Aaron studied him. “With another ship?”
“One cannot flood the navy too quickly. Perhaps something else.”
“A cannon?”
“Absolutely not,” Emmeline and Frederick said at once.
Aaron grinned reluctantly, and that small concession nearly broke her heart.
The ride back to Ironford House passed in a blur of wheels and sunlight. Aaron spoke of Biscuit’s crimes against the roses, then of possible cannon alternatives, then of whether Frederick might know how pirates spoke. Emmeline answered where she could, smiled when required, and all the while felt the secret sitting behind her ribs like a stone.
When Ironford House came into view, she felt dread rise so swiftly that she had to press her hands together in her lap.
Rowan was waiting in the hall.
The sight of him struck her with such force that for one foolish, aching second, she wanted to run into his arms and confess everything against his chest. He looked up as they entered, and the warmth that moved through his eyes when they settled on her made the guilt turn bitter.
“There you are,” he said warmly.
It hurt worse than anger would have.
Aaron launched into an immediate account of Biscuit’s behavior, and Rowan listened with a faint curve at the corner of his mouth, though his gaze kept returning to Emmeline.
“You are pale,” he said at last.
Her heart lurched. “Am I?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer, the concern in his face sharpening. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” The lie came too quickly, and shame rushed after it. “Only the walk. I am a little tired, that is all.”
Rowan’s eyes searched hers.
She could bear his anger. She could bear his commands, his silences, even the terrifying tenderness he sometimes gave her now without warning. But this careful concern was almost unbearable. It made her want to lean into him and tell him she had found his sister and promised her silence.
Instead, she stood still as his hand came to her elbow.
“Come upstairs,” he said. “You should rest.”
Despite everything, a faint, broken smile touched her mouth. “There is no need to fuss.”
His thumb brushed once against the inside of her elbow, subtle and warm through the fabric of her sleeve. Her body reacted instantly, traitorously, heat unfurling beneath the guilt. She remembered that hand lower on her body, the roughness of his breath against her mouth.
His gaze darkened slightly, as though he had followed the thought across her face.
Then the concern returned.
“Rest,” he said more softly. “For my peace, if not yours.”
She nodded because she could not trust herself to speak.
He guided her upstairs himself, his hand steady at her back, and with every step the secret grew heavier. At her chamber door, he paused and looked down at her.
“If you need anything, send for me.”
I need you to forgive me.The thought was so painful that her eyes burned.
“I shall,” she said.
