Page 66 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Inside, the scent of roasting meat and wood smoke greeted them. The innkeeper, a round man with a quick smile, hurried over.

“Welcome to the Silver Crown, gentlemen. What can I do for you this evening?”

“Three rooms,” Rowan said, pulling out his purse. “One for me, one for my companion, and one for our driver. And make sure the horses are well cared for.”

“Of course, sir. Will you be dining with us?”

Rowan glanced at Peters, who looked like he was ready to collapse. “Send his meal up to his room. He’s earned a quiet evening. My friend and I will eat down here.”

Peters touched the brim of his cap. “Much obliged, Your Grace.”

The innkeeper’s eyes widened at the title, his manner shifting instantly. “Your Grace! We’re honored to have you. I’ll see to it you get our finest rooms.”

“Clean rooms will do,” Rowan said, not bothering to hide his discomfort at the attention. “And whatever you’re serving for dinner.”

While the innkeeper hurried off to make arrangements, Rowan and Felix chose a table near the fire. The common room was half full, mostly local farmers and a few traveling merchants who watched them with open curiosity.

“This is more like it,” Felix said, settling into his chair with obvious relief. “Actual furniture designed for human comfort.”

A serving girl brought them ale and platters of roasted beef with vegetables. The girl, barely sixteen by Rowan’s estimation,bobbed nervous curtsies and nearly spilled the gravy in her haste.

“Steady on,” Felix said kindly. “We don’t bite. Well, I don’t. Can’t speak for His Grace here.”

The girl flushed and scurried away.

Felix poked at the carrots on his plate suspiciously. “I believe these vegetables died of natural causes sometime last winter,” he announced. “The beef appears to have been equally elderly at the time of its demise.”

“It’s perfectly adequate,” Rowan said, though the meat was indeed tougher than boot leather.

“Your standards have fallen deplorably low.” Felix sawed at his portion with determination. “Marriage has made you distressingly practical.”

The mention of marriage made Rowan’s thoughts drift to Selina. What was she doing now? Had she noticed his absence, or was she relieved to have the house to herself? He pictured her at the breakfast table, finally able to eat in peace without his brooding presence across from her.

“You’re thinking of her,” Felix observed. “You get this particularly constipated expression when your mind turns to your duchess.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Your eyebrows draw together and your jaw clenches as if you’re attempting to crack walnuts with your teeth.” Felix demonstrated the expression with exaggerated precision.

Before Rowan could retort, movement near the stairs caught his attention. Two women descended, their low-cut gowns and painted faces clearly marking their profession. They surveyed the room with practiced eyes, zeroing in on Rowan and Felix as the most prosperous-looking patrons.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the taller woman said with a slow, practiced smile as she approached their table. “You look like you could use some company.”

She was striking in a bold, dramatic way, with dark hair swept high and kohl-lined eyes that missed nothing. Her companion, blonde and softer in appearance, had a similar watchfulness beneath her smile.

“Indeed we could,” Felix said, grinning as if the day’s travel and disappointing meal had been forgotten. “Please, join us.”

They didn’t hesitate. The brunette slid into the seat beside Felix with familiar ease, while the blonde moved toward Rowan, her hips swaying deliberately.

“And you, handsome?” she asked, tracing one finger along his shoulder. “Feeling a little lonely on a night like this?”

“No,” Rowan said flatly. “Thank you.”

The blonde pouted prettily. “Come now, don’t be shy. A fine gentleman like yourself must get lonely on the road. I’m Rosie, and I can be very… comforting.”

She leaned forward, displaying an impressive décolletage. Rowan kept his eyes firmly on her face.

“I’m certain you can. However, I’m not interested.”

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