Page 41 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“Certainly not,” she replied, though her fingers twisted the ribbon of her reticule. “I’ve attended countless garden parties.”

“Not as the Duchess of Aldermere.”

The carriage stopped, and Rowan stepped out first, then turned to offer his hand. As Selina stepped down, her gloved fingers rested in his palm, the contact brief yet somehow charged.

They approached the grand entrance where a footman announced in ringing tones, “His Grace, the Duke of Aldermere, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Aldermere.”

Conversation faltered. Heads turned. Selina felt the weight of curious stares but kept her chin high as Rowan guided her forward with a light touch at her back.

Lord and Lady Marlow came to greet them, their smiles polite if somewhat curious. Lord Marlow was a portly, red-faced gentleman with shrewd eyes, while his wife was a handsome woman whose dark hair showed the first threads of silver.

“Your Grace, welcome,” Lord Marlow said, bowing to Rowan before turning to Selina. “And Her Grace. We’re delighted you could join us today.”

After several minutes of small talk, Rowan turned to his host. “I wonder if I might have a private word. A business matter I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lord Marlow nodded. “My study is at your disposal.”

Rowan turned to Selina. “Will you excuse us, my dear? I’m sure Lady Marlow can introduce you to the other guests.”

“Certainly,” Selina replied with a perfect curtsy, meeting his gaze briefly. “It was a pleasure, Lord Marlow.”

Lord Marlow’s study was a masculine sanctuary of leather and mahogany, the walls lined with bound volumes and sporting prints.

“Brandy?” Marlow offered, moving to a crystal decanter.

“Thank you.” Rowan accepted the glass, taking a small sip. “I appreciate your discretion in agreeing to speak privately.”

“Always happy to accommodate a valued investor.” Marlow settled into a leather chair. “Now, what business brings you here today?”

Rowan chose his words with care. “I’m seeking information about my father’s affairs in the years before his death.”

Marlow’s expression grew guarded. “That was some time ago, Your Grace.”

“Three years. Not so very long.” Rowan leaned forward. “You did business with him, did you not?”

“I had the honor of several ventures with the late Duke, yes.”

“And you knew him socially as well.”

“We moved in the same circles,” Marlow replied, studying his brandy.

“Then you were aware of his gambling debts.”

The statement hung in the air. Marlow set down his glass with deliberate care.

“Your Grace, these are matters best left in the past.”

“I need to know the truth, Marlow.” Rowan kept his voice level despite the tension coiling inside him. “It concerns my family’s safety.”

Something in his tone must have convinced the older man, for Marlow sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“Very well. Yes, your father had substantial gambling debts. Many of his creditors had connections to less reputable elements in London.”

Rowan absorbed this confirmation of what he’d already suspected. “Was there anyone else who might have wished my father harm? Anyone in particular?”

Marlow considered the question. “There was bad blood between your father and Lord Atwood. Something to do with a property dispute that turned ugly. Atwood claimed your father cheated him, though I never learned the details.”

“Atwood,” Rowan repeated, committing the name to memory.

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