His fingers brushed the loose end of her braid then, barely, the faintest contact, and her breath broke.
For a moment, she could not speak. The room seemed to narrow around them, firelight and shadows and the hard, impossible man before her.
“Then why?” she whispered.
Something hardened in his face at once, and she knew she had asked more than one question.
Why kiss me? Why stop? Why avoid me? Why hurt me? Why fear what you want?
His hand fell away. “Because wanting a thing does not make it wise to take it.”
The ache returned, swift and deep.
“And there it is,” she said, stepping back before her body could betray her further. “Another door closed.”
His eyes followed the movement. “Emmeline.”
“No.” She gathered what composure she had left and forced herself back to the reason she had come, because if she remained in the heat of that confession, she would forget every hurt she had carried into the room. “We are not speaking of last night.”
“We were.”
“We are speaking of Aaron.”
Rowan’s jaw clenched. “Aaron needs stability. He has endured enough.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking despite her effort to keep it steady. “And you are making him endure it alone.”
Rowan’s entire frame locked, his breath hitching in a way that made the air in the room feel brittle. For a heartbeat, his eyes went wide and so dark it made her own chest ache. He looked like a man who had been hit with a physical weight, his shoulders sagging by a fraction.
Then it vanished.
“The past stays where it belongs,” he said. “Behind us.”
“Nothing stays behind us simply because we refuse to turn around.”
“My son will not be helped by dwelling on what he lost.”
“He is already dwelling on it. He simply does it without you. That is the trouble with this house, is it not? Enough grief. Enough questions. Enough wanting. Enough feeling. How many things must be buried before Ironford is quiet enough for you?”
His hand rose, fingers hovering so close to her cheek she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She should have retreated. She should have turned her back on the silver fire in his eyes and the magnetic pull of his presence. Instead, she stood her ground, her blood turning hot and heavy, hating him for the power he held and hating herself for how easily she gave it to him.
Then his knuckles brushed her skin.
The contact was light, almost a ghost of a touch, but it undid her more than the violence of his kiss had. It was a glimpse of the man beneath the armor, the man who could be gentle.
Rowan’s thumb traced her cheekbone. His breath hitched, the sound rough and uneven in the heavy silence.
“Do not,” she whispered. She didn’t know if she was begging him to stop or begging him never to pull away.
“Do not what?” his voice was a low, gravelly vibration that she felt through her whole body.
“No!” She wrenched herself away from his touch, the loss of his heat making the room feel like a tomb. “You send me away, you avoid me for an entire day, you crush your son’s spirit at dinner, and then you reach for me in the dark as if you have earned the right to touch me?”
Rowan’s face hardened, the marble mask slamming back into place with a finality that made her vision blur with rage.
“I have no right to tenderness,” he said, and all the life went out of his voice. “You are correct. Good night, Duchess.”
The dismissal was the final cord snapping. Emmeline didn’t curtsy. She didn’t offer a polite word. She turned on her heel and bolted from the room, the silk of her wrapper hissing against the floor.
