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Rowan’s hand found hers, his grip tight. “I wish I had known. About your situation, about what you faced alone.”

“How could you? You were fighting your own battles.” She squeezed his fingers. “I wanted you to see it. To understand where I came from, and how grateful I am for where I am now.”

The simple declaration seemed to affect him deeply. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles with unexpected reverence.

“You would have managed without me,” he said. “You’re stronger than you know.”

“Perhaps. But I’m glad I didn’t have to.” The honesty of the admission surprised her. “Take me home, Rowan.”

The ride back passed in a quiet, easy silence, her hand resting in his as the carriage moved through the busy streets of London. By the time they reached the townhouse, night had settled over the city, and the first stars were beginning to show in the deepening blue sky.

Simmons met them at the door and informed them dinner would be ready in half an hour. Selina was halfway up the stairs when Rowan caught her hand and gently tugged her in another direction.

“Rowan?” she asked, surprised, but he said nothing as he led her toward his study and closed the door behind them.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” he said quietly, stepping close. “About being grateful for where you are now.”

She nodded. “Yes?”

“I want you to know I feel the same.” His hands rose to cradle her face. “I’m grateful for you. For your patience, your kindness, for giving me a second chance I’m not sure I earned.”

The sincerity in his voice tightened something in her chest.

“Rowan—”

He silenced her with a kiss, soft and certain. It wasn’t like the others they had shared. There was no rush, no fire pushing them forward. Just tenderness. Reverence.

His kiss deepened, one hand slipping to the small of her back as he drew her closer.

The study was quiet around them, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows across the shelves and polished wood.

Selina’s fingers curled into the fabric of his waistcoat, anchoring herself to the moment, to him.

Rowan pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his expression open in a way she rarely saw.

“Stay,” he murmured.

She nodded, no words needed.

He led her gently toward the hearth, where the fire’s warmth glowed against the rich colors of the Turkish carpet. The tension that had once defined their touch was gone now, replaced by something deeper, more certain.

When he sank to his knees and reached for her, she followed without hesitation.

His hands framed her face as they knelt together on the soft carpet, the firelight casting golden shadows across their features.

This close, she could see flecks of silver in his gray eyes, the subtle curves of his mouth as it softened into a smile meant only for her.

“Here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His answer was in his kiss—tender at first, then deepening as her lips parted for him. His hands moved from her face to her shoulders, slipping beneath the fabric of her gown with gentle purpose. The warmth of the fire caressed her back as he slowly guided the garment down her arms.

There was no urgency in his movements now, no desperate rush. They had moved beyond that, into something deliberate and reverent. She worked at the buttons of his waistcoat with steady hands, each layer they removed feeling like a truth revealed between them.

When her gown pooled around her waist, he drew back to look at her, his expression filled with such naked adoration that she felt no instinct to cover herself. Instead, she helped him remove his waistcoat, then his shirt, leaving his chest bare in the firelight.

He eased her back until she was lying on the carpet, her hair fanning out around her like spun gold against the rich patterns beneath them.

The heat of the fire warmed one side of her body while the coolness of the room touched the other—a contrast of sensations that heightened every touch that followed.

Rowan knelt beside her, his hand tracing a path from her collarbone down to where her gown still wrapped around her waist. With a questioning look that she answered with a nod, he gently tugged until the silk slid away completely, leaving her in only her thin chemise.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

She reached for him, drawing him down beside her on the carpet. “Show me,” she whispered against his lips.

He did—with gentle hands that trembled slightly as they mapped the contours of her body through the thin fabric.

With reverent kisses that blazed a trail from her mouth to her throat, then lower still.

With murmured words of admiration for each curve, each response, each soft sound she made as pleasure built within her.

When he finally slipped the chemise from her shoulders, the firelight bathed her bare skin in amber warmth. He paused, as if committing the sight to memory, before lowering his mouth to trace the path his fingers had taken moments before.

Selina gasped, her back arching as his lips closed around the peak of her breast. One hand tangled in his hair, holding him to her as new sensations rippled through her body. The plush carpet cushioned her as she moved beneath his touch, every nerve alive with awareness.

His hand slid along her side, her hip, then inward to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She parted for him without hesitation. When his fingers found her center, she breathed his name.

Closing her eyes, she surrendered herself to his touch. She felt him shift and then the stubble of his beard tickled the inside of her thighs. His tongue, soft and warm, slid inside of her.

“I wanted to taste you,” he whispered, then flicked his tongue inside her.

His tongue worked her until she panted with need. “Please, Rowan. I need you inside of me.”

He stood only long enough to remove the rest of his clothing before rejoining her on the carpet. The feel of his bare skin against hers drew a soft sound from her throat.

He settled between her thighs, supporting his weight on his forearms as he gazed down at her. “You are so beautiful.”

When he entered her, it was with a slowness that spoke of savoring rather than restraint.

She welcomed him, her body rising to meet his, her hands mapping the muscles of his back as they moved together.

The carpet beneath them provided unexpected textures against her skin, adding to the sensations that built with each thrust.

They established a rhythm as natural as breathing. His thrusts met with her own. Unlike their desperate coupling in the library, this was an exploration. His hands found hers, fingers intertwining beside her head as he gazed into her eyes.

As pleasure built toward its peak, she kept her eyes open, watching the emotions play across his face.

The vulnerability there, the wonder, mirrored what she felt in her own heart.

When release finally claimed her, it washed through her in waves that seemed to flow between them as she cried out his name.

He followed moments later, his body tensing above hers before shuddering in surrender. They remained connected as their breathing slowed, neither willing to break the bond they had forged.

Later, as they lay tangled together on the Turkish rug in front of the cold hearth, Selina traced slow, idle patterns across Rowan’s chest, her thoughts drifting in the soft glow of afterglow.

The study’s familiar features—his orderly desk, the book-lined walls, the decanter of brandy resting untouched—seemed transformed, quietly sanctified by the intimacy they had just shared.

“We should dress for dinner,” she murmured, though she made no move to rise.

“Mmm.” His fingers skimmed lazily over her bare shoulder. “In a moment.”

She smiled against his skin, perfectly content to stay where she was. A month ago, she never would have imagined this. Not just lying in her husband’s arms, but feeling truly at home there. Trusted. Wanted. Loved.

The realization struck with quiet force.

She loved him.

Not out of duty, as she had loved her first husband. Not with the resignation that had accompanied the start of this marriage. But with something true and unshakable, something that filled every space in her heart.

She loved her husband.

His strength and his scars. His careful words and quiet gestures. The man who had survived the unthinkable, yet still held tenderness in his hands. The duke who had once married her for convenience, yet now looked at her as if she were irreplaceable.

It should have frightened her, given everything they had been through.

Instead, it felt like peace.