Rowan went still.
Aaron glanced at Emmeline, and she gave him no prompt, no rescuing answer, only a small nod that seemed to say she trusted him to continue. The boy looked back at Rowan.
“Like this,” Aaron said, his voice trembling but determined. “I w-wanted to say th-that Biscuit would sit, but the word would not come. So I s-said, ‘Bark,’ and then I could say it. Biscuit will sit.” He paused, eyes widening a little, as if he had just heard himself. “See?”
The words had come almost cleanly at the end.
Rowan’s chest tightened. Aaron stood motionless, his knuckles disappearing into the puppy’s messy fur. He fastened his gaze on Rowan’s face, eyes wide and shimmering.
He held the trembling creature forward like an offering, his small shoulders braced as if waiting for a blow he hoped would not come.
Biscuit chose the silence to bark again, softer this time.
Aaron gave a quick, nervous smile. “He agrees.”
Emmeline’s mouth curved faintly.
That small, tender smile irritated Rowan beyond reason. Because it touched his son first and him afterward, and he felt the aftershock of it through his whole body.
“Take the dog to Miss Harrow,” Rowan said.
Aaron’s smile faltered. “But?—”
“Now.” The word came out harder than he intended.
Emmeline’s gaze flew to his face.
Aaron bent immediately, gathering Biscuit with awkward care. The puppy wriggled and licked his chin, which made Aaron’s composure crack into a brief laugh before he remembered himself and glanced toward Rowan.
“Yes, Father,” he said quietly.
He walked toward the shaded path where Miss Harrow waited a little distance away, and Biscuit looked back over his shoulder at them with his ridiculous ears flopping.
Rowan waited until Aaron was out of hearing, then he turned on Emmeline. “I will speak with you.”
She lifted her chin. “So I gathered.”
He took her by the elbow, not roughly, but firmly enough that the touch sent heat shooting up his own arm like punishment. She came with him beneath the cover of the old beech tree near the garden wall, where the leaves cast restless shadows over her face and where no servant could easily hear them.
He released her at once, his fingers stinging from the contact.
It was a mistake. Without the touch, he became agonizingly aware of the inch of cool air between them, and how badly he wanted to close it.
Rowan’s fingers spasmed against his thighs, his knuckles white as he fought the urge to reach for her again.
“You will not make my son a spectacle,” he said, his voice tightening. He stood rigid, his shoulders squared, almost bracing himself.
Emmeline did not flinch. Instead, she mirrored his intensity, her spine snapping straight as she stared at him with eyes bright and stinging with defiance. “A spectacle?”
“You had him barking in the garden.”
“I had himlaughingin the garden.”
“Not when the laughter can be turned against him.”
“Then teach him that laughter does not have to belong to others,” she said, stepping suddenly into his space, forcing him to look down at her.
She did not stop until the toes of her shoes nearly touched his boots.
