Page 52 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Robert accepted this with a nod, though Georgiana’s expression suggested she had drawn her own conclusions about the Duke’s absence.

“Papa!” A small voice interrupted any further discussion.

Beatrice, dressed in a white nightgown, broke free from her nursemaid’s grasp and toddled toward Robert with outstretched arms.

“There’s my little angel,” Robert said, all ducal dignity forgotten as he scooped up his daughter. “Come to say goodnight to our guest?”

Beatrice buried her face in her father’s shoulder, suddenly shy again.

“She insisted on seeing you before bed,” Georgiana explained, smiling fondly at the pair. “She refuses to sleep without a kiss from her father.”

“The most important appointment of my day,” Robert agreed, pressing his lips to his daughter’s curls. “Isn’t that right, my sweet?”

The tender scene sent an unexpected pang through Selina’s heart. This was what a family should be—a father’s devotion, a mother’s love, a child secure in both.

Would she ever know such happiness? Or was her fate to remain in this strange half-marriage, neither truly wife nor merely companion?

“Say goodnight to the Duchess,” Robert prompted, turning so that Beatrice faced Selina.

“Night,” the child whispered, offering a tiny wave.

“Goodnight, Beatrice,” Selina replied, smiling despite the ache in her chest. “Sweet dreams.”

The nursemaid took the child, and Robert watched them leave with naked adoration on his face. When he turned back to his guests, his expression softened at whatever he saw in Selina’s.

“Children change everything,” he said gently. “In ways I never anticipated.”

“So I see,” Selina managed.

Georgiana linked her arm through Selina’s. “Come, dinner is waiting. And I believe Cook has prepared your favorite lemon tart for dessert.”

The evening passed pleasantly, with Robert proving a gracious host despite his friend’s absence. He regaled Selina with tales of their travels abroad before Beatrice’s birth, while Georgiana shared amusing anecdotes of country life at Emberford.

Throughout the meal, Selina found herself imagining what it might be like to host such a dinner with Rowan at her side.

Would he ever look at her with the warm affection Robert showed Georgiana? Would they ever share the easy companionship that allowed the Emberfords to finish each other’s sentences?

She’d never know.

CHAPTER 18

Someone was following Rowan.

The hackney had dropped him several streets away from his destination, allowing him to approach the Jackal’s Den on foot. London’s less reputable establishments preferred discretion from their clientele.

It was the third time he’d spotted the same shadow.

Rowan casually adjusted his course, turning down a narrow side street.

He walked in silence for several moments, footsteps echoing on damp cobblestones.

At the next intersection, Rowan pulled himself into a darkened doorway.

Rowan’s body became tense as a coiled spring.

Footsteps approached—hesitant, searching. A silhouette appeared at the mouth of the alley.

The moment the figure passed their hiding place, Rowan moved with shocking speed. He seized the follower by the shoulders, slamming him against the brick wall.

---