Page 58 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

The words stung more than they should have. “We may not have a conventional marriage, but that doesn’t mean I’m indifferent to your welfare.”

He didn’t respond.

Selina studied his face, noting the exhaustion there, the weight he carried. “What troubles you so deeply, Rowan? What drives you to these mysterious excursions that leave you bloodied and secretive?”

He released her wrist, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, quietly, he spoke.

“My father left debts. Gambling debts to dangerous men. The kind who don’t simply write off losses when someone dies.” His voice grew bitter. “I’ve been trying to settle them, to clean up the mess he left behind. Some of his creditors are less than civilized in their collection methods.”

Understanding dawned. “That’s where you’ve been going. That’s why you return injured.”

“Among other things.” He met her eyes again. “The truth is, there are aspects of my disappearance, my father’s affairs, that could put you in danger if they became known. I’ve been trying to protect you by keeping you ignorant of them.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why does my safety matter to you if this is merely a business arrangement?”

He stepped closer, something vulnerable flickering in his expression. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly tender given the roughness of his palm.

“Because you’re my wife,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And despite what I said about convenience and practicality, the thought of anything happening to you…” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t bear it.”

They gazed at each other in the lamplight. The air between them was charged with unspoken possibilities. Then, slowly, he bent his head and captured her lips with his. Unlike their kiss at the opera, this was gentle, mindful of his injured lip. A question rather than a demand.

Selina hesitated only a moment before answering, her lips softening beneath his. The hand at her wrist loosened, sliding up her arm to pull her closer. Her own hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath his shirt.

The kiss deepened, changing from tentative exploration to something hungrier, more urgent. Rowan’s hands spanned her waist, lifting her suddenly to sit on the edge of the kitchen table. He stepped between her knees, pressing closer, his mouth leaving hers to trace a burning path down her throat.

Selina gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as sensation overwhelmed thought. This was nothing like the dutiful offering she had made on their wedding night. This was fire and need and a yearning she hadn’t known she possessed.

Rowan’s hands moved restlessly over her back, her sides, as if trying to memorize her shape through the fabric of her dress. His lips returned to hers, more demanding now despite his injury.The slight taste of blood mingled with the heady flavor of him, primitive and intoxicating.

Her skirts had ridden up, his hand finding the bare skin of her calf, then sliding higher to her knee. Each touch kindled new heat, new awareness in parts of her body she’d scarcely acknowledged before.

“Selina,” he breathed against her mouth. “Tell me to stop.”

“No.” She pulled him closer. “Don’t stop.”

His lips drove against hers with such fervor that their teeth briefly met. She kissed him like a woman dying of hunger, hunger for his touch. His hands gripped her waist. In one swift move, he lifted her and set her on the table.

Rowan pulled away from her long enough to reach under her skirt and pull it up. When she was bare, he kneeled between her thighs.

For a moment, Selina tensed, her leg muscles tightening.

Rowan glanced up at her, his eyes dark with desire. His hands slid gently up her thighs.

“This mouth was made for you. Every inch of me—starved for this,” he breathed, kissing the inner part of her thigh.

When he buried his head between her legs, raw pleasure ripped through her.

He dragged his tongue through the folds of her intimate flesh. Sliding through the ruffles of her sex with his tongue, Selina quivered with each strong lick. Her hips began to buck and jerk as the pleasure coursed through her. When his tongue flicked lightly on her bud, a moan escaped her lips.

Her fingers fisted in his hair. She wanted more. Her hands neither pushed nor pulled him away from her core. Instead, she held him steady, primal desire surging through her and guiding her actions.

Rowan sucked at the petals of her straining flesh, flicking his tongue in measures movements. Selina’s hips rose, and she made a jagged sound as her muscles seized and her back arched as she felt her body break apart from pleasure.

Rowan reached up and held her hips steady as he lapped up her climax ravenously. He kept her locked in place until her body stilled and she found herself back on earth. Only then did he pull away, and Selina sat up, the skirt of her dress sliding down with the movement.

The clatter of metal against stone shattered the moment.

A young kitchen maid stood frozen in the doorway, a fallen ladle at her feet, her eyes wide with shock.

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