Page 31 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until they parted for him. She heard a small sound escape her throat, something between a sigh and a moan, which seemed to ignite something primal in Rowan. His arms tightened around her, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head, the other pressing against the small of her back, molding her body to his.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with desire. “Every night since I first saw you.”

His mouth moved to her jaw, trailing fire along the sensitive skin, then lower to the pulse point at her throat. Selina gasped, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her as pleasure coursed through her veins.

“Your scent,” he whispered against her skin. “Your taste. You’re intoxicating.”

Her head fell back as his lips continued their exploration, his hands roaming her silhouette with reverent hunger. The rational part of her mind dissolved, leaving only sensation—the cool night air against her heated skin, the solid warmth of his body, the exquisite pressure of his mouth.

“I want you,” he breathed in her ear, the words sending shivers down her spine.

“Rowan! Where are—oh!” came a startled voice from the doorway.

They broke apart to see Lord Halston standing there, his expression caught between embarrassment and amusement.

“My apologies,” he said quickly, already backing away. “Carry on. Pretend I was never here.”

He disappeared down the corridor, leaving them alone once more.

Selina looked back at her husband—atRowan. He stepped back, his face resuming its usual guarded expression. The transformation was so swift that she wondered if she had imagined the passion of moments before.

“We should, uh, return to our box,” he said, his voice controlled. “The second act will end soon.”

Selina touched her fingertips to her lips, still tingling from his kiss. “I?—”

“We can discuss this later,” he cut her off. “In private.”

Without another word, he offered his arm. Selina took it automatically, her mind reeling.

What had just happened?

As they made their way back to their box, one question lingered in Selina’s mind.

Who was the real Rowan Blackmore—the cold, distant duke who kept her at arm’s length, or the passionate man who had just kissed her senseless on a moonlit balcony?

CHAPTER 11

“Will you require anything else with your breakfast, Your Grace?” the footman asked, placing a steaming pot of tea beside Selina’s plate.

“No, thank you, James. This is fine.” Selina maintained a composed expression as she buttered a slice of toast, though her thoughts remained fixed on the previous night.

Last night’s kiss on the opera house balcony played through her mind like a scene from one of her beloved books.

The heat of Rowan’s mouth on hers. The strength of his arms drawing her close. The way her body had betrayed her, responding with an eagerness that mortified her now in the cold light of morning.

What a fool she had been. After he had abandoned her at the altar and forced her into marriage a year later, she had no business melting into his arms like a lovesick girl.

Idiot. She felt like a complete idiot, especially after the Duke had given her nothing but a curt “good night” at her chamber door before he disappeared into his own rooms.

Mrs. Wilson approached the table, a leather-bound ledger tucked under her arm. “Your Grace, I’ve prepared the household accounts for your review. And several invitations arrived yesterday requiring responses.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll attend to them this afternoon.” Selina forced herself to focus on the housekeeper’s words rather than the memory of her husband’s hands at her waist.

The door opened as Mrs. Wilson withdrew. Rowan entered, his face betraying none of the passion that had flared between them just hours ago.

“Good morning,” he said, taking his place at the opposite end of the table.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Selina matched his formality, determined not to reveal how his presence affected her.

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