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“ I ’ve received word that Mozart’s The Magic Flute is being performed at the King’s Theatre tonight,” Selina said, setting aside the morning correspondence that Agnes had brought with her tea. “I would like to attend.”

Rowan looked up from the letter he was reading. “Of course. I’ll accompany you.”

Selina hadn’t expected this response. She had mentioned the opera hoping for a night away from her husband’s distant presence.

“That’s unnecessary,” she replied carefully. “Agnes can be my chaperone.”

“It would be best if we appeared together,” Rowan said, his tone making it clear this wasn’t a suggestion. “Our sudden marriage has become the subject of considerable speculation. Public appearances will quiet the gossip.”

Selina doubted that, but she merely nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

The opera house blazed with light, carriages lined up along the street disgorging London’s elite in their finery.

As the Duke handed her down from their carriage, Selina felt the weight of stares, heard the murmurs that followed their entrance.

“Is that the Duke of Aldermere?”

“With his new wife—the widow he abandoned last year.”

“Remarkable that he returned for her, of all the eligible ladies out there.”

Selina kept her chin high, her hand resting lightly on the Duke’s arm as they moved through the crowded foyer. She had endured society’s judgment before, and she could endure it again.

A portly gentleman with mutton-chop whiskers approached with a thin woman in lavender silk at his side.

“Your Grace! What a pleasure to see you again.” He bowed to Rowan, then turned to Selina with barely concealed curiosity. “And this must be your new duchess.”

“Lord Baxter. Lady Baxter,” Rowan said, his voice cool. “May I present my wife, the Duchess of Aldermere.”

Lord Baxter bowed again, more shallowly this time. “Your Grace. A pleasure indeed.”

Lady Baxter offered a thin smile. “We were all quite surprised by your sudden marriage, Your Grace. How… pragmatic of you to choose a bride with experience rather than youth. So many men prefer the latter, but clearly you value maturity.”

Heat rose to Selina’s cheeks, but she kept her expression serene. “How kind of you to notice, Lady Baxter. Experience brings wisdom, after all.”

“One must find consolation where one can,” Lady Baxter replied with false sympathy. “Though I imagine it must be difficult to secure a match after being left at the altar. Such a persistent stain on one’s reputation.”

“Not nearly as difficult as maintaining civility in the face of poor manners,” Selina countered, her smile unwavering. “But I’ve found that true breeding reveals itself in how one treats others, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lady Baxter’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of breeding, the ton wonders if we might expect an announcement soon. Given the… hasty nature of your nuptials.”

“Ahem,” Lord Baxter cleared his throat. “Your Grace, I wanted to speak with you about our railway venture. With your unexpected return, I assume you’ll want to resume your interest in the project?”

“You assume incorrectly,” Rowan replied, his tone hardening. “I find I have no desire to do business with those who cannot show proper respect to my wife.”

Lord Baxter’s mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon?”

“My wife is the Duchess of Aldermere,” Rowan continued, his gray eyes flinty. “She commands the respect due her station. Those who cannot offer it will find themselves unwelcome in both my business affairs and my social circle.”

An awkward silence fell. Lady Baxter’s face flushed an unbecoming red.

“Your Grace, I assure you no disrespect was intended,” Lord Baxter stammered.

“Then your wife’s social graces need refinement,” Rowan replied. “Good evening.”

He guided Selina away, leaving the Baxters gaping behind them.

“Thank God, a rescue!” A cheerful voice cut through the tension. Felix appeared before them, resplendent in a midnight blue coat. “You looked ready to commit murder, my friend. Couldn’t let you ruin these fine floors with blood.”

The Duke’s expression softened marginally. “Halston. I wondered if you’d be here tonight.”

“Where else would I be? Mozart’s masterpiece, all of society in attendance…” Felix turned to Selina with a bow. “Your Grace, we weren’t properly introduced at the wedding. Felix Dunleith, Marquess of Halston, at your service. Longtime friend and frequent aggravation to your husband.”

Selina smiled, warming to his easy charm. “A pleasure, Lord Halston. Any friend of my husband’s is welcome in our acquaintance.”

“Even the aggravating ones?” Felix asked with a grin. “Careful, Your Grace. You might regret such openness.”

“I doubt that,” Selina replied. “Would you care to join us in our box for the performance?”

Felix’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Did you hear that, Rowan? Your wife has invited me to join you. And here I thought you’d warned her about my terrible manners.”

Rowan . Her husband’s first name. She’d seen it on the long list of suitors the matchmaker had given her, but she’d never heard it spoken out loud until now.

It was a beautiful name.

“I hadn’t gotten around to it,” the Duke said dryly. “Though she’ll discover them soon enough.”

The bell rang, signaling patrons to take their seats. The Duke offered Selina his arm once more, and the three of them made their way to the ducal box.

The box, with its curved front draped in red velvet, had an excellent view of the stage. Selina took her seat, acutely aware of the many lorgnettes and quizzing glasses directed their way from the surrounding boxes and the pit below.

As the orchestra began tuning their instruments, she leaned closer to Rowan.

“Thank you for what you said to the Baxters,” she whispered. “Though you needn’t have jeopardized your business interests on my account.”

Rowan frowned. “No one may speak to you that way. Particularly not in my presence.”

“Still—”

“I don’t need their railway venture,” he interrupted. “My investments are performing well without it.”

Before Selina could respond, the lights dimmed and the curtain rose. The opera began with a flourish of music. The story might have delighted Selina under different circumstances.

Tonight, however, she found it difficult to concentrate.

From the corner of her eye, she could see opera glasses turning in their direction between scenes. Fans fluttered in nearby boxes, concealing whispered conversations that she was certain centered on her unexpected marriage.

By the second act, the pressure of being observed, judged, and dissected by London society became unbearable.

Selina rose suddenly. “Excuse me,” she murmured to Rowan. “I need some air.”

Without waiting for a response, she slipped from the box and hurried down the corridor. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest tight with suppressed emotion. She moved blindly, seeking escape from the stares and whispers.

A set of French doors stood open along one side of the corridor, offering a glimpse of a small balcony. Selina stepped through, grateful for the cool night air against her flushed skin.

London spread before her, a sea of twinkling lights beneath a star-strewn sky. Selina gripped the balustrade, drawing deep breaths to steady herself. The tears she had been fighting broke free at last, sliding down her cheeks in silent streams.

How had her life come to this?

One year ago, she had been preparing to marry a duke she had never met, hopeful that the match would bring security if not a tiny bit of affection, at least.

Then came the abandonment, the scandal, the struggle to rebuild her reputation.

Her engagement to Matthew had offered a chance at a quiet, if modest, future. And now, full circle to marriage with the very man who had ruined her, but on terms that left her more alone than ever.

“Duchess.”

She stiffened at the Duke’s voice behind her. Hastily, she wiped her tears away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping onto the balcony.

“Nothing,” she replied, keeping her back to him. “Please, leave me alone.”

Instead, he moved closer. “What has upset you?”

“I asked for privacy,” Selina said, turning to face him at last. “Can you not grant me even that small mercy?”

His expression was unreadable in the dim light. “You left abruptly. I was concerned. Let me help.”

“You can help by giving me privacy.”

“I am not leaving, Duchess.”

Selina’s control slipped. “You forced me into this marriage, but you cannot afford me a moment of peace?”

“I did not force you?—”

“Did you not?” Her voice rose. “What choice did I have after you destroyed my engagement? What prospects remained for a widow rejected at the altar?”

The Duke stepped closer. “You should not let people like the Baxters affect you so deeply. Their opinions are worthless.”

“It’s not about them!” Selina cried, frustration boiling over. “It’s the whispers. The stares. The speculation about why you returned for me after a year’s absence. The assumption that our marriage was out of pity.”

“I did not marry you out of pity.”

“They will never see that. They will forever see me as the pitiful creature you rescued from spinsterhood. The charity wife, as even our own servants call me.”

His expression darkened. “Who said that?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Selina turned away again, staring out at the London night. “What matters is that I have become something I never wanted to be—an object of pity and gossip, married to a man who can barely stand to be in the same room with me.”

“You think I can’t stand to be near you?” The Duke’s voice had dropped to a dangerous quiet.

“What else am I to think? You rejected me on our wedding night. You avoid my company. You keep me at arm’s length, refusing to share even the most basic confidences?—”

“Do you know why I can’t stand to be near you?” Rowan interrupted, his voice low and strained.

He stepped closer, forcing her back against the balustrade.

Selina’s breath caught. “Why?”

“Because when you’re close, I forget every damned reason I’ve told myself to stay away.” His eyes darkened, intensity radiating from him in waves. “You unravel every shred of sense I possess.” His jaw clenched. “You make me want to claim things no man like me has any right to want.”

“Rowan—”

His hand braced beside her on the stone, his body towering over hers. “You think I haven’t tried to fight this? That I haven’t told myself, again and again, that you are the one thing I cannot have?”

He leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. “But then you look at me, and I stop caring about consequences. About honor. About anything but the feel of your mouth under mine.”

His fingers caught her chin, tilting her face to his. “So tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough with desire. “Say one word, and I will walk away. But if you don’t?—”

He paused, eyes flicking to her lips, his breath shallow now.

“Tell me to stop,” he finished.

No word came out of her mouth.

Rowan grasped her shoulders, and then, his mouth descended on hers, his kiss fierce and possessive.

Something inside her shifted—as though she’d stirred from a long slumber—and she responded, her lips softening under his.

His arms encircled her, drawing her against the hard planes of his chest. Heat surged through her body, a trembling awareness that had nothing to do with anger.

This… This was desire. Raw, and sizzling, about to burst from within her.

She ought to push him away. She ought to maintain her dignity. But her body betrayed her, melting into his embrace as her hands slid up to his shoulders.

The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until they parted for him.

She heard a small sound escape her throat, something between a sigh and a moan, which seemed to ignite something primal in Rowan.

His arms tightened around her, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head, the other pressing against the small of her back, molding her body to his.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with desire. “Every night since I first saw you.”

His mouth moved to her jaw, trailing fire along the sensitive skin, then lower to the pulse point at her throat. Selina gasped, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her as pleasure coursed through her veins.

“Your scent,” he whispered against her skin. “Your taste. You’re intoxicating.”

Her head fell back as his lips continued their exploration, his hands roaming her silhouette with reverent hunger. The rational part of her mind dissolved, leaving only sensation—the cool night air against her heated skin, the solid warmth of his body, the exquisite pressure of his mouth.

“I want you,” he breathed in her ear, the words sending shivers down her spine.

“Rowan! Where are— oh !” came a startled voice from the doorway.

They broke apart to see Lord Halston standing there, his expression caught between embarrassment and amusement.

“My apologies,” he said quickly, already backing away. “Carry on. Pretend I was never here.”

He disappeared down the corridor, leaving them alone once more.

Selina looked back at her husband—at Rowan . He stepped back, his face resuming its usual guarded expression. The transformation was so swift that she wondered if she had imagined the passion of moments before.

“We should, uh, return to our box,” he said, his voice controlled. “The second act will end soon.”

Selina touched her fingertips to her lips, still tingling from his kiss. “I?—”

“We can discuss this later,” he cut her off. “In private.”

Without another word, he offered his arm. Selina took it automatically, her mind reeling.

What had just happened?

As they made their way back to their box, one question lingered in Selina’s mind.

Who was the real Rowan Blackmore—the cold, distant duke who kept her at arm’s length, or the passionate man who had just kissed her senseless on a moonlit balcony?