Page 76 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to trust me,” Selina retorted. “Though I can’t imagine why I should expect anything from a husband who treats his wife like an ornament to be ignored.”

Rowan’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Is that what you think?”

“What else should I think?” Selina’s voice rose despite her efforts to control it. “You disappear for days without explanation. You return with cuts and bruises but refuse to share what troubles you. You treat me with cold courtesy except for those rare moments when you seem to forget yourself.”

“I have my reasons,” Rowan’s voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. “Reasons which prevent me from…”

His voice trailed off.

“From what?” she challenged.

He closed the remaining distance between them in one stride, his hand coming up to cradle her face, “From enjoying my wife.”

For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. Her pulse quickened, body responding traitorously to his nearness.

A sharp knock interrupted the charged moment.

“Your Grace?” Mrs. Wilson’s voice came through the door. “Will you be joining the guests for dessert?”

Rowan stepped back, the spell broken. Selina took a steadying breath.

“Yes, Mrs. Wilson. We’ll be right there.”

When the housekeeper’s footsteps receded, Selina straightened her shoulders.

Rowan looked at her, the fire in his expression now tempered by something quieter—something closer to regret.

His voice, when it came, was low. “If you’ll allow it… I’ll join you.”

Selina blinked, caught off guard.

“Dessert,” he added, as if clarifying the obvious. But his eyes never left hers. “I should meet the guests properly.”

It wasn’t an apology. Not quite. But it wasn’t nothing.

She nodded once, slowly. “Of course.”

He offered his arm. Stiffly at first, as though he’d forgotten how. She hesitated a heartbeat—then placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Together, they walked back to the dining room. The guests looked up in surprise.

Conversation faltered mid-sentence. Forks stilled above plates. Even Lord Penderwick froze with a bite of tart halfway to his mouth.

Selina kept her posture composed, her hand light on Rowan’s arm.

She stepped forward, her voice steady as she gestured around the table. “May I present the Duke and Duchess of Emberford—Robert and Georgiana, who are dear friends of mine.”

Rowan inclined his head. “Duke. Duchess.”

“Aldermere,” Robert nodded.

Georgiana smiled with gentle curiosity. “We were just praising your household’s hospitality, Duke. You have a beautiful home, sir.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” he said. “The credit belongs to my wife. She’s made it more pleasing.”

Selina moved on. “And you’ll remember Viscount Penderwick.”

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