Chapter 15 #2
Miss Hartley shifted her weight, trying to adjust her tired arm without waking the baby. Roman noticed the subtle strain in her posture, the way she tried to hide it behind a calm expression.
“Here,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “Allow me.”
Before she could protest, he reached out and carefully lifted Liliana from her arms. His hand brushed along the length of her arm as he did so, a deliberate slide of warmth against warmth.
Neither of them mentioned it. Neither of them needed to.
The contact lingered a fraction longer than necessary, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin just above her wrist. Roman felt the subtle hitch in her breathing, the way her body swayed instinctively toward him for half a second before she caught herself.
He settled Liliana securely against his own chest, one large hand supporting her back. The baby sighed in her sleep and nuzzled closer, completely at ease. Miss Hartley’s eyes followed the movement, something soft and unguarded flickering across her face before she looked away.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice lower than usual. She rubbed her arm where his hand had been, as though the touch still lingered on her skin.
They began the walk back to Langley in comfortable silence at first, the lane winding gently through fields turning gold in the late afternoon light. But the air between them felt heavier, charged with awareness.
“You carried her most of the way here,” he said after a while, his voice quiet. “Your arm must be aching.”
Miss Hartley gave a small shrug, though he noticed how she flexed her fingers. “It is nothing I am not used to. Liliana is growing heavier by the week. She is determined to test every limit.”
Roman smiled faintly, looking down at the sleeping child. “She gets that from somewhere.” His gaze lifted to Miss Hartley’s face. “You are very patient with her. More than patient. You make it look effortless.”
She glanced at him, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. “I have had practice. Children have a way of claiming your heart before you realize it is happening.”
Their eyes met. For several heartbeats, neither looked away. Roman felt the pull again… that quiet, insistent awareness that had been building for weeks.
He noticed the delicate way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the subtle parting of her lips as she breathed, the way she seemed to lean ever so slightly toward him as they walked. The space between their arms felt alive with possibility.
He wondered what it would be like to close that distance, to brush his fingers along her wrist again on purpose this time.
Miss Hartley looked away first, clearing her throat softly. “The village was kind today. Even with the stares.”
“They assume what they see,” Roman said, his voice rougher than he intended. “A family out for the day.”
The words hung between them. He had not allowed himself to think it before, but walking beside her now, Liliana asleep between them, the assumption felt dangerously easy to imagine. Too easy.
Miss Hartley’s fingers tightened on her skirt. “People do love a story,” she said lightly, though her voice carried a slight tremor.
Roman’s gaze dropped to her mouth for a moment before he forced it back to the path ahead.
***
Later, as Roman headed toward his study, his mother intercepted him in the corridor. Her posture was rigid, her expression set in that familiar mask of cool determination.
“Roman. A word.”
He paused, sensing the conversation he had been avoiding. “Mother.”
She followed him into the study and closed the door behind them. “I have tried everything. I have reasoned with you. I have warned you. You have refused every suggestion I have made regarding this child.”
Roman poured himself a measure of brandy but did not offer her any. “Because none of them were acceptable.”
His mother’s hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Then I have one final offer. If you insist on keeping the baby, you must marry. A settled duke with a wife and a legitimate household can weather a foundling scandal. An unmarried duke cannot. The talk will destroy your standing.”
Roman set the glass down harder than necessary. “I will not be forced into marriage for the sake of appearances.”
“I have written to the Earl of Harworth,” she continued, as though he had not spoken.
“His daughter Daphne has been available for years. You knew her in London. You rejected the idea three years ago, but the situation has changed. She would make an excellent duchess. Composed. Well-connected. Capable of managing this household and the rumors surrounding that child.”
Roman’s jaw tightened. “I am not interested in Lady Daphne.”
“The alternative is the orphanage. I have the letter of acceptance here.”
She placed two sealed letters on his desk, one from the Earl of Harworth, the other from the orphanage. Her hand lingered for a moment before she withdrew.
Roman stared at the letters, anger and frustration coiling tight in his chest. “You would truly send her away?”
“If you force my hand,” she replied. “I am trying to protect this family. Something you seem determined to ignore.”
He met her gaze without flinching. “I will not marry Daphne Vane. Not for you. Not for the title. Not for anything.”
His mother studied him for a long moment. Then she turned and left the study, the door closing softly behind her.
Roman remained standing at his desk, the weight of the letters heavy on the polished wood. He reached for the one from the Earl of Harworth and broke the seal.
Lady Daphne had already accepted the terms.
She would arrive at Langley at the end of the week.
He set the letter down slowly, the paper crisp beneath his fingers.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to a sunlit village green.
To Miss Hartley laughing at daisies with Liliana on her lap, her warm brown eyes bright with surprise when he laughed with her.
To the way her arm had felt beneath his hand earlier that day, soft and warm and far too real.
The worst part was not that Lady Daphne was coming.
It was that he now knew exactly what he was losing.