Rowan stood frozen in place. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides. His eyes, suddenly almost alarmed, lifted to Emmeline. For one suspended moment, he looked less like a duke than a man confronted with a language he had never been taught.
Emmeline’s chest tightened with such painful tenderness that all her anger faltered.
She lifted one hand slightly and mouthed, “Hug him.”
Rowan stared at her.
Then, slowly, awkwardly, he lowered one hand to Aaron’s head. His palm settled too carefully against the boy’s dark hair, then moved once in a stiff, uncertain pat. Aaron did not seem to mind. If anything, he pressed closer, his delight too great to notice the clumsiness.
Emmeline had to look away for a moment because her eyes stung.
When she looked back, Rowan was still watching her over Aaron’s head.
Something had changed in him, as if some old locked thing had heard a key turn somewhere far away.
The puppy wriggled, nearly escaping the folds of Aaron’s arm, and the boy released his father with a startled laugh. “He wants the garden.”
“He wants a bath,” Rowan said.
“Both,” Aaron replied, so quickly and clearly that Emmeline smiled before she could stop herself.
Rowan looked down at his son, and this time the sternness in his face did not quite form.
“Miss Harrow,” he said, though his voice was less severe than usual. “Take Lord Aaron and the creature to the rear garden. Have a maid bring warm water. Outside.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Aaron began to hurry away, then paused and turned back to Emmeline. “Will you come?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m right behind you.”
Aaron nodded and followed Miss Harrow toward the rear of the house, already whispering possible names to the puppy.
When they disappeared, the hall seemed larger.
Emmeline turned to Rowan. She remained silent, and so did he, for several seconds. Servants had retreated. Morning light lay across the floor between them, pale and clear, as if the house were waiting to see which of them would break the silence first.
His eyes held hers, and heat gathered in the space where tenderness had been.
Her body remembered everything. The roughness of his kiss. The ghost of his knuckles on her cheek. The way he had looked at her throat as though it took all his strength not to lower his mouth there again.
She should have stepped away from that memory. Instead, she stood still and let it move through her.
Rowan’s gaze dropped to her lips for a second, then back to her eyes. Emmeline felt the look pass over her face, her mouth, the place where anger and tenderness had both failed to hide themselves. Her breath caught, but she did not look away, even as her chest tightened.
She wanted to say something. She wanted to tell him that this was what Aaron needed. Not grand gestures or perfection. Only small permissions. A puppy. A laugh. A father who did not turn every feeling into a rule.
But the words stayed in her throat, because Rowan was looking at her as though he understood too much already.
Emmeline’s expression softened before she could stop it.
She gave him one small, careful nod, with a smile that held no triumph. Only acknowledgment and a fragile offering of peace.
You did well.
The words were not spoken, but she felt them pass between them all the same.
Rowan’s shoulders eased by the smallest degree. His gaze dropped from hers, then returned, darker now, affected in a way he clearly did not wish her to see.
