Page 14 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Rowan turned away, unable to look at her partially exposed shoulder, the delicate collarbone revealed by the slipping fabric.

The sight ignited something primal in him—heat coiled low in his belly, and the thin barrier of her nightgown did little to shield his imagination. He clenched his jaw. If only he could reach out and run his fingers along the smooth line of skin the garment dared to reveal…

No, he corrected himself,she doesn’t want you.

“There is nothing to understand,” he said roughly. “Now go.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. Then the rustle of fabric told him she had adjusted her nightgown.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” she said quietly.

He didn’t turn until he heard the connecting door close behind her. The room felt suddenly colder, emptier.

Rowan poured another brandy with an unsteady hand.

Her face, pale and resigned as she prepared to submit to him, turned his stomach. He had seen that same expression on the faces of condemned men awaiting the lash.

Fear. Resignation. The desperate attempt to bear the unbearable with dignity.

Is that how she saw him? As a punishment to be endured?

He had expected her anger, her resentment even. But not her fear. Not that bone-deep dread that had made her tremble like a leaf in autumn.

Rowan drained his glass and stared into the fire. Tomorrow would be soon enough to consider the implications of what had just occurred. Tonight, he would drink until sleep claimed him, hoping that for once, the nightmares would stay at bay.

But as he closed his eyes, it was not the wartime horrors that haunted him, but the image of Selina’s face, white with terror at the prospect of his touch.

CHAPTER 6

“Good morning, Duchess. I trust you slept well?”

Selina looked up to find the Duke already seated at the breakfast table, a newspaper spread before him. He wore a dark riding coat, his cravat arranged with perfect precision. No sign in his composed features of the strange, tense encounter from the previous night.

“Well enough, thank you,” Selina replied, taking the seat opposite him.

A footman appeared instantly at her side, offering coffee. She accepted with a nod, then selected a small portion of eggs and toast from the silver serving dishes. Her appetite had abandoned her, but appearances had to be maintained.

“I will tour some of the nearby tenant farms today,” the Duke said, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. “Many require attention after my absence.”

Selina felt a fresh sting of hurt at his apparent eagerness to be away from her. After rejecting her the previous night, he now seemed intent on putting physical distance between them as well.

“I see,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. “I hope you find everything in order.”

“I doubt I shall.” His mouth tightened. “My steward has done his best, but it is my duty to oversee them.”

An awkward silence fell. Selina sipped her coffee, struggling to appear unconcerned by his imminent departure.

“Will you be dining at home this evening?” she asked finally.

“I expect to return by nightfall, yes,” he rose from his chair. “Is there anything you require before I go?”

A husband who wanted her. A marriage that was more than a business arrangement. The freedom to make her own choices.

“No, thank you,” she said, focusing on buttering her toast. “I shall manage just fine, Your Grace.”

The Duke hesitated, as if about to say something more. Instead, he gave a curt bow. “Until this evening, then.”

She did not raise her eyes to watch him leave. Only when the dining room door closed behind him did she set down her toast, her hand trembling slightly.

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