TWENTY
