Page 7 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Selina’s heart kicked hard in her chest. Shock came first, then anger, then a rising sense of dread. She had built her life back, piece by fragile piece.

Now, with one look, she knew it was all about to come crashing down.

CHAPTER 3

“Your Grace,” Lord Penderwick stammered, approaching with an extended hand. “A pleasant surprise!”

Rowan didn’t spare the viscount a second look. His gaze stayed on Selina: his betrothed, his almost Duchess.

No—breathtaking. Far lovelier than the matchmaker’s letter had suggested, and the letter had not been ungenerous.

Her golden hair was swept up in a style that revealed the slender line of her neck and the delicate curve of her shoulders. Light caught in the loose tendrils framing her face, turning them to silk. Her gown was modest, yet it hinted at a figure both elegant and arresting.

But it was her face that held him. Her wide hazel eyes, fringed with dark lashes, met his for the briefest moment—and in that instant, the world seemed to still.

Shock. Horror. Fury.

And then she looked away.

“Lady Galerton,” Rowan said, his voice cutting through the hushed whispers of the crowd. “I must speak with you privately.”

Selina lifted her chin. “We have nothing to say to each other, Your Grace.” Her voice was steady but cold. She turned to Lord Penderwick. “Please continue your toast, my lord.”

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Rowan replied, stepping closer. “After all, you are still legally my betrothed.”

A collective gasp rippled through the gathering. Selina’s face paled, then flushed with anger.

“You cannot be serious,” she hissed. “You vanished for an entire year without a word. You havenoclaim on me.”

“On the contrary,” Rowan said, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Our marriage contract remains valid. The special license was issued. My solicitor confirms our arrangement stands.”

Lord Penderwick's head whipped back and forth between them, confusion and distress clear on his round face. “M-my lady! What is going on here?”

Before Selina could answer, Lady Penderwick materialized at her son’s side. Her thin fingers gripped his arm like talons.

“End this now, Matthew,” she hissed. “This woman will drag us down into ruin.”

“Mother, please,” Lord Penderwick protested weakly. “There must be an explanation.”

Lady Penderwick’s grip tightened. “Do what you must. End it tonight, before it’s too late. She will ruin our good name.”

Selina stepped forward. “Lady Penderwick, I assure you this is nothing. His Grace is merely confused. Please, let us continue with the celebration.”

Lord Penderwick hesitated, looking between his mother and Selina with the helpless expression of a man caught in a storm without shelter.

“I am not confused, Lady Galerton,” Rowan cut in. “Our betrothal was properly arranged through our solicitors. No cancellation was ever processed.”

The guests had abandoned all pretense of not listening. Their eager faces turned back and forth, following the exchange like spectators at a tennis match.

“My Lord,” Selina pleaded. “Surely, you don’t believe?—”

“Silence, you scheming fortune hunter!” Lady Penderwick hissed, stepping between Selina and her son. “You’ve caused quite enough scandal for one evening.”

Selina glanced at Lord Penderwick, her eyes imploring him to speak on her behalf. He swallowed visibly, his gaze darting between Selina and his mother. For a moment, indecision warred on his face. Then, with a glance at Lady Penderwick’s stern countenance, he seemed to deflate.

With a heavy sigh, Lord Penderwick turned to address the room. “My dear friends,” he announced, his voice wavering. “I apologize, but it seems there are matters that need to be resolved. I think it is best if we conclude our gathering early.”

The room erupted in excited murmurs. Selina stared at Lord Penderwick in disbelief.

---