“She understands mercy,” Rowan said.
The words were dry, but his gaze had moved to Emmeline’s mouth again, and the briefest silence opened between them.
Then the orchestra shifted.
The first notes of a waltz rose through the ballroom.
Frederick glanced from Rowan to Emmeline, then smiled with the satisfaction of a man about to commit mischief. “Ah. There it is.”
Rowan’s expression darkened. “Do not.”
“I have done nothing.”
“You are thinking loudly.”
Frederick put a hand to his heart. “And yet misunderstood.”
Then he stepped aside with shameless efficiency, leaving Rowan directly before Emmeline as couples began to move toward the floor.
For one beat, neither of them spoke. Emmeline felt the entire room sharpen around them.
Rowan held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
His voice settled low in her body, stirring every memory she had tried to bury beneath hurt. His hand at her back. His eyes on the stairs. His mouth almost close enough beneath the beech tree.
“Yes,” she said.
His fingers closed around hers and the dance began.
At first, Rowan held her correctly, one hand at her waist, the other enclosing hers. But even correct contact with him felt dangerous now. His palm was warm through the fabric. His thumb rested too still, as though movement itself would be a confession.
Emmeline kept her eyes lifted. Looking anywhere else would mean looking at his mouth, his throat, the strength of his shoulders beneath the black evening coat.
“How is Aaron?” Rowan asked.
The question caught her off guard.
“With Miss Harrow, asleep by now, I imagine. Unless Biscuit has overthrown the nursery.”
“I meant after the dinner.”
He had not forgotten.
Her throat tightened and she looked past his shoulder for half a second, watching the chandeliers fracture into brightness. “He was quiet the next morning.”
Rowan’s hand tightened at her waist almost imperceptibly.
“And then?”
“He asked if I was still angry.”
Rowan’s step altered by a fraction, so slight no one else would have noticed. Emmeline felt it because her whole body was attuned to him.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I told him I was not angry with him.”
His eyes held hers. “That was not what he asked.”
