Page 21

“ W here could he possibly be at this hour?” Selina murmured, watching the clock tick past midnight as she paced the parlor floor.

The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. Dinner with Georgiana and Robert had ended hours ago, yet Rowan still hadn’t returned. His mysterious absences were becoming routine, but tonight felt different. A strange unease had settled in her stomach, refusing to dissipate.

She had changed from her evening gown into a simpler dress, dismissing Agnes for the night despite the maid’s concerned glances. Sleep seemed impossible while her mind conjured increasingly troubling scenarios to explain Rowan’s absence.

The sound of the front door opening jerked her from her thoughts. She rushed into the corridor, relief quickly giving way to irritation.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, spotting Rowan’s tall silhouette in the dimly lit entryway. “I attended dinner at the Emberfords alone, forced to invent excuses for your absence.”

Rowan stepped forward, moving into the light cast by the hall sconce.

Selina gasped. His lip was split and swollen, a darkening bruise forming along his jaw. His normally immaculate appearance was disheveled, his knuckles raw and scraped.

“What happened to you?” She moved closer, her anger forgotten.

“Nothing of consequence.” Rowan’s voice was gruff as he attempted to move past her. “I apologize for missing dinner.”

“Nothing of consequence?” Selina blocked his path. “You look as though you’ve been in a brawl.”

“It’s late, Selina. We can discuss this tomorrow.”

“Your injuries need attention now.” She reached for his hand, noting how he winced at the contact. “These cuts could become infected.”

“I’ve had worse.” He pulled away. “I’ll have Simmons bring hot water to my room.”

“Simmons has retired for the night, as have the rest of the staff.” Selina stood her ground. “The kitchen will have what we need. Come.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked toward the back of the house. After a moment’s hesitation, she heard his footsteps following her.

The kitchen was dark and quiet, the fires banked for the night. Selina lit a lamp and set it on the large wooden table that dominated the room.

“Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to a chair.

Surprisingly, Rowan complied, though his expression remained guarded. Selina filled a basin with water from the pump, then retrieved clean cloths and the box of medicinal supplies Mrs. Wilson kept for kitchen accidents.

“This isn’t necessary,” Rowan said, setting her supplies on the table.

“Clearly someone needs to look after you, since you won’t do it yourself.” Selina dipped a cloth in the water. “Now hold still.”

She stepped between his knees, leaning close to examine his split lip. The proximity was unexpectedly intimate, his breath warm against her wrist as she gently dabbed at the dried blood.

“You still haven’t told me what happened,” she said, focusing on her task rather than the unsettling awareness of his body so close to hers.

“A misunderstanding.”

“One that required fists to resolve?”

Rowan’s eyes met hers. “Some men only understand one language.”

“And what did these men misunderstand?” Selina pressed, cleaning a small cut near his eyebrow.

“My father’s affairs.” He winced as she touched a tender spot. “I’ve been investigating certain aspects of his business dealings.”

“By engaging in a fist fight with strangers?”

A reluctant smile tugged at Rowan’s mouth, reopening the cut on his lip. He grimaced, reaching up to touch it.

“Don’t,” Selina caught his hand. “You’ll make it worse.”

His fingers closed around hers, warm and unexpectedly gentle. The simple contact sent a shiver of awareness through her body. How long had it been since he had touched her with purpose? Not since their kiss at the opera.

“You have clever hands,” Rowan said softly, his eyes on their joined fingers.

“Years of needlework.” Selina’s voice sounded breathless to her own ears.

She pulled her hand away and reached for a pot of salve. “This will help with the swelling.”

With careful movements, she applied the ointment to his lip, acutely conscious of his eyes watching her face. The kitchen felt suddenly warmer, the space between them charged with unspoken tension.

“You didn’t need to wait up for me,” Rowan said.

“Perhaps I was worried.” Selina moved to his scraped knuckles, cleaning them with methodical care. “You disappear for hours, returning injured and offering no explanation.”

“I didn’t think you would notice my absence.”

The words stung more than they should have. “We may not have a conventional marriage, but that doesn’t mean I’m indifferent to your welfare.”

He didn’t respond.

Selina studied his face, noting the exhaustion there, the weight he carried. “What troubles you so deeply, Rowan? What drives you to these mysterious excursions that leave you bloodied and secretive?”

He released her wrist, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, quietly, he spoke.

“My father left debts. Gambling debts to dangerous men. The kind who don’t simply write off losses when someone dies.” His voice grew bitter. “I’ve been trying to settle them, to clean up the mess he left behind. Some of his creditors are less than civilized in their collection methods.”

Understanding dawned. “That’s where you’ve been going. That’s why you return injured.”

“Among other things.” He met her eyes again. “The truth is, there are aspects of my disappearance, my father’s affairs, that could put you in danger if they became known. I’ve been trying to protect you by keeping you ignorant of them.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why does my safety matter to you if this is merely a business arrangement?”

He stepped closer, something vulnerable flickering in his expression. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly tender given the roughness of his palm.

“Because you’re my wife,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And despite what I said about convenience and practicality, the thought of anything happening to you…” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t bear it.”

They gazed at each other in the lamplight. The air between them was charged with unspoken possibilities. Then, slowly, he bent his head and captured her lips with his. Unlike their kiss at the opera, this was gentle, mindful of his injured lip. A question rather than a demand.

Selina hesitated only a moment before answering, her lips softening beneath his. The hand at her wrist loosened, sliding up her arm to pull her closer. Her own hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath his shirt.

The kiss deepened, changing from tentative exploration to something hungrier, more urgent. Rowan’s hands spanned her waist, lifting her suddenly to sit on the edge of the kitchen table. He stepped between her knees, pressing closer, his mouth leaving hers to trace a burning path down her throat.

Selina gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as sensation overwhelmed thought. This was nothing like the dutiful offering she had made on their wedding night. This was fire and need and a yearning she hadn’t known she possessed.

Rowan’s hands moved restlessly over her back, her sides, as if trying to memorize her shape through the fabric of her dress. His lips returned to hers, more demanding now despite his injury. The slight taste of blood mingled with the heady flavor of him, primitive and intoxicating.

Her skirts had ridden up, his hand finding the bare skin of her calf, then sliding higher to her knee. Each touch kindled new heat, new awareness in parts of her body she’d scarcely acknowledged before.

“Selina,” he breathed against her mouth. “Tell me to stop.”

“No.” She pulled him closer. “Don’t stop.”

His lips drove against hers with such fervor that their teeth briefly met. She kissed him like a woman dying of hunger, hunger for his touch. His hands gripped her waist. In one swift move, he lifted her and set her on the table.

Rowan pulled away from her long enough to reach under her skirt and pull it up. When she was bare, he kneeled between her thighs.

For a moment, Selina tensed, her leg muscles tightening.

Rowan glanced up at her, his eyes dark with desire. His hands slid gently up her thighs.

“This mouth was made for you. Every inch of me—starved for this,” he breathed, kissing the inner part of her thigh.

When he buried his head between her legs, raw pleasure ripped through her.

He dragged his tongue through the folds of her intimate flesh. Sliding through the ruffles of her sex with his tongue, Selina quivered with each strong lick. Her hips began to buck and jerk as the pleasure coursed through her. When his tongue flicked lightly on her bud, a moan escaped her lips.

Her fingers fisted in his hair. She wanted more. Her hands neither pushed nor pulled him away from her core. Instead, she held him steady, primal desire surging through her and guiding her actions.

Rowan sucked at the petals of her straining flesh, flicking his tongue in measures movements. Selina’s hips rose, and she made a jagged sound as her muscles seized and her back arched as she felt her body break apart from pleasure.

Rowan reached up and held her hips steady as he lapped up her climax ravenously. He kept her locked in place until her body stilled and she found herself back on earth. Only then did he pull away, and Selina sat up, the skirt of her dress sliding down with the movement.

The clatter of metal against stone shattered the moment.

A young kitchen maid stood frozen in the doorway, a fallen ladle at her feet, her eyes wide with shock.

“I… I heard a noise,” she stammered, her face flaming red. “I thought… thieves perhaps…”

Rowan rose smoothly to his feet, positioning himself to shield Selina’s disheveled state from view. “A minor accident. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Of course.” The maid bobbed a hasty curtsy, backing toward the door. “I’ll just… good night, Your Grace.”

She fled, the door swinging shut behind her.

Silence fell between them, the spell broken. Selina slid from the table on unsteady legs, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands. Her body still hummed with pleasure, but embarrassment had crept in, cooling the heat of passion.

“That was…” Words failed her.

“Not how I intended our evening to end,” Rowan finished, his voice rough.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, putting further distance between them. His expression softened as he looked at her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We should retire,” he said quietly. “It’s late.”

“Yes.” Selina struggled to read his face in the dim light. Was he regretting his actions? Did he wish to continue them upstairs? “Of course.”

They walked through the silent house side by side, close enough to touch but carefully not doing so. The heated intimacy of moments before had been replaced by an awkward awareness, neither quite certain how to proceed.

At the top of the stairs, where the corridor branched toward their separate chambers, Rowan paused.

“Thank you,” he said. “For tending my wounds.”

Selina felt a blush heat her cheeks at the double meaning his words could hold. “You should put more salve on that lip before you sleep.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her face. For a moment, she thought he might reach for her again, might suggest they continue what had begun in the kitchen. Instead, he took a step back.

“Good night, Selina.”

“Good night, Rowan.”

She turned toward her chamber, distinctly aware of his eyes following her until she closed her door. Only then did she lean against it, her knees still weak, her body still singing from his touch.

What had just happened? And more importantly, what did it mean for their marriage?

Questions without answers. She pushed away from the door and undressed, her fingers finding the places Rowan’s mouth had touched, as if his kiss had left physical marks on her skin.