Rowan stood and took the physician aside near the door. He spoke low, but Emmeline saw the purse he pressed into theman’s hand, too heavy for a simple visit. Dr. Arbuthnot looked as though he might protest, then met Rowan’s expression and thought better of it.
A moment later, the door closed.
Silence filled the room.
Emmeline looked down at her hands, where they twisted together over the counterpane. Her heart was beating too fast.
“I am sorry,” she said quickly.
Rowan turned back to her at once. “What?”
“I did not know.” The words tumbled out too fast, because if she slowed, she might cry. “I should have paid better attention. I know this is not… I know it must be difficult after Catherine, and after everything that happened, and I have been unwell and foolish, and I should have understood sooner, but I did not think?—”
“Emmeline.”
“I do not expect you to be pleased,” she continued, her voice thinning despite her effort to steady it. “Truly, I do not. I know what this must bring back for you. I know you may feel frightened, or angry, or perhaps you think this is another complication, but I shall do exactly as Dr. Arbuthnot says, and I shall not endanger the child if I can help it, and?—”
“Emmeline.” This time his voice broke through.
He sat beside her on the bed, close enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and took her hand before she could twist her fingers raw. His palm was warm, firm, enclosing hers with such careful strength that the breath caught in her throat.
She looked at him at last. His face was almost ruined.
“I am not angry,” he said.
She searched his eyes, not trusting the words. “You are not?”
“No.” His thumb moved once across her knuckles. “Terrified, perhaps. But not angry.”
The honesty struck her so deeply that she could not answer.
Rowan looked down at their joined hands, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher, stripped of his usual authority.
“I owe you more than I know how to say.”
Emmeline’s chest tightened. “Rowan?—”
“No.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “Let me speak. I have been very good at demanding that everyone else listen. But I have failed at speaking when it matters.”
She went still.
He drew a breath, and she saw how much it cost him. This man, who could command rooms and households and fortunes with a glance, looked almost uncertain with her hand in his.
“When Catherine nearly died bringing Aaron into the world, I told myself that the terror was the price of duty,” he said. “When she grew frightened afterward, I told myself control would keep her safe. Then she died anyway, and I decided that wanting too much from life was dangerous. A wife. A child. A home that felt warm rather than merely well ordered.” His mouth twisted faintly. “I decided I was better suited to managing things than loving them.”
Pain moved through Emmeline, deep and aching.
“And then you came,” he said.
Her eyes burned.
“You came into my house and did what I could not. You made Aaron laugh without forcing him to be brave first. You made him speak because you gave him room to take his time. You brought a dog into my hall, argued with me in my own rooms, looked at me and saw a man, not the duke.” His grip tightened. “You made my life better. His life better. This entire house better. And I was too proud to admit that you had become necessary.”
The word stopped her breath.
For a moment, Emmeline could only stare at him, her fingers tightening around his until the bones of his hand pressed hard against her palm.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Something in her face must have changed, because Rowan’s thumb stilled over her knuckles, and his eyes searched hers with sudden, raw attention.
