“That’s different.”
“How?”
“There was no…” He gestured vaguely. “No child, back then.”
“There was a wife. But apparently, that wasn’t enough.”
“Duchess—”
“Stop.” She bent to pick up Evie, who had begun to fuss. “You don’t get to sweep back in and make demands. Not when I’m caring for a baby who isn’t even?—”
Her stomach growled loudly, cutting her off. The sound echoed through the quiet room.
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “When did you last eat?”
“This morning.”
“What did you eat?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “Tea. Some toast.”
“That’s all?”
“I’ve been rather occupied.”
He studied her more closely. The shadows under her eyes were darker than he’d first noticed. Her cheeks were hollower than they had been. Even her hands trembled slightly as she held the baby.
Without another word, Owen strode to the bell pull. Mary appeared almost instantly.
“Take the baby,” he ordered.
“Your Grace?—”
“Take her.”
Mary scurried forward and took Evie from his wife’s reluctant arms. “Should I give her a bottle, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Iris answered before Owen could. “The one Mrs. Pemberton prepared. And walk with her after you feed her. She prefers movement.”
When the maid left with Evie, Owen turned back to his wife. “Come with me.”
“No.”
“Duchess.”
“You can’t order me about like a servant.”
He stepped closer, close enough to see her pulse flutter at her throat. Close enough to hear her breath hitch. “You need to eat.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re about to collapse.” Before she could protest, he caught her hand. “Come.”
Her hand was smaller than he remembered. She tried to pull away, but he held firmly.
“This is ridiculous!”
“This is necessary.”
