Page 31

“ S he moves well, doesn’t she?” Felix said, taking a sip of champagne as he watched the couples weave through the country dance. “The Duchess and Lord Penderwick certainly look the part.”

Rowan didn’t answer. His grip on his glass tightened as he watched Selina and Penderwick. They were laughing, leaning in close to exchange some private remark. Her face was lit with a kind of ease he rarely saw when she was with him—open, relaxed, smiling in a way that wasn’t forced.

“They’ve known each other for years,” Felix went on, sounding offhand. “Shared friends, shared past. If things hadn’t gone sideways with the engagement…”

He trailed off, but the suggestion hung in the air.

“Are you trying to provoke me?” Rowan growled.

Felix examined his fingernails with exaggerated interest. “Merely making conversation. Besides, if your marriage is truly the practical arrangement you claim, why should it matter who she dances with? Who she smiles at? Perhaps I should request the next dance myself.”

Rowan turned to him, eyes blazing. “Try it, and I’ll break your arm.”

“There he is,” Felix grinned triumphantly. “The Rowan I remember, rather than this cold automaton you’ve been impersonating.”

“This isn’t a game, Felix.”

“No, it’s your life,” Felix said flatly. “And you’re tearing it apart because you’re too stubborn to admit what everyone else can see.” He nodded toward the dance floor. “You’re in love with your wife. And you’re pushing her away.”

Rowan opened his mouth to argue—but nothing came out.

His gaze drifted back to Selina, just as she spun beneath Penderwick’s arm.

Even from across the room, he could see the graceful line of her neck, the way her hair gleamed under the chandeliers, how the blue of her gown lit up her skin like moonlight.

And the way Penderwick was looking at her.

It made something hot and possessive rise in Rowan’s chest—something he had no right to feel, not after everything he’d done to keep her at a distance. But it was there, sharp and unrelenting.

“The dance is ending,” Felix said. “If you’re planning to do something idiotic, this is your moment.”

Rowan didn’t answer. He set down his glass and walked toward the floor.

The final notes hadn’t quite faded when he reached them.

“My wife appears tired,” he said coolly. “I’ll take the next dance.”

Penderwick blanched. “Of course, Your Grace. I was just about to return her to her friends.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Rowan extended his arm.

Selina took it—reluctantly.

As Penderwick retreated, the orchestra struck up a new melody. Rowan led her into the first steps, pulling her closer than etiquette allowed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked under her breath, her tone sharp.

“Dancing with my wife.”

Her fingers bit into his shoulder. “You don’t get to act possessive when Matthew is only a friend.”

His jaw clenched. “Is that what he is to you? Just a friend?”

“Yes. You saw that at dinner, didn’t you? And the fact that you would insinuate anything else is rather offensive.”

“I…” he muttered, “I didn’t?—”

“So what is this display of jealousy, then?”

His grip on her waist tightened. “You are mine, Selina.”

She blinked, thrown for just a second. Then her chin rose, her voice icy. “Am I? That’s hard to believe, given how determined you’ve been to keep me at arm’s length.”

The music swirled around them, but Rowan barely registered it. All he could think about was the feel of her in his arms, the soft scent of lavender, the heat coiled between them, waiting to break loose.

As the final note faded, he spoke low and firm. “We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving,” he repeated, his tone brooking no argument. “Now.”

He offered his arm once more, aware of the curious glances directed their way.

Rowan didn’t care.

When they arrived, Simmons opened the front door, his expression carefully neutral despite the early hour. Rowan gave a curt nod as Selina slipped off her evening wrap and handed it to a waiting maid.

“That will be all,” he said. “We’ll see ourselves up.”

Once the servants had withdrawn, the silence stretched in the grand entrance hall.

Selina turned to face him, color high in her cheeks. “Would you care to explain what, exactly, that was back there?”

“I acted entirely within my rights as your husband.”

“Rights? You speak of rights while treating me like a possession to be displayed or hidden according to your whim?” Her voice rose with indignation. “You disappeared for days with little explanation, then tonight you behave like a jealous schoolboy because I danced with a friend.”

Rowan stepped closer, his control fraying. “You seemed to be enjoying his company.”

“And if I was? What concern is it of yours? You’ve made it abundantly clear that our marriage is a business arrangement, nothing more.”

“That doesn’t give you license to encourage former suitors.”

“I wasn’t encouraging him! I was helping him court Miss Thornton,” Selina cried in exasperation. “Not that you bothered to ask before making assumptions. Not that you ever ask me anything, or tell me anything, or treat me as anything more than a convenient living arrangement.”

“I do not see you that way,” Rowan replied, closing the distance between them.

“How do you see me then?”

“As my wife.”

“What does that mean to you? Apart from having a lady manage your household.”

“That’s not the only…”

“What other reason did you have to marry me, then? To produce an heir? From what I’ve heard, a husband must touch his wife to accomplish that!”

“I—” he began, but stopped abruptly, blinking once, then tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean, ‘from what you’ve heard’?”

Selina’s face flushed crimson. She looked away, suddenly flustered. “I only meant… that is to say…”

Why was she so flustered all of a sudden?

She never had any problem discussing or pointing things out before.

Even if propriety dictated that wives be demure, Selina was anything but.

Rowan was certain she wouldn’t shy away from something she’d had experience with.

She’d been a countess before, after all.

Unless…

“Are you saying,” Rowan began carefully, “that you have no experience of the marriage bed?”

“This is hardly an appropriate conversation?—”

“Answer me.” He moved closer, backing her against the wall. “Your first husband. Did he not consummate your marriage?”

Selina lifted her chin, meeting his gaze despite her obvious embarrassment. “He… he was elderly and… incapable.”

The revelation struck Rowan like a physical blow. All this time, he had assumed… but of course, he had never asked. Never questioned why she had approached their wedding night with such obvious terror. He had interpreted her reluctance as distaste for him specifically, not fear of the unknown.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“When would I have mentioned it? During our hasty wedding ceremony? The strained carriage ride afterward? Or perhaps during one of the many silent breakfasts we’ve shared since?

” Bitterness tinged her words. “Besides, you made it clear you had no interest in claiming your marital rights when you sent me away on our wedding night.”

“I sent you away because you were shaking,” Rowan said, his voice low and raw. “I thought I’d frightened you. That you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

“Frightened?” Her eyes widened. “Yes, I was nervous—worried I’d do something wrong. But repulsed? N-no…”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing her cheek, then tracing the edge of her mouth. “What about now?” he asked, his thumb skimming her lower lip. “Are you afraid now?”

Her breath caught. “No.”

That was all he needed.

He closed the space between them and kissed her. No hesitation this time. The hunger that had been simmering beneath his control poured out in that single moment. She stilled, just for a heartbeat, then surged into him, arms winding around his neck as she kissed him back, fierce and sure.

His hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him, then lifting her off the floor with effortless strength. She let out a quiet gasp as her back met the wall, her fingers tangling in his hair, her eyes dark with wanting.

“Not here,” he said roughly, pulling back just enough to breathe. “Not your first time.”

Without waiting for her reply, he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. She clung to him, soft and warm against his chest, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. The scent of her, lavender and something entirely her, wrapped around him, unraveling whatever restraint he had left.

In his chambers, he set her down beside the bed, his gaze searching hers. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t answer with words. She reached for him instead, pulling him down into another kiss that said everything he needed to hear.

This kiss was different. It was deliberate, unhurried. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of evening stubble beneath her touch. His hands found her waist, drawing her closer until the space between them vanished completely.

“Selina,” he whispered against her lips, her name a reverence in the quiet room.

She met his gaze, finding vulnerability there she’d never seen before. The formidable duke, always so controlled, now looked at her with unveiled need and something deeper that made her heart flutter wildly against her ribs.

Her fingers moved to the knot of his cravat, working it loose with tentative movements. The fine linen slipped away, and she watched the pulse at his throat quicken as she unbuttoned his collar.

“I’ve thought of this,” she admitted softly, “more than I should confess.”

His laugh was low and warm, vibrating through her as his hands slid up her back, finding the fastening of her gown.

“And I have thought of little else.”