Chapter 25 #2
“I should have seen it sooner,” Rowan continued. “The dancer, was it? The mysterious woman who required so much of your attention these past weeks. My God, you made a jest of it in front of me!”
“Release me,” Frederick said, his voice low and strained, though his eyes held Rowan’s with a steadiness that only made the fury burn hotter.
Rowan’s grip tightened in the fabric of his lapels, his jaw locked so hard the muscle jumped beneath his beard. “Where is my sister?”
Frederick’s mouth compressed, and for the first time, the charm fell entirely from his face. “Release me first.”
Rowan slammed him back again. “Do not bargain with me.”
Frederick’s mask cracked then, and beneath it stood a tired, guilty man Rowan almost did not recognize.
Frederick swallowed. “Remain here.”
Rowan looked back at him. “What?”
“Remain here,” Frederick said, quieter. “Do not follow me.”
Then, with a sudden wrench, he slipped free because Rowan’s grip had loosened with the shock of Emmeline’s face. Frederick left the room without another word.
Rowan stood there, breathing hard, the blood pounding so heavily in his ears that he almost missed the sound from the corridor.
“Let him go, brother.”
The voice was soft.
Rowan turned to see Juliet standing in the doorway.
For a moment, the world emptied.
She was thinner. Paler. Her dark hair was pinned back with none of its old care, and her gray eyes were red-rimmed, frightened. She looked like the little girl who used to creep into his room after their father’s anger had chilled the whole house.
The memory hit him so hard he nearly staggered. Then rage rushed in to fill the break.
“How long?” he asked.
Juliet’s lips parted. “Rowan—”
“How long have you been here?”
She flinched. “Only a few days.”
“How long has he had you hidden?”
Frederick returned behind her, his face grim. “Since the wedding day.”
Rowan laughed once, but there was no humor in it. The sound felt torn from his chest.
“Since the wedding day,” he repeated. “While I sent men across the country. While Aaron asked for you. While scandal crawled over my house. You were with him.”
Juliet’s eyes filled. “I was afraid.”
“You were afraid?” His voice rose despite his attempt to control it. “You allowed me to search blindly because you were afraid?”
“She begged for help,” Frederick said. “She believed herself cornered.”
Rowan turned on him. “And you decided to lie to me.”
“I decided not to return a terrified woman to the very thing she had fled.”
“You decided for my family.”
“Yes,” Frederick said sharply, stepping forward. “I did. And I am sorry for it. But your sister was miserable, and I couldn’t bear to bring her back.”
Juliet made a small sound. “Frederick.”
Rowan tensed. “You betrayed me.”
“Yes,” Frederick said. “I am sorry, my friend. I deserve your anger.”
Rowan stared at him. The room seemed too small for the force moving through him. His hands wanted something to close around. But beyond Frederick, Juliet was crying silently, and behind him, Emmeline had not spoken once.
Slowly, Rowan turned. His chest tightened so viciously that he could barely breathe.
“Did you know?”
Her eyes lifted to his and he saw everything in them. Fear. Shame. Pain. And something worse: love, or the dangerous beginning of it, wounded before it had even found the courage to stand.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“How long?”
She swallowed. “Since yesterday.”
He went cold. So cold that the anger seemed to draw inward, hardening into something that could cut cleanly.
“You knew for one whole day,” he said.
“I discovered her by accident when Aaron and I came here. She caught me when I nearly fainted. I did not know before that.”
“And instead of telling your husband the truth,” Rowan said, each word roughened by the effort to keep his voice steady, “you chose to hide it.”
Emmeline flinched as though he had struck her.
Juliet stepped forward again, her face wet with tears. “She did not tell you, because I begged her to,” she said, her voice breaking. “She did not agree easily. She told me I had until today to gather my courage and come to you myself. She said if I did not tell you, then she would.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“I was going to tell you,” Emmeline continued, stepping toward him, eyes wide. “Tonight. When you came to my chamber, I had already left my room to find you. I tried to tell you there was something I needed to say, but you said there was no time. You said there was urgent business.”
A terrible silence followed.
Rowan remembered it then. Her standing in the corridor outside her chamber, pale and sleepless, her hair half-unpinned, one hand clutched at the edge of her gown. He had cut her off.
He had not wanted explanations then. He had wanted movement, obedience, urgency. And now the memory sat between them like another blade.
Frederick’s voice was quieter when he spoke again. “She was trying to do the right thing, Rowan.”
Rowan heard them. He understood the argument. He could even see the logic of it, distantly, through the red and black ruin inside him. Juliet had asked. Frederick had orchestrated. Emmeline had been conflicted. Emmeline had set a limit. Emmeline had been on her way to him.
But logic did not ease the wound.
Frederick had betrayed his confidence and Juliet had disobeyed him.
But Emmeline had made him believe he could be known and not deceived.
And even if she had meant to tell him, even if the delay had been mercy rather than malice, she had still carried the secret for a day while he had trusted her completely.
Emmeline took a step closer. “Rowan.”
His name in her mouth nearly broke him. God, he wanted to go to her even then.
Wanted to seize her face in his hands and demand she undo it, demand she look at him the way she had looked at him in bed, open and trembling.
The want burned through the betrayal, making it worse. He hated that he still wanted her now.
“I am sorry,” she said. Her voice shook, but she did not look away.
He breathed out slowly and turned away from her before his face betrayed him.
For several moments, he paced once across the room, then back, drawing himself together piece by piece. Control. He needed control. Without it, he would become his father’s son in the ugliest sense, a man ruled by fury and calling it order.
At last, he looked at Juliet.
“You will return home tonight.”
She stiffened. “Rowan—”
“Tonight.”
“I am not ready.”
“You have forfeited readiness.”
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please.”
The plea struck him somewhere tender and furious. He had protected her since she was small. He had mistaken protection for possession, perhaps. But she was still his sister, hiding in another man’s house while Aaron mourned her. She would not remain there another night.
“My carriage is outside,” he said. “You will go to it now.”
Juliet looked to Frederick.
Rowan’s voice dropped. “Do not look at him. Look at me.”
She did, trembling.
“Now.”
For a second, he thought she might refuse. Then her shoulders folded inward, and she moved past him toward the corridor. Frederick stepped as though to follow, but Rowan’s hand shot out, barring him.
“You have done enough.”
He turned toward the door. “Emmeline. Come.”
Frederick moved. “Rowan, do not leave like this.”
Rowan did not stop.
Behind him, he heard Emmeline’s footsteps, light and hesitant, following him out of the room, and the sound hurt more than the betrayal should have allowed. Because even now, some ruined part of him was listening for whether she would still follow.