Page 30 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

His expression was unreadable in the dim light. “You left abruptly. I was concerned. Let me help.”

“You can help by giving me privacy.”

“I am not leaving, Duchess.”

Selina’s control slipped. “You forced me into this marriage, but you cannot afford me a moment of peace?”

“I did not force you?—”

“Did you not?” Her voice rose. “What choice did I have after you destroyed my engagement? What prospects remained for a widow rejected at the altar?”

The Duke stepped closer. “You should not let people like the Baxters affect you so deeply. Their opinions are worthless.”

“It’s not about them!” Selina cried, frustration boiling over. “It’s the whispers. The stares. The speculation about why you returned for me after a year’s absence. The assumption that our marriage was out of pity.”

“I did not marry you out of pity.”

“They will never see that. They will forever see me as the pitiful creature you rescued from spinsterhood. The charity wife, as even our own servants call me.”

His expression darkened. “Who said that?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Selina turned away again, staring out at the London night. “What matters is that I have become something I never wanted to be—an object of pity and gossip, married to a man who can barely stand to be in the same room with me.”

“You think I can’t stand to be near you?” The Duke’s voice had dropped to a dangerous quiet.

“What else am I to think? You rejected me on our wedding night. You avoid my company. You keep me at arm’s length, refusing to share even the most basic confidences?—”

“Do you know why I can’t stand to be near you?” Rowan interrupted, his voice low and strained.

He stepped closer, forcing her back against the balustrade.

Selina’s breath caught. “Why?”

“Because when you’re close, I forget every damned reason I’ve told myself to stay away.” His eyes darkened, intensity radiatingfrom him in waves. “You unravel every shred of sense I possess.” His jaw clenched. “You make me want to claim things no man like me has any right to want.”

“Rowan—”

His hand braced beside her on the stone, his body towering over hers. “You think I haven’t tried to fight this? That I haven’t told myself, again and again, that you are the one thing I cannot have?”

He leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. “But then you look at me, and I stop caring about consequences. About honor. About anything but the feel of your mouth under mine.”

His fingers caught her chin, tilting her face to his. “So tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough with desire. “Say one word, and I will walk away. But if you don’t?—”

He paused, eyes flicking to her lips, his breath shallow now.

“Tell me to stop,” he finished.

No word came out of her mouth.

Rowan grasped her shoulders, and then, his mouth descended on hers, his kiss fierce and possessive.

Something inside her shifted—as though she’d stirred from a long slumber—and she responded, her lips softening under his.

His arms encircled her, drawing her against the hard planes of his chest. Heat surged through her body, a trembling awareness that had nothing to do with anger.

This… This was desire. Raw, and sizzling, about to burst from within her.

She ought to push him away. She ought to maintain her dignity. But her body betrayed her, melting into his embrace as her hands slid up to his shoulders.

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