Page 78 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Selina glanced at him sharply, but he didn’t look away.

“I offer no justification,” he continued. “Only my regret. And my intention to make amends, as best I can.”

Her throat tightened. The words weren’t dramatic, but they landed with weight.

“I may not be the husband your friend imagined,” Rowan addressed Georgiana, but was looking directly at Selina now. “But I swear to keep her safe. To give her comfort. A good life. If not happiness, then… something near to it.”

His voice was quiet. Measured. Almost too careful, as if he were holding something back.

Selina’s hands had gone still in her lap. A dozen questions burned in her chest—but she said nothing.

“Well,” David said, breaking the tension with a cheerful clap, “if anyone else would like to confess a grievous wrong and pledge lifelong devotion, the floor is open.”

Laughter resumed, gentler this time. The moment passed—but was not forgotten.

Selina picked up her spoon, heart unsteady. She didn’t know what Rowan’s silence still concealed.

But from the words he’d spoken, she felt less like a burden to him.

CHAPTER 26

“Your carriage is ready, Your Grace,” Simmons announced from the study door. “And Her Grace asked me to inform you she will be down shortly.”

Rowan closed the ledger he’d been poring over and rose, smoothing the front of his evening coat.

The search for Edward Bentern had hit another dead end—Felix reported that no one in London had even heard of the man. Plymouth and a conversation with Latham would have to wait. For now, he was expected at a ball, an event he had little interest in attending.

He stepped into the entrance hall just as Selina appeared at the top of the stairs.

He stopped cold.

She wore deep sapphire blue, not the pale pastel favored by many ladies of the ton, but a rich, striking shade that brought out the warmth of her hair and the glow of her skin. The gown skimmed her figure before flowing into soft folds, elegant without being ostentatious. A single diamond pendant rested at her throat, catching the light and drawing his eye to the graceful line of her neck.

“You look…” Words failed him.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone even. “You’re quite presentable yourself.”

He didn’t care about his own appearance at the moment. Though, he did wear a dark blue coat which matched her ensemble nicely.

Simmons stepped forward to assist her with her wrap and opened the door.

“Duchess,” Rowan offered his arm.

“Duke,” She took it without hesitation, her gloved hand resting lightly against his sleeve.

Even through layers of fabric, the contact sent a current of heat up his arm.

Lord and Lady Harrington’s townhouse shone brightly, its windows casting golden light onto the line of waiting carriages.

As Rowan handed Selina down, he caught the way heads turned, conversations paused, and the quiet murmur that followed their entrance. He was already attuned to every detail of her tonight—the soft rustle of her gown, the faint scent of lavender, the glow of her profile.

“The Duke and Duchess of Aldermere,” the majordomo intoned.

Their hosts greeted them with warm politeness. Lady Harrington took Selina’s hands, gushing over her gown, while Lord Harrington launched into a conversation with Rowan about shipping routes and tariffs. Rowan nodded where appropriate but kept Selina in sight, watching the way she moved through the crowd with poise and ease.

When the formalities were done, the orchestra shifted into the opening strains of a waltz. Guests began making their way to the floor.

“Would you honor me with this dance?” Rowan asked, offering his hand.

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