Emmeline did not move. She would not give this woman the satisfaction of watching the blow land.
Amanda continued, voice low and sweet. “Forgive me. I do not mean to pry. It is only that people notice these things. The way he leaves after one dance. The way he keeps to business, to distance. Poor thing. I suppose a second wife must always contend with ghosts.”
Emmeline’s pulse beat once, hard enough to hurt.
Catherine’s shadow seemed to step between them, pale and untouchable. A woman Rowan would not speak of. A grief he would defend with cruelty. A place in his life Emmeline had been warned she could never occupy, no matter how eagerly she played at it.
She lifted her chin. “You seem very interested in my husband’s habits.”
Amanda’s eyes flashed, though the smile remained. “Concern only.”
“How generous. I had mistaken it for envy.”
For the first time, Amanda’s composure cracked.
Then she laughed softly. “I should not envy what appears so difficult to keep.”
Emmeline felt the words strike, but she smiled. “Then we must both be grateful you were never asked to try.”
Amanda’s color rose.
Across the room, Rowan’s head turned.
Emmeline felt it immediately, as surely as if he had touched her. His gaze found her through the shifting crowd, and for one terrible second she wanted him to come. Wanted him to cut through the ballroom and stand beside her, because some injured part of her still wanted to be chosen publicly enough that Amanda’s words would shrivel in the air.
But she could not bear to need that, especially after everything.
Lady Amanda followed her gaze and smiled again, colder now. “How very fortunate you are, Duchess.”
“Yes,” Emmeline said. “I am.”
She left before Amanda could answer.
She moved with measured grace through silk and perfume and candlelight, past watching eyes and murmuring mouths, until the ballroom doors opened before her and the corridor beyond received her with blessed quiet.
Only then did her breath falter.
She pressed one hand to the wall, the cool paper beneath her palm grounding her, closing her eyes.
The worst of it was that Amanda was telling the truth.
Chapter Twenty
“Do not follow me.”
Emmeline spoke without turning, her hand still braced against the cold stone of the balcony railing and her breath still uneven from how quickly she had left the ballroom.
Behind her, the glass door closed with a soft, decisive click.
Rowan had followed her.
She felt the heat of his presence at her back despite the cool night. The balcony was narrow, half-hidden behind a spill of ivy and shadow, overlooking a small garden below where lanterns burned dimly along the path.
“Look at me,” Rowan said, his voice low.
It moved through her like a hand sliding over bare skin, and she hated that even now, even while Amanda’s words still clung to her like poisoned perfume, his voice could make her body answer before her pride had a chance to.
“No.”
