Page 22

“ T he Countess of Amberley always hosts the most elegant gatherings,” Robert, Georgiana’s husband, remarked as their carriage approached the grand townhouse. “Though her cook tends toward the adventurous. Last year she served a French dish I swear moved on my plate.”

Rowan smiled despite his reluctance to attend tonight’s dinner party.

After the encounter in the kitchen three nights ago, he and Selina had maintained a careful distance, neither mentioning what had transpired between them.

The memory of her taste lingered on his tongue, the sound of her pleasure echoing in his dreams.

“I hope you’ll find the company agreeable,” Georgiana said, breaking into his thoughts. “We were delighted to receive your note accepting our invitation to share the carriage.”

Rowan nodded. “Selina speaks highly of you both.”

The carriage halted before a mansion ablaze with light.

Footmen in elegant livery assisted them down, and Rowan offered his arm to Selina.

Her silk gown whispered against his coat as she placed her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow.

The brief contact was enough to remind him of how her skin had felt beneath his lips.

“Have you met Lady Amberley before?” Selina asked as they ascended the steps.

“Once or twice at my father’s gatherings.” Rowan kept his voice neutral. “Not recently.”

Inside, the entrance hall gleamed with marble and gilt. A liveried butler announced their arrival, and Lady Amberley herself came forward to greet them.

“Your Grace, how wonderful that you could join us,” she said, taking Selina’s hands. “And the Duke and Duchess of Emberford. My gathering is now complete.”

After exchanging pleasantries, Selina turned to Rowan. “You must meet Georgiana and Robert properly. You’ve never been formally introduced.”

The introductions proceeded with proper decorum. Rowan found himself pleasantly surprised by the Duke of Emberford, their conversation flowing with unexpected ease as they discovered a mutual interest in maritime commerce.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Georgiana said after several minutes, “I’d like to steal Selina away for a moment before dinner. I promised to show her the new portrait in the music room.”

Rowan watched them go, noting how Selina’s face brightened as she walked away with her friend. He had given her precious little cause for such happiness in their time together.

“Your Grace.” A feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here tonight.”

He turned to find a handsome woman approaching, her blonde hair elegantly styled, her blue eyes warm with apparent delight at encountering him. For a moment, he struggled to place her. Then recognition dawned, and his body tensed.

Annette Brewer. Lady Winsley. His father’s longtime mistress.

“Lady Winsley.” He managed a stiff bow. “Good evening.”

“It’s been far too long since we’ve had the pleasure of your company in society.” Her smile held a secret knowledge that set his teeth on edge. “I was devastated to hear of your disappearance last year. Such a relief when news came of your return.”

“Indeed.”

Her gaze shifted past him. “And this must be your duchess. How lovely to make your acquaintance at last.”

Selina had returned, moving to stand beside him. “Lady Winsley, I presume?”

“The very same.” Annette took Selina’s hands as if they were old friends. “My dear, you are even more beautiful than rumor suggested. The Duke has chosen remarkably well.”

“You’re too kind,” Selina replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ve known your husband since he was scarcely more than a boy,” Annette continued. “Such a serious child, always so determined to prove himself. The transition to dukedom must have been quite an adjustment for him. Living up to his father’s legacy is no small feat.”

Rowan felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. His father’s “legacy” had been debt, scandal, and a trail of broken promises.

“I believe Rowan has established his own—” Selina began.

“Lady Winsley,” Rowan cut in, unwilling to let this woman speak of his father to his wife. “A pleasure as always, but I see Lord Halston attempting to gain my attention.”

“Of course.” Annette’s smile dimmed momentarily, a flash of something darker crossing her features before her pleasant mask returned. “We must catch up properly another time. Marriage has softened your edges, Rowan. It’s quite becoming.”

Rowan felt his jaw clench at the familiar use of his given name. Before he could respond, the butler announced dinner, providing a welcome interruption.

“Shall we?” He offered his arm to Selina, who took it with a questioning glance.

The dining room sparkled with candlelight reflected in crystal and silver. Rowan escorted Selina to their seats, noting that Lady Winsley had been placed several spaces away. Small mercies.

As the first course was served, Selina leaned closer. “Are you all right? You seem troubled.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, reaching for his wine glass.

“You didn’t seem fine when speaking with Lady Winsley.”

“It’s nothing.”

Selina studied him for a moment longer before returning her attention to her soup. The meal progressed through multiple courses, Rowan taking part in the surrounding conversation with minimal effort. His mind kept returning to Annette’s presence and what it might mean.

A soft pressure on his thigh startled him from his thoughts. Selina’s hand rested there, a gesture of comfort or perhaps inquiry. The warmth of her touch penetrated the fabric of his trousers, sending an unwelcome surge of desire through his body.

“Rowan,” she whispered. “Something is wrong. Please tell me.”

He covered her hand with his own, intending to remove it from his leg. Instead, he found himself holding it in place, the contact both comforting and arousing.

“Not here,” he murmured. “Not the right time.”

Their eyes met, a current of awareness passing between them. Memories of their encounter in the kitchen flooded back—her taste, her scent, the soft sounds she had made as pleasure overtook her. With reluctance, he lifted her hand from his thigh, returning it to her lap.

The remainder of the dinner felt interminable. When at last the ladies withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their port, Rowan found himself watching the doorway through which Selina had disappeared.

The Duke of Emberford settled into the chair beside him. “Your duchess is quite charming. Georgiana speaks very highly of her.”

“She is… remarkable,” Rowan acknowledged, the admission coming easier than expected.

“Marriage can be a surprising journey,” Robert said, his voice lowering. “Mine certainly has been. I started with a business arrangement and found myself hopelessly in love within a month.”

Rowan studied the other man’s face, searching for signs of insincerity or exaggeration. He found none.

“You were fortunate,” he said finally.

“Perhaps.” Robert swirled his port. “Or perhaps I simply recognized the value of what was before me before it was too late.”

The drive home passed in silence, the space between them on the carriage seat both too small and too vast. Rowan found himself acutely aware of every movement, every breath Selina took.

When they arrived at their townhouse, she paused in the entrance hall rather than immediately ascending the stairs.

“Will you tell me now what troubled you tonight?” she asked quietly.

Rowan hesitated. The habit of keeping his thoughts private, of maintaining distance, was deeply ingrained. Yet the concern in her eyes seemed genuine, and he found himself unexpectedly weary of solitude.

“Lady Winsley had a… close relationship with my father,” he said finally.

Understanding dawned in Selina’s expression. “She was his mistress.”

“For many years. Even before her husband died.” Rowan removed his gloves with precise movements. “She expected to marry him eventually.”

“But then he died.”

“Yes.”

Selina stepped closer, her hand lifting as if to touch his arm before falling back to her side. “That must have been difficult for you, seeing her tonight.”

“I hardly thought of her,” Rowan lied, unwilling to reveal how Annette’s presence had unsettled him. “It was a long time ago.”

“Still, to be confronted with your father’s indiscretions…”

“My father’s indiscretions were numerous and varied,” Rowan said sharply. “Lady Winsley was merely the most persistent of them.”

Selina fell silent, her expression hurt by his tone. Regret swept through him, but the walls he had constructed around his past rose higher, stronger.

“Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “It’s late, and the evening has been long.”

She nodded, the warmth in her eyes dimming. “Of course. Good night, Rowan.”

As she turned to go, he found himself wanting to call her back, to explain that his coldness wasn’t directed at her but at the memories Annette’s presence had stirred. The words stuck in his throat, trapped behind years of practiced reserve.

“Good night, Selina,” he said instead, watching her ascend the stairs alone.

When she had gone, Rowan remained in the entrance hall, haunted by the hurt he had glimpsed in her eyes.

Perhaps the Duke of Emberford was right. Perhaps there was value in what stood before him, if only he had the courage to reach for it.

But first, there were enemies to identify, threats to neutralize. Until then, distance remained safer than the risk of losing someone who might, against all odds, matter more than he had intended.