Page 57 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“Nothing of consequence.” Rowan’s voice was gruff as he attempted to move past her. “I apologize for missing dinner.”

“Nothing of consequence?” Selina blocked his path. “You look as though you’ve been in a brawl.”

“It’s late, Selina. We can discuss this tomorrow.”

“Your injuries need attention now.” She reached for his hand, noting how he winced at the contact. “These cuts could become infected.”

“I’ve had worse.” He pulled away. “I’ll have Simmons bring hot water to my room.”

“Simmons has retired for the night, as have the rest of the staff.” Selina stood her ground. “The kitchen will have what we need. Come.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked toward the back of the house. After a moment’s hesitation, she heard his footsteps following her.

The kitchen was dark and quiet, the fires banked for the night. Selina lit a lamp and set it on the large wooden table that dominated the room.

“Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to a chair.

Surprisingly, Rowan complied, though his expression remained guarded. Selina filled a basin with water from the pump, then retrieved clean cloths and the box of medicinal supplies Mrs. Wilson kept for kitchen accidents.

“This isn’t necessary,” Rowan said, setting her supplies on the table.

“Clearly someone needs to look after you, since you won’t do it yourself.” Selina dipped a cloth in the water. “Now hold still.”

She stepped between his knees, leaning close to examine his split lip. The proximity was unexpectedly intimate, his breath warm against her wrist as she gently dabbed at the dried blood.

“You still haven’t told me what happened,” she said, focusing on her task rather than the unsettling awareness of his body so close to hers.

“A misunderstanding.”

“One that required fists to resolve?”

Rowan’s eyes met hers. “Some men only understand one language.”

“And what did these men misunderstand?” Selina pressed, cleaning a small cut near his eyebrow.

“My father’s affairs.” He winced as she touched a tender spot. “I’ve been investigating certain aspects of his business dealings.”

“By engaging in a fist fight with strangers?”

A reluctant smile tugged at Rowan’s mouth, reopening the cut on his lip. He grimaced, reaching up to touch it.

“Don’t,” Selina caught his hand. “You’ll make it worse.”

His fingers closed around hers, warm and unexpectedly gentle. The simple contact sent a shiver of awareness through her body. How long had it been since he had touched her with purpose? Not since their kiss at the opera.

“You have clever hands,” Rowan said softly, his eyes on their joined fingers.

“Years of needlework.” Selina’s voice sounded breathless to her own ears.

She pulled her hand away and reached for a pot of salve. “This will help with the swelling.”

With careful movements, she applied the ointment to his lip, acutely conscious of his eyes watching her face. The kitchen felt suddenly warmer, the space between them charged with unspoken tension.

“You didn’t need to wait up for me,” Rowan said.

“Perhaps I was worried.” Selina moved to his scraped knuckles, cleaning them with methodical care. “You disappear for hours, returning injured and offering no explanation.”

“I didn’t think you would notice my absence.”

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