Rowan’s gaze dropped to it, and the air shifted. Her smile faltered beneath the sudden weight of his attention. It moved through her too deeply. She felt seen in a way that stripped her of composure.
“Do not smile at me so you can win the argument.” Rowan’s voice dropped.
“Does it help?”
“It makes me less inclined to be reasonable,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth, making the air in her lungs vanish.
The words were a warning. Yet they settled into the marrow of her bones—a hot, vibrating pressure that made the stone walls of the study feel like they were closing in.
“Then I shall use it sparingly,” she said. The words came out thin, lacking the sharp edge of her usual poise, her voice betraying her with a soft tremor.
He looked at her for another long, punishing moment, then turned away with a low exhale. “Very well. One hour.”
Relief broke through her so suddenly that she almost reached for his sleeve. She stopped herself just in time.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Rowan glanced back. “Do not thank me yet.”
Ironford village was smaller than she had imagined and livelier than she expected.
The carriage rolled to a stop beside a row of neat stone-fronted shops, their signs swinging gently in the breeze.
A baker’s window steamed faintly with warmth. A blacksmith’s hammer rang somewhere farther down the lane. Chickens scattered from the road as the horses came through, and Biscuit, seated in Aaron’s lap, gave a muffled bark from within the carriage, announcing himself to the entire parish.
Aaron laughed, one hand clamped around the puppy’s middle. “He th-thinks he is a h-hound.”
“He thinks he is a duke,” Emmeline murmured.
Rowan, seated opposite them, glanced from the dog to his son, then to her. “Tell him we already have one of those in the carriage.”
Aaron giggled before he could stop himself.
Emmeline’s eyes flew to Rowan.
He was looking out the window, face severe, but the corner of his mouth had moved. Barely.
When they stepped down, the village noticed at once.
Faces turned. Conversations thinned. A woman emerging from the baker’s stopped with a wrapped loaf in her hands, eyes widening as she stared at Rowan.
“Your Grace,” an older man called, bowing deeply. “Good day to you.”
“Mr. Carter,” Rowan replied with a nod.
The man straightened, visibly pleased to have been remembered. Then his gaze moved to Emmeline, and his weathered face softened into something warmer. “And Her Grace. Welcome to Ironford, Duchess.”
Emmeline smiled, and the knot in her chest loosened. “Thank you, Mr. Carter. I am very happy to see it at last.”
“We are very happy to have you, Your Grace,” Mr. Carter said, then glanced down at Aaron with a sudden fondness that made the boy’s shoulders lift with shy surprise. “And we are grateful to have His Lordship back among us as well. Mrs. Carter still speaks of how you found her missing cat last month.”
Aaron’s eyes widened. “She d-does?”
“Indeed, she does,” Mr. Carter said gravely. “Says she would still be wandering the lanes calling for that foolish creature if not for you.”
A small, bright smile broke across Aaron’s face before he could hide it. “He was in the b-baker’s shed.”
“So he was,” Mr. Carter agreed. “And very ashamed of himself, I hope.”
