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“ W hy Boudica?” Rowan asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them in the carriage.

Selina turned from the window, her profile illuminated by the passing moonlight. “Boudica fought for what was hers. She stood strong. I think it’s fitting.”

Rowan nodded, studying her with interest.

The day had revealed unexpected depths in his wife: her willingness to work alongside the villagers, her practical suggestions that had saved the dam, and her easy manner with people from all walks of life.

Evidently, the name his wife had suggested did not suit the horse only.

“A good choice,” he said finally.

Selina smiled faintly before returning her gaze to the window.

The carriage continued its journey through the darkened countryside, and Rowan watched her more than the passing landscape.

For the first time since their hasty marriage, he wondered if perhaps he had underestimated the woman who now shared his name.

The revelation was disquieting. It would be easier to maintain his distance if she remained the cold, practical arrangement he had intended. But his Duchess was proving to be far more complex than he had anticipated.

One week later, Rowan sat in the London office of Mr. Notley, his family’s solicitor. The small room was cluttered with leather-bound ledgers and stacks of papers, the air heavy with the scent of dust and ink.

“I need all information regarding my father’s debts,” Rowan said, removing his gloves. “Particularly any that might have gone unsettled after his death.”

Notley, a thin man with spectacles perched on his nose, frowned. “I thought we had resolved those matters, Your Grace. The estate was nearly ruined, but you managed to restore its finances admirably these past three years.”

“I am not concerned with the legitimate debts,” Rowan clarified. “I want to know about the others—the gambling debts, the private loans, anything that might have made him enemies.”

The solicitor’s expression grew wary. “May I ask why Your Grace is inquiring after such unpleasantness? The late Duke’s affairs were… complicated.”

“I am not here to debate this matter, Mr. Notley. Now, let’s get on with it.”

Notley hesitated, then reached for a small key hanging from his watch chain. He unlocked a drawer in his desk and withdrew a slim leather folio.

“These are the records I kept separate from the official estate documents,” he said, his voice lowered though they were alone. “Your father insisted on this discretion.”

Rowan opened the folio, scanning the contents. Pages of figures, names, dates. It was a hidden ledger of his father’s secret financial life. Far worse than he had expected.

“This is extensive,” he murmured, turning a page. “Gaming halls, moneylenders, private individuals…”

“Indeed.” Notley removed his spectacles, polishing them with a handkerchief. “But there is more to the story than mere gambling debts.”

Rowan looked up sharply. “Explain.”

“Your father was being blackmailed, Your Grace.” The solicitor replaced his spectacles, his expression grave. “For at least two years before his death.”

“Blackmailed? For what?”

“He never revealed the specifics. But the payments were substantial—several thousand pounds over time. It created a spiral from which he could not escape. He borrowed to pay the blackmailer, then gambled to try to recover his losses, which led to more debts.”

“And the beating that killed him?”

Notley nodded solemnly. “One of his creditors lost patience. But I always wondered if the blackmailer might have been involved somehow.”

Rowan’s mind raced. “Do you have a name for this blackmailer?”

“Only a designation in your father’s private notes.” Notley flipped through the folio, pointing to a recurring entry marked simply ‘L.B.’ “The payments were made in cash, delivered by your father personally. He was… unusually secretive about this obligation.”

“L.B.” Rowan committed the initials to memory. “And you don’t know what this person held over him?”

The solicitor hesitated. “Nothing I could prove. There were rumors, of course. Your father had indiscretions.”

“Affairs, you mean.”

“Among other things.” Notley closed the folio, his discomfort evident. “Your Grace, if I may offer some counsel, the past is best left buried. Your father’s mistakes need not taint your future. You have a new wife, estates that require your attention?—”

“The past is already tainting my future,” Rowan interrupted, his voice hard. “Whoever did this, they must have orchestrated my abduction too. They will pay for that, regardless of what I must uncover.”

“Y-you were abducted, Your Grace?”

Rowan exhaled in exasperation, “Don’t expect an explanation, Mr. Notley.”

“V-very well, Your Grace. Still, you believe these matters are connected?”

“I do.” Rowan stood, gathering the folio. “I’ll need to borrow these records.”

Notley sighed but nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace. But I urge caution. Digging into this could uncover truths one might prefer not to know.”

“I don’t care what I discover,” Rowan said coldly. “I want justice.”

He left the solicitor’s office with the folio tucked securely inside his coat, his mind churning with possibilities.

L.B.

A blackmailer with enough influence to potentially arrange his press-ganging. Or perhaps one of the creditors, seeking revenge beyond the grave.

Either way, the answers lay in London, not the peaceful countryside of Aldermere.

When Rowan returned to Aldermere Hall that evening, he found Simmons waiting at the door.

“Your Grace. Welcome home. Was your journey productive?”

“Informative, at least.” Rowan handed his hat and gloves to the waiting footman. “Is Her Grace at home?”

“In the drawing room, Your Grace. Shall I announce you?”

“No need.”

Rowan made his way through the familiar corridors of his ancestral home, his footsteps echoing on the marble floors.

He found Selina seated by the window, a book open in her lap. Sunlight caught in her hair, casting a halo-like glow that momentarily arrested him. She looked up at his entrance, her surprise quickly masked.

“Your Grace,” she said, closing her book. “We did not expect you back until dinner.”

“My business concluded earlier than expected.” Rowan moved further into the room, standing before the unlit fireplace. “We need to return to London.”

Selina’s brow furrowed. “When?”

“Tomorrow, if possible. The day after, at the latest.”

“May I ask why?”

Rowan hesitated. How much could he safely tell her? He had resolved to keep her ignorant of his investigation, to protect her from potential danger. But after witnessing her strength and resourcefulness at the village, he found himself reconsidering.

“Business matters require my attention in town,” he said finally, choosing a partial truth. “Financial affairs primarily.”

“I see.” Selina’s voice cooled. “And I am to accompany you because…”

“Because you are my wife,” Rowan said simply. “Your place is with me.”

Selina regarded him for a long moment, her hazel eyes searching his face. “I see. I’ll do my duty by you, husband.”

Husband . It made him wince, for she’d not spoken it with affection.

Why would she? Had he given her any prompting to do so? And why on earth had that bothered him?

After their time at Aldermere village, Rowan knew he didn’t deserve her, a kind, intelligent, beautiful woman by his side.

God help him, he wanted her constantly.

It lived in his blood now—that slow, burning hunger. The need to touch her, taste her, feel her body under his hands, and her breath catch in his ear.

She deserved a better man. And Rowan, the wretched excuse for a man he was, had ruined her twice .

“If there’s nothing else you require of me,” Selina rose, smoothing her skirts. “Then I shall begin preparations for our departure.”

“That is all,” he could only reply.

She moved to the door with quiet dignity. Rowan felt a strange impulse to stop her, to explain everything. The danger he was investigating. The enemies who might use her to get to him.

Instead, he remained silent, watching her go.

The folio in his coat seemed to grow heavier, a physical reminder of the secrets he carried.

Secrets that might put Selina at risk if she knew them. Or so he told himself.

The truth, which he was not yet ready to admit, was far simpler: he feared her judgment should she learn the full, sordid history of his family. The blackmail. The gambling. His father’s mysterious “indiscretions.”

Better to keep her at a distance than risk her disgust.

For she was bound to a deplorable man forever.