“No,” she whispered. “I need you to understand. It was not only that you were angry. It was that you made me feel as though every kindness I had offered Aaron was an intrusion. As though I had imagined my place here.”
Rowan’s eyes darkened, but he did not look away. “You did not imagine it.”
The words moved through her with a force that left her briefly silent.
“Then why do you make me fight for it?” she asked.
His hand flexed once at her waist. “Because I do not know how to let anyone stand inside what I have spent years keeping locked.”
The honesty of it struck her harder than an excuse would have done.
For a moment, only the muffled music from the ballroom moved between them.
“I am sorry,” he said, lower now. “For what I said. For making you bear the punishment of my past.”
Emmeline swallowed, feeling the last of her anger loosen enough for breath to enter.
“I accept your apology,” she said softly. “But I will not stop caring for him.”
“I know,” Rowan said. His gaze held hers, grave and fierce. “And I do not want you to.”
That nearly undid her.
Another burst of laughter sounded from beyond the doors, closer this time.
Rowan’s head turned sharply toward it. When he looked back at her, the heat had returned to his eyes, but now it was threaded with purpose.
“We are leaving,” he said.
Her pulse thudded. “Now?”
“Now.”
By the time they reached the house, Emmeline felt so tightly strung that the simple act of stepping down from the carriage nearly undid her. Rowan’s hand closed around hers to help her, and the contact was unbearable.
He led her inside. A footman appeared, and Rowan dismissed him with one quiet order. Emmeline’s heart hammered as they climbed the stairs toward his chamber.
Rowan shut the door behind them with a quiet thud.
He stood there for a moment, his back to the door, watching her. His gaze traveled over her with a hunger so naked that it stole the breath from her lungs. It made heat spill through her so quickly that she swayed where she stood.
Rowan crossed the room, stopping inches from her, his gaze locked on hers.
His fingers brushed the side of her face with such unexpected gentleness that her throat tightened. This was worse than the balcony. Worse than being lifted, kissed, consumed. This gentleness had no defense around it.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” he said.
The praise entered her softly. “Rowan?—”
“No.” His thumb traced the curve of her cheek. “You will hear me.”
Her breath caught.
“You looked beautiful in that room,” he continued, his voice low, “and every man with eyes knew it. And I stood there like a damned coward pretending distance could make me want you less.”
Her heart struck hard against her ribs.
He leaned closer, not kissing her yet, letting his breath warm her lips. “It has not.”
