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“ W e should arrive precisely at four,” Rowan said, checking his pocket watch as their carriage rolled through London. “Fashionably late would be remarked upon.”

“Of course,” Selina replied, smoothing her skirts for perhaps the tenth time. “Lord Marlow is an important connection.”

A week had passed since their return to London, filled with stilted meals and careful avoidance. The kiss at the opera hung between them, unacknowledged yet impossible to forget.

The Marlow estate appeared ahead, its white stone facade gleaming in the afternoon sun. As their carriage pulled up the circular drive, Selina drew a steadying breath.

“Nervous?” Rowan asked, studying her face.

“Certainly not,” she replied, though her fingers twisted the ribbon of her reticule. “I’ve attended countless garden parties.”

“Not as the Duchess of Aldermere.”

The carriage stopped, and Rowan stepped out first, then turned to offer his hand. As Selina stepped down, her gloved fingers rested in his palm, the contact brief yet somehow charged.

They approached the grand entrance where a footman announced in ringing tones, “His Grace, the Duke of Aldermere, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Aldermere.”

Conversation faltered. Heads turned. Selina felt the weight of curious stares but kept her chin high as Rowan guided her forward with a light touch at her back.

Lord and Lady Marlow came to greet them, their smiles polite if somewhat curious. Lord Marlow was a portly, red-faced gentleman with shrewd eyes, while his wife was a handsome woman whose dark hair showed the first threads of silver.

“Your Grace, welcome,” Lord Marlow said, bowing to Rowan before turning to Selina. “And Her Grace. We’re delighted you could join us today.”

After several minutes of small talk, Rowan turned to his host. “I wonder if I might have a private word. A business matter I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lord Marlow nodded. “My study is at your disposal.”

Rowan turned to Selina. “Will you excuse us, my dear? I’m sure Lady Marlow can introduce you to the other guests.”

“Certainly,” Selina replied with a perfect curtsy, meeting his gaze briefly. “It was a pleasure, Lord Marlow.”

Lord Marlow’s study was a masculine sanctuary of leather and mahogany, the walls lined with bound volumes and sporting prints.

“Brandy?” Marlow offered, moving to a crystal decanter.

“Thank you.” Rowan accepted the glass, taking a small sip. “I appreciate your discretion in agreeing to speak privately.”

“Always happy to accommodate a valued investor.” Marlow settled into a leather chair. “Now, what business brings you here today?”

Rowan chose his words with care. “I’m seeking information about my father’s affairs in the years before his death.”

Marlow’s expression grew guarded. “That was some time ago, Your Grace.”

“Three years. Not so very long.” Rowan leaned forward. “You did business with him, did you not?”

“I had the honor of several ventures with the late Duke, yes.”

“And you knew him socially as well.”

“We moved in the same circles,” Marlow replied, studying his brandy.

“Then you were aware of his gambling debts.”

The statement hung in the air. Marlow set down his glass with deliberate care.

“Your Grace, these are matters best left in the past.”

“I need to know the truth, Marlow.” Rowan kept his voice level despite the tension coiling inside him. “It concerns my family’s safety.”

Something in his tone must have convinced the older man, for Marlow sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“Very well. Yes, your father had substantial gambling debts. Many of his creditors had connections to less reputable elements in London.”

Rowan absorbed this confirmation of what he’d already suspected. “Was there anyone else who might have wished my father harm? Anyone in particular?”

Marlow considered the question. “There was bad blood between your father and Lord Atwood. Something to do with a property dispute that turned ugly. Atwood claimed your father cheated him, though I never learned the details.”

“Atwood,” Rowan repeated, committing the name to memory.

“What is this about, Your Grace? Surely, you’re not seeking vengeance for your father after all this time?”

“My interests are my own.” Rowan set down his empty glass. “I appreciate your candor, Marlow. Rest assured, your railway venture will receive the additional investment we discussed last month.”

“Most generous.” Marlow hesitated, then added, “If I may offer some advice, Your Grace? The path of revenge is seldom straight or simple. With a young wife and a child on the way, perhaps your energies would be better directed toward the future rather than the past.”

Rowan froze. “What did you say?”

“Merely that family concerns might take precedence over?—”

“No.” Rowan stood abruptly. “You mentioned a child.”

Marlow looked confused, then embarrassed. “My wife mentioned the Duchess was expecting. Have I spoken out of turn?”

“Where did Lady Marlow hear this?”

“I couldn’t say. Drawing room gossip, I imagine.” Marlow shifted uncomfortably. “Please accept my apologies if I’ve?—”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Rowan strode toward the door, his mind racing.

Selina, with child? It was impossible. They had never consummated their marriage.

He made his way back to the garden, scanning the crowd for his wife.

Selina sipped punch at the refreshment table, grateful for a moment’s respite from forced conversation. Lady Marlow had been kind enough in her introductions, but the pointed stares and whispered comments had followed Selina like a shadow.

“Look at her dress,” a voice murmured nearby. “Only a week in London and already outfitted like a queen.”

“Well, one must look the part when one has risen so dramatically,” another replied with a significant look in Selina’s direction.

Selina pretended not to hear, focusing on the elaborate ice sculpture centerpiece. She had expected the scrutiny, the judgment. Society always circled its wounded members, eager for a taste of blood.

“Your Grace.” Three ladies approached, their smiles bright but their eyes calculating. “We’ve been hoping to make your acquaintance.”

Selina recognized Lady Tremblay, a notorious gossip, and her two companions, whose names escaped her. “How kind of you to say so.”

“We were just remarking on how radiant you look,” Lady Tremblay said. “Marriage clearly agrees with you.”

“Thank you. Lord Marlow’s gardens are truly spectacular, are they not?” Selina attempted to direct the conversation to safer ground.

“Indeed, though not half so interesting as your whirlwind romance with the Duke.” Lady Tremblay leaned closer. “Such a dramatic story. Abandoned at the altar, only to be claimed a year later when he mysteriously reappeared.”

Selina maintained her composure with effort. “Life often takes unexpected turns.”

“Especially swift turns,” one companion added with feigned innocence. “One might almost suspect the Duke felt compelled to marry you after his return. A matter of honor, perhaps?”

The implication was clear. Selina felt heat rise to her face. “I assure you, our marriage was arranged with perfect propriety.”

“Of course,” Lady Tremblay nodded, her eyes gleaming. “Though I understand you were recently seen purchasing baby clothes in Bond Street. Such charming timing.”

And it clicked.

How dare they ? —

“Those were gifts for Lady Bingham, who has just given birth to a daughter,” Selina replied, her voice tight. “As you must know, she is a dear friend.”

Lady Tremblay looked unconvinced. “How thoughtful. Though the shopkeeper was quite certain you showed particular interest in the smallest sizes.”

“Ladies, you wound me.” Lord Halston appeared at Selina’s side, his smile dazzling. “Monopolizing the most beautiful woman at the party while I languish in boredom.”

The ladies simpered at his arrival. “Lord Halston, we were just welcoming Her Grace to society.”

“And doing a marvelous job, I’m sure.” Lord Halston winked at Selina before turning his charm on the trio. “Lady Tremblay, I must tell you about the most astonishing horse race I witnessed yesterday. You’re a connoisseur of fine horses, are you not?”

With practiced ease, the marquess guided the ladies away from the refreshment table, sending Selina a quick, reassuring glance over his shoulder.

“Why are people speculating you’re with child?”

Selina startled at Rowan’s voice directly behind her. She turned to find him looking thunderous.

“I have no idea,” she whispered, mindful of nearby guests. “Those women just implied that you married me because you compromised me during your absence, which is patently absurd.”

“Marlow just congratulated me on impending fatherhood,” Rowan replied, keeping his voice low. “Where is this rumor coming from?”

“I was seen buying baby clothes,” Selina explained, her cheeks warming. “They were for Isabella’s new daughter, but Lady Tremblay seems determined to believe otherwise.”

Rowan’s jaw clenched. “This goes beyond idle gossip. Someone is deliberately spreading lies about our marriage.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

Before Rowan could answer, Lord Halston rejoined them. “You two might want to stop looking like you’re plotting murder,” he murmured. “Half the party is watching.”

Selina forced her lips into a smile. “Thank you for your timely rescue, Lord Halston.”

“My pleasure, Your Grace.” Lord Halston turned to Rowan. “Offer your wife your arm, you dolt. Present a united front.”

Rowan scowled but extended his arm. As Selina placed her hand upon it, she felt the tension in his muscles, the careful space he maintained between them.

“Lady Endicott is approaching with reinforcements,” Lord Halston warned them. “Brace yourselves.”

A formidable matron bore down on them, trailing several younger ladies like ducklings.

“Your Grace, we are all positively dying to hear how you two met,” Lady Endicott declared, her lorgnette trained on Selina. “Such a mysterious courtship.”

“There was nothing mysterious about it,” Rowan answered stiffly.

“We were introduced through mutual acquaintances,” Selina improvised quickly. “A correspondence developed, and we discovered many shared interests.”

“How fascinating.” Lady Endicott looked skeptical. “And what interests might those be?”

Selina glanced at Rowan, suddenly realizing she knew almost nothing about his personal preferences. “Literature,” she ventured. “The Duke has excellent taste in poetry.”

Rowan’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “And the Duchess has a remarkable understanding of estate management,” he added.

Lord Halston coughed to disguise a laugh.

“How… practical,” Lady Endicott said. “And Your Grace, we’re all curious about your unexpected disappearance last year. So many rumors circulated.”

Rowan’s expression darkened perceptibly. Selina felt him tense beneath her hand.

“My husband’s absence last year was most unfortunate,” Selina explained with calm dignity, “but entirely unavoidable. His Grace was called away on pressing family business abroad. Matters of great consequence and delicacy involving his shipping estates. The dreadful weather made all correspondence impossible, and, regrettably, we were unable to communicate in time to formally cancel the wedding.”

She smiled gently, brushing an imaginary speck from Rowan’s lapel, her fingers lingering just so.

“After that long and trying separation, His Grace returned with the most honorable intentions. Though I confess, the year apart was an agony I bore with great fortitude. But it only deepened my affection for him.”

Rowan looked startled at first, but he soon inclined his head slightly, “Nothing could have kept me away willingly. My absence was a torment, but I was bound by duty. Now, united at last, we look forward to our future together with great happiness.”

Lady Endicott seemed disappointed by this mundane explanation. “Well, it must have been quite the reunion.”

“Indeed,” Selina replied, emboldened by desperation. She stroked Rowan’s cheek lightly, a gesture both intimate and possessive. “Some things are worth waiting for.”

The ladies exchanged glances, clearly taken aback by this display of affection. Rowan remained frozen, his eyes fixed on Selina with an unreadable expression.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Lord Halston said cheerfully, “I believe Lord Marlow is signaling for the Duke’s attention.”

The group dispersed, and Felix grinned at them both. “Masterfully done. Though I believe Rowan may need smelling salts after that performance.”

Selina withdrew her hand from Rowan’s arm, suddenly embarrassed by her boldness. “Sometimes a demonstration is more effective than words.”

“You’re quite the actress,” Rowan remarked after several minutes of silence in the carriage.

“Necessity teaches many skills,” she replied, watching London pass by the window. “My first husband required a convincing show of wifely devotion at social gatherings, despite our private arrangement.”

“Private arrangement?”

Selina hesitated, then decided the truth was simpler than evasion. “It was a convenient match. Appearances had to be maintained.”

“I see.”

Another silence fell, less strained than before. As the carriage turned onto their street, Rowan spoke again.

“Thank you for your quick thinking with Lady Endicott. I’m not… accustomed to discussing my personal affairs.”

“I noticed,” Selina said dryly. “Perhaps someday you might share your actual interests with me. It would make future performances more convincing.”

A ghost of a smile touched Rowan’s lips. “Perhaps I shall.”

As he handed her down from the carriage, his fingers closed around hers a moment longer than necessary. The brief contact sent warmth coursing through her veins, a reminder of the spark that had ignited between them at the opera.

Whatever game fate was playing with them, whatever secrets Rowan kept, Selina could no longer deny the attraction that simmered beneath their careful distance.

And judging by the way his eyes lingered on her face before he turned away, neither could he.