Page 40 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“Where is His Grace?” Selina asked, though she suspected the answer.

The dinner hour arrived with its usual formality. Selina had entered the dining room precisely at eight, expecting to find Rowan already seated at the head of the table. Instead, only Simmons stood waiting, his impassive face giving nothing away.

“His Grace sends his apologies, Your Grace. He will be dining at the Marquess of Halston’s residence this evening.”

Disappointment pinched unexpectedly. After their charged encounter at the opera, she had hoped for some resolution, some acknowledgment of what had transpired between them.

“I see.” Selina took her seat at the empty table. “Thank you, Simmons.”

The butler supervised as footmen served the first course, a delicate soup that Selina barely tasted.

The room felt cavernous with just one person, the empty chair at the opposite end a silent reminder of her husband’s absence.

Why should she care where he dined? Their marriage was a business arrangement, nothing more. He had made that abundantly clear. Yet the memory of his kiss suggested otherwise, as did the flash of emotion she occasionally glimpsed in his eyes before his guard slammed back into place.

Selina set down her spoon, appetite gone. “Please inform Cook that the meal is excellent, but I find I’m not hungry tonight. I’ll take tea in the drawing room instead.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Alone in the drawing room with her tea, Selina tried to focus on a novel, but the words blurred before her eyes. She found herself listening for the front door, for Rowan’s footsteps in the hall.

This was becoming a pattern, she realized. Waiting for a man who maintained his distance. Hoping for warmth from someone who had walled himself off from true connection.

The thought filled her with sudden determination. She would not spend her life this way, forever yearning for crumbs of affection. If Rowan wished for a marriage in name only, she would accept those terms with dignity. She would build a lifeof her own within the constraints of her position. Focus on charitable work. Cultivate friendships. Find purpose beyond waiting for her husband’s rare moments of humanity.

Setting aside her book, Selina crossed to the writing desk. She pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to Isabella, describing her visit to the shops and the gifts she had purchased for little Lily. She mentioned nothing of the strain with Rowan, of the kiss at the opera, of the loneliness that sometimes threatened to engulf her.

Some burdens were her own to bear.

As the clock struck eleven with no sign of Rowan’s return, Selina retired to her chamber. Agnes helped her undress and brush out her hair, chatting about the day’s purchases.

“The little gown for Lady Bingham’s daughter was exquisite, Your Grace. You have excellent taste.”

“Thank you, Agnes.” Selina stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She looked the same as always—golden hair, hazel eyes, features that had been called pretty if not beautiful. Yet she felt changed, somehow. Hardened by disappointment, perhaps. Or simply growing accustomed to the reality of her situation.

After Agnes departed, Selina slipped beneath the covers of her bed. The sheets felt cool against her skin, the room quiet save for the occasional creak of the old house settling.

Tomorrow would be another day of polite distance, of carefully maintained barriers. Another day of wondering what secrets her husband kept, what demons drove him to keep her at arm’s length.

But tonight, just for a moment before sleep claimed her, Selina allowed herself to remember the feeling of Rowan’s lips on hers, his arms drawing her close.

Whatever his reasons for that kiss, whatever his reasons for pushing her away afterward, the connection had been real. Undeniable.

And in that small truth, she found enough comfort to finally drift into sleep.

CHAPTER 14

“We should arrive precisely at four,” Rowan said, checking his pocket watch as their carriage rolled through London. “Fashionably late would be remarked upon.”

“Of course,” Selina replied, smoothing her skirts for perhaps the tenth time. “Lord Marlow is an important connection.”

A week had passed since their return to London, filled with stilted meals and careful avoidance. The kiss at the opera hung between them, unacknowledged yet impossible to forget.

The Marlow estate appeared ahead, its white stone façade gleaming in the afternoon sun. As their carriage pulled up the circular drive, Selina drew a steadying breath.

“Nervous?” Rowan asked, studying her face.

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