Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“We need to talk.”
Lucy did not startle at the sound of Rowan’s voice. She went very still instead, her fingers resting lightly against the edge of the desk, her breath catching, but it had nothing to do with shock.
She had known this was coming.
From the moment he had looked at her in the garden, from the instant his expression had shifted at her careless choice of words, she had understood that he would not allow it to lie. Rowan was not a man who let discomfort linger unresolved, not when it concerned something that mattered to him.
What she had not done was decide how she would face it.
She had avoided the thought deliberately, telling herself there would be time, that she would find the right words later. Now, with him standing in her room, holding the door open and waiting for her response, she had nothing prepared to say to him.
For a fleeting moment, she considered not answering at all. The silence would be discourteous, but it would spare her this. It would postpone the reckoning she had been dreading.
She inhaled, smoothing her nightdress. “You shouldn’t be inside my bedchamber, Your Grace.
It’s not proper. ”Rowan did not move back.
If anything, he stepped further in, the door closing behind him.
“It does not matter,” he said evenly. “We are to be married. Soon. Whatever propriety you think we are breaching will cease to exist the moment vows are spoken.”
Lucy lifted her head then, meeting his gaze despite the quickening of her pulse. “It does matter,” she replied. “We are not married yet, and even when we are, it does not mean we would have that sort of relationship.”
He continued toward her as he spoke, his presence filling the room. “I don’t understand it. You speak as though there will always be a distance between us,” he said. “As though marriage is merely a formality you intend to endure.”
“Your Grace—”
“Your Grace?” He cut in at once. “When did you begin calling me that again?”
She faltered and looked away. His pace slowed, but he did not retreat.
“Only hours ago,” he continued, “you spoke my name as though it came naturally to you. Now...” His gaze sharpened. “... now you sound like you are addressing a stranger.”
Lucy did not answer.
He stopped a few steps away from her. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that she felt the space between them keenly.
“Tell me what you meant, Lucy,” he said. “Just now. When you said that even marriage would not grant us that sort of familiarity.”
She lifted her chin though her breath was unsteady. “I meant that marriage does not erase boundaries simply by existing.”
“And in the garden?” he pressed. “When you reduced everything between us to duty. When you spoke like nothing else could possibly matter.”
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her nightdress. “I was being honest.”
“That’s not true,” he said quietly.
Lucy looked at him then, properly, and something in his expression made her breath catch. His composure was still intact, but there was a tightness about his eyes that puzzled her, like he were watching her with concern, worried.
“Why did you agree to this arrangement at all?” he whispered.
There was no need to speak loudly. They were already standing so close to each other.
“You made it clear, repeatedly, that marriage held no appeal for you. Yet now you stand before me as though you are bracing yourself for a sentence rather than an engagement.” His voice lowered.
“Is that why you looked so unhappy this afternoon? Why you seemed in pain?”
She stiffened.
“Is that why you have changed?” he continued, unable to stop himself now. “Why you have grown distant with me? Cold? You no longer seek me out; you smile with the boys but not with me.”
Lucy could not have said what she saw in his eyes, only that it was something she had not expected, something that made her heart give an unsteady leap. She refused to examine it too closely. Whatever it was, it could not matter.
“I am honoring our agreement,” she said, the words chosen with care. “That is all I ever promised you.”
“That is not an answer,” Rowan replied. “It is a deflection.”
She drew in a breath. “I agreed because it was necessary. Because it solved a problem for us both.”
“At what cost to you?” he asked.
Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her nightdress, knuckles whitening. “That is not your concern.”
His brows drew together. “It became my concern the moment you agreed to marry me.”
She shook her head faintly. “You wanted a wife. I needed security. The terms were clear.”
“Clear,” he echoed, and his gaze dropped to her lips. “That is all? You are certain that there is nothing else you are keeping from me? Because you can tell me, Lucy. We can talk about it.”
Her heart stuttered at the gentleness in his voice. It was not the questions themselves that unsettled her, but the patience with which he asked them, almost as if he were prepared to wait as long as necessary for an answer she did not know how to give.
“There is nothing to tell,” she said, a touch too quickly. “I have been honest with you, Your Grace.”
Rowan did not argue. Instead, he studied her, his attention so focused it made her acutely aware of every shallow breath she took, every place where her resolve felt thin.
“Honest about the terms,” he said. “About the children. About duty.” His voice softened further. “But I did not ask you about any of that.”
She shifted, angling her body slightly away from him. “The children are the reason this matters at all,” she replied. “I have explained that. Everything we are doing, everything we agreed to, exists because of them. Their stability. Their future.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I am grateful for it. But they are not a shield.”
Her fingers tightened at her sides. “They will be my responsibility.”
“They are mine.” He hesitated, then added, “But I am asking you about you. I want to hear about you.”
The words landed too close. Lucy moved to step past him, but he shifted with her, not blocking her path, only remaining near enough that retreat felt conspicuous.
“Lucy,” he murmured.
She remained perfectly still, her breath catching as the sound of her name on his lips vibrated through the small space between them.
Before she could find the strength to step back, he moved closer.
He reached out and settled his hand against the curve of her waist, his palm warm even through the fabric of her gown.
There was a profound deliberateness in that gesture.
He held her with a soft, lingering pressure that was firm yet entirely respectful, leaving the choice of what happened next solely in her hands.
She stood rooted to the spot, making no effort to break the contact. The fact that she chose to stay, welcoming the heat of his touch—the heat of his body— instead of retreating into her usual shell, filled her with a sudden, sharp sense of alarm.
“My feelings are entirely focused on Anthony and his siblings,” Lucy breathed. “I’ve become fond of them, and I won’t see them neglected. That is the beginning and the end of my motivation.”
“I don’t believe you,” he murmured. He leaned in closer, his head dipping so that his breath brushed against her temple. His hand on her waist tightened just a fraction, pulling her a hair’s breadth nearer. It was a silent plea for honesty, a beckoning for her to drop the armor she wore so well.
The tenderness in his tone was more terrifying than his anger. It threatened to undo weeks of careful self-reliance. If she looked at him then, she knew she would see something in his eyes that would make the ‘business arrangement’ impossible to maintain.
Desperate to reestablish the boundary, Lucy reached down.
She placed her hand over his—the one resting on her waist—and tried to gently but firmly pry his fingers away, but she couldn’t bring herself to, so her hand remained on his.
Her skin felt electric against the touch of his hand, but she kept her voice as cool as a winter morning.
“You are looking for depth where there is only a shallow pool, Your Grace,” she said, finally forcing herself to look up, though she focused on his chin rather than his eyes.
“Whatever you think I am hiding, whatever grand emotion you believe is simmering beneath the surface... You are mistaken. We have a contract. We have a plan. We will sign the papers, and I will continue my work while you continue yours. That is the only reality we need to discuss.”
“There is nothing else to discuss. No secrets, no hidden depths. Just a very practical solution to a very practical problem. I told you before, you need not worry about me,” she concluded.
Rowan’s hand dropped from her side as if the touch had suddenly burned him. The warmth that had filled the space between them vanished, replaced by a sudden, biting chill. He stayed quiet for a while, as if contemplating what to say next.
“I see,” he finally said, his voice stripped of the tenderness that had just been there. He took a long step back, creating a gap that felt miles wide. “Then I must thank you, Miss Crampton. Your honesty is, as always, remarkably efficient.”
Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, cutting her off. His eyes were no longer searching hers. They were shuttered, as dark and unreadable as a midnight sea.
“However,” he continued, “I find that I will not be needing your help anymore. Not as a matchmaker and certainly not as a bride. You have done quite enough. You have unmasked a predator in my house and secured my sons’ immediate safety.
For that, I am eternally in your debt, but there is no reason for you to go through with this marriage.
None at all. Not when you so obviously hate the idea of it. ”
“Your Grace, the boys...”
“The boys will be fine,” he interrupted, and his eyebrows twitched in that instant.
“We have managed just fine up until now. I was a fool to think I could simply import a heart for this house. I will not be the man who forces a woman into a life of cold duty just because my sons could use a mother’s influence.
You value your freedom, Lucy. It would be a hollow victory for me to take it from you under the guise of a ‘practical solution’. ”
He turned toward the door. The vulnerability he had shown moments ago was gone, replaced by the impenetrable armor of the Duke of Langridge.
“I release you from your duties and from our deal,” he said, not looking back.
“I will have my man deliver the full payment for your services to your rooms by morning, along with a carriage to take you and your aunt wherever you wish to go. You are free to return to your life in London, exactly as it was before you met us.”
He didn’t wait for her response. He walked out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Lucy stood in the corner of the drawing room, surrounded by the remnants of her ‘victory,’ feeling a sudden, terrifying hollowness.
She had won her independence back. She had secured her career.
But as she looked at the empty space where Rowan had stood, she realized she had never felt more utterly defeated.
Even minutes after Rowan left, she still stood motionless in the silence, the coldness of the room seeping into her bones as the reality of his departure settled over her.
In that moment, she felt a sharp, agonizing sensation in her chest, a slow, jagged tearing that she couldn’t rationalize away.
It was a hollow, suffocating ache that defied all her logic, a silent breaking of something she hadn’t even realized was whole until the moment Rowan walked out of her life for good.