Relief moved through Emmeline so quickly that she nearly closed her eyes.
His mouth tightened. “I never was.”
The relief changed shape, becoming confusion. “Never?”
“No.”
She sat on the edge of the bed because her knees felt suddenly untrustworthy. “But she was your wife.”
“Yes.”
Rowan looked at the floor for a moment, then sat beside her, leaving careful space between them. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and that small shift made her more aware of the bare skin at her throat, the fabric over her breasts, the warmth of his body beside hers.
“It was a sensible match,” he said. “Her family was respectable. Mine required a duchess. Catherine was quiet when we courted. Pretty. Proper. There was no reason to object.”
Emmeline felt the sadness of that as if it were her own.
“What about after you married?”
“There was respect,” he said. “At first.”
She waited.
His hands rested on his thighs, fingers slightly curled. “Not much beyond that.”
Emmeline looked down at them, those strong hands that could be so controlled at a dinner table and so devastating on her skin. “Then why does it hurt you so much to speak of her with Aaron?”
Rowan’s fingers tightened.
She regretted the question for a moment. His whole body seemed to brace against it. His jaw locked. His shoulders went still. The man beside her retreated without moving an inch.
“You need not answer everything tonight,” she said softly.
His eyes closed briefly and after a long moment, he said, “After Aaron was born, Catherine changed.”
Emmeline did not move.
“She had always been delicate. Nervous, perhaps. But after his birth…” He stopped.
Emmeline could hear her own breathing.
“She did not sleep,” he continued. “She would sit beside his cradle for hours, convinced he would stop breathing if shelooked away. At first, everyone said it was natural. New mothers worry. Then she began refusing to let the nurse hold him. Then Juliet. Then me.”
His voice had gone flat in a way that made the words worse.
Emmeline’s heart twisted. “She was afraid for him.”
“Yes.” His throat moved. “And of everyone else.”
She wanted to touch him, but she did not. Not yet.
“She thought people meant to harm him?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
Rowan’s gaze snapped to hers, sharp with old pain. “Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
He gave a short, humorless breath. “Do not be. You did not do it.”
