His gaze moved slowly over her nightgown, but helplessly enough that heat rushed across her skin.
“May I come in?” he asked.
She stepped back.
He entered, and the room seemed to shrink around him.
For a moment neither spoke. The adjoining door remained open behind him, a dark rectangle between their rooms, and Emmeline found herself looking at it.
“How is the search for Juliet?” she asked, because she needed words before his silence became touch.
Rowan’s expression shifted. “My men are still searching the countryside near the posting roads. There have been two reports of a woman matching her description, but nothing certain.”
“Do you think she is safe?”
“I think Juliet is resourceful.” His jaw worked once. “I would prefer knowing she is safe.”
Emmeline nodded, clasping her hands before her so she would not reach for him. “I hope you find her soon.”
“So do I.”
Silence returned.
This time, Emmeline did not flee from it.
She looked at the tension in his shoulders, at the shadow beneath his eyes, at the mouth that had taught her body things her mind still blushed to remember. Want moved through her, but beneath it was something heavier. A question that had sat between them since Amanda’s voice at the ball. Since the dinner. Since every time Catherine’s name made him turn to stone.
“Rowan,” she said quietly.
He looked at her.
“I want to ask you something.”
His gaze sharpened, then shuttered. “Ask.”
“Are you still in love with her?”
The room went still.
His brows drew together. “With whom?”
“You know with whom.”
His eyes held hers for a long second. “Catherine.”
Emmeline’s fingers tightened together. “Yes.”
He looked away and that, more than anything, made her chest ache.
“I prefer not to speak of her,” he said.
“I know that already.” Her voice softened, though it trembled at the edges. “That is why I am asking.”
His gaze returned to her. “You think my silence means love?”
“What else am I meant to think?” The question came out more wounded than she intended, and she saw it land. “We barely speak of anything that matters. You leave me to guess at every locked door in you, and then seem displeased when I choose the wrong key.”
He exhaled slowly, and moved toward the bed, standing beside it. “I am not in love with Catherine.”
