Page 29

“ Y our carriage is ready, Your Grace,” Simmons announced from the study door. “And Her Grace asked me to inform you she will be down shortly.”

Rowan closed the ledger he’d been poring over and rose, smoothing the front of his evening coat.

The search for Edward Bentern had hit another dead end—Felix reported that no one in London had even heard of the man. Plymouth and a conversation with Latham would have to wait. For now, he was expected at a ball, an event he had little interest in attending.

He stepped into the entrance hall just as Selina appeared at the top of the stairs.

He stopped cold.

She wore deep sapphire blue, not the pale pastel favored by many ladies of the ton, but a rich, striking shade that brought out the warmth of her hair and the glow of her skin.

The gown skimmed her figure before flowing into soft folds, elegant without being ostentatious.

A single diamond pendant rested at her throat, catching the light and drawing his eye to the graceful line of her neck.

“You look…” Words failed him.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone even. “You’re quite presentable yourself.”

He didn’t care about his own appearance at the moment. Though, he did wear a dark blue coat which matched her ensemble nicely.

Simmons stepped forward to assist her with her wrap and opened the door.

“Duchess,” Rowan offered his arm.

“Duke,” She took it without hesitation, her gloved hand resting lightly against his sleeve.

Even through layers of fabric, the contact sent a current of heat up his arm.

Lord and Lady Harrington’s townhouse shone brightly, its windows casting golden light onto the line of waiting carriages.

As Rowan handed Selina down, he caught the way heads turned, conversations paused, and the quiet murmur that followed their entrance. He was already attuned to every detail of her tonight—the soft rustle of her gown, the faint scent of lavender, the glow of her profile.

“The Duke and Duchess of Aldermere,” the majordomo intoned.

Their hosts greeted them with warm politeness.

Lady Harrington took Selina’s hands, gushing over her gown, while Lord Harrington launched into a conversation with Rowan about shipping routes and tariffs.

Rowan nodded where appropriate but kept Selina in sight, watching the way she moved through the crowd with poise and ease.

When the formalities were done, the orchestra shifted into the opening strains of a waltz. Guests began making their way to the floor.

“Would you honor me with this dance?” Rowan asked, offering his hand.

Surprise flickered in her eyes, though she quickly masked it. “Of course.”

He led her onto the floor, one hand settling at her waist, the other enclosing hers. They moved together smoothly, as though they had done this many times before. As the waltz progressed, he drew her just a little closer, their bodies nearly touching.

“You’re holding me too close,” she murmured, her voice soft.

“You’re my wife,” he said, just above a whisper. “It’s entirely proper.”

“The ton might disagree.”

“Let them.” Rowan executed an elegant turn. “We have appearances to maintain, do we not? A united front.”

“Is that what this is?” Their bodies moved in perfect harmony despite the tension between them. “A performance for society’s benefit?”

“What would you prefer it to be?”

Her eyes met his, challenge in their hazel depths. “A dance between husband and wife who actually speak to one another. Who trust one another.”

“I trust you,” Rowan said automatically.

“Do you?” Selina’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his shoulder.

The waltz carried them past a cluster of observers, forcing a pause in their conversation. Rowan used the moment to gather his thoughts, acutely aware of her body moving with his, the warmth of her beneath his palm.

“My secrets are my burden to bear,” he said finally as they swept past the orchestra.

“A convenient excuse.”

“An unfortunate reality.”

They completed another circuit of the floor, their bodies drawing incrementally closer with each turn.

Rowan could feel the heat of her, smell the lavender in her hair.

The fine fabric of her gown whispered against his legs.

If he pulled her just a fraction closer, her body would be flush against his.

“You disappeared for a year,” Selina said, her voice barely audible above the music. “Returned to claim me as your wife, then promptly began vanishing again. What am I to think?”

“That I have responsibilities. Obligations.”

“That take you away for days at a time? That return you to our home looking exhausted and haunted?”

Her perception unsettled him. Had she noticed the nightmares that sometimes woke him shouting? The way he flinched at certain sounds, certain smells?

“This isn’t the place for such a discussion,” he evaded.

“It never is.” Disappointment shadowed her eyes. “There’s always a reason to avoid the conversation, to maintain your distance.”

The music neared its conclusion, the final notes approaching. Rowan realized with surprise that he didn’t want the dance to end. Here, with Selina in his arms, the nightmares and plots felt distant, manageable.

“I…” he began.

But the final chord sounded, ending the moment. All around them, couples separated, bowing and curtseying to their partners. Selina stepped back, a carefully correct distance opening between them.

“Thank you for the dance, Your Grace,” Selina said, her voice formal as she dipped into a graceful curtsy.

Rowan returned the gesture with a polished bow, fully aware of the eyes tracking them. “The pleasure was mine.”

He offered his arm as custom dictated, and she accepted it without comment. But as soon as they reached the edge of the dance floor, she let her hand fall away.

“I see Georgiana across the room,” she said, her tone light. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Before he could respond, she had already turned, the sapphire blue of her gown vanishing quickly into the swirl of silks and lace.

Rowan stood still for a moment, watching her disappear into the crowd. A curious emptiness settled in his chest, one he hadn’t expected.

“You look like a man in need of a drink,” came Felix’s voice from just behind him.

Rowan turned to find his friend holding two glasses of champagne.

“I thought you weren’t attending tonight,” he said, accepting the offered glass.

“Changed my mind. Society gossip can be quite enlightening.” Felix nodded toward where Selina now stood with the Duchess of Emberford. “You two made quite a picture on the dance floor. Half the room was watching.”

“Let them watch.”

“Oh, they will. And they’ll wonder why the Duke of Aldermere looks at his wife like a starving man eyes a feast, yet keeps his distance.”

Rowan shot him a warning glance. “Not now, Felix.”

“If not now, when?” Felix persisted. “Every day you delay telling her the truth, you build another brick in the wall between you.”

“We’ve talked about this. Until I know who orchestrated my abduction, she’s safer ignorant.”

“Is she?” Felix’s usually merry face turned serious. “Or is she more vulnerable because you don’t trust her?”

The thought sent a chill through Rowan. He hadn’t considered that possibility—that his silence might actually put Selina at greater risk. If whoever had arranged his disappearance decided she was a vulnerability to exploit…

“I need to investigate Plymouth,” he said, changing the subject. “Latham is the key to identifying Edward Bentern.”

Felix sighed, recognizing the deflection. “I’ll continue making inquiries here. Though I maintain your wife deserves to know what’s happening.”

“When it’s resolved,” Rowan promised. “Not before.”

Whatever happened in Plymouth, whatever name lay behind Edward Bentern, he would need to decide when this was over. Continue keeping Selina at a distance, or risk letting her see the broken man beneath the ducal title.

Neither option seemed likely to end well.