Page 20 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Her words cut deep, mostly because they contained more truth than he cared to admit. Part of him wanted to explain, to tell her everything. The press-gang, the year at sea, the hunt for whoever had orchestrated his disappearance. But revealing those details would only put her at risk.

“If you find me so unbearable,” he said coolly, “perhaps you’d do better to focus your energy on managing the household, rather than complaining about its master.”

Selina recoiled as though the words themselves hurt. “Of course,” she finally said, her voice clipped. “Have a good day, Your Grace.”

She turned sharply, skirts whispering against the marble floor as she walked away. He told himself it was for the best—yet the hollow in his chest argued otherwise.

Rowan remained, staring up at the portrait he had avoided for years. His father gazed back with cold, arrogant eyes. The same eyes that had looked at Rowan with disappointment and blame throughout his childhood.

The late Duke had mastered presenting one face to the world and another in private.

Respected peer, secret gambler, and drunkard. Bereaved widower, bitter father.

His double life had eventually killed him, though few knew the truth of his death.

Rowan had vowed never to become like him. Yet here he stood, hiding secrets, pushing away anyone who tried to get close, just as his father had done.

The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Is this your mourning face, or do you simply greet all your friends like a disappointed vicar?” Felix remarked as Rowan slid into the seat across from him at the Bull and Crown.

“You’d best stop before I rearrange your face for you, Halston,” Rowan grunted.

Felix winced, “Oh dear. What’s the matter, friend? Marriage not agreeing with you?”

Rowan signaled the barmaid for whiskey. “I am not here to discuss my marriage.”

“No?” Felix grinned. “Then why the thundercloud expression? Problems with the estate? Tenants revolting? Or is it simply that you’ve remembered what terrible company you are?”

“I am focused on duchy matters,” Rowan growled, accepting the glass placed before him. “Not all of us have the luxury of idling our days away in pleasure.”

Felix clutched his chest in mock injury. “You wound me, Your Grace. I’ll have you know I’ve been extremely productive lately. Just last week I won a hundred pounds at faro, danced with three eligible young ladies at the Merriweathers’ ball, and commissioned a new waistcoat that will be the envy of London.”

Despite himself, Rowan’s mouth twitched. Felix had always lightened his darkest moods.

“A busy schedule indeed,” he said dryly. “My sincerest apologies for underestimating your industry.”

“Apology accepted.” Felix leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “Now, tell me what’s really troubling you. Is it the continuation of your investigation? Or problems with your lovely new duchess?”

Rowan drained his whiskey. “Both. Neither. I don’t know.”

“Eloquent, as always,” Felix signaled for another round. “Let me guess. You’re keeping the duchess at a distance to ‘protect’ her from whatever plot led to your abduction, but in doing so, you’remaking her thoroughly miserable. And yourself as well, judging by your delightful countenance.”

“It’s not that simple,” Rowan muttered, though Felix had come uncomfortably close to the truth.

“It rarely is with you,” Felix said, studying him for a moment. “Have you considered that the duchess might be an ally rather than a liability? She strikes me as a woman of considerable intelligence and discretion.”

“She doesn’t need to be burdened with my problems.”

“Ah, yes. Much better to leave her wondering why her husband treats her like an unwanted houseguest,” Felix shook his head. “Trust is the foundation of any partnership, even one begun under unusual circumstances.”

“Trust gets people killed,” Rowan said flatly. “I’ve learned that lesson well enough.”

Felix sighed and leaned in, his voice lower as he spoke, “You’re back home, my friend. You are safe. And your wife is not some unreliable criminal. She deserves better than half-truths and cold shoulders.”

Rowan said nothing, turning his glass slowly between his fingers. He knew Felix was right, but admitting it meant confronting truths he wasn’t prepared to face.

“Well, since you refuse to discuss your marriage,” Felix said, changing tack, “perhaps you’ll tell me about your progress regarding our mutual investigation. Anything new?”

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