Page 79 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Surprise flickered in her eyes, though she quickly masked it. “Of course.”

He led her onto the floor, one hand settling at her waist, the other enclosing hers. They moved together smoothly, as though they had done this many times before. As the waltz progressed, he drew her just a little closer, their bodies nearly touching.

“You’re holding me too close,” she murmured, her voice soft.

“You’re my wife,” he said, just above a whisper. “It’s entirely proper.”

“The ton might disagree.”

“Let them.” Rowan executed an elegant turn. “We have appearances to maintain, do we not? A united front.”

“Is that what this is?” Their bodies moved in perfect harmony despite the tension between them. “A performance for society’s benefit?”

“What would you prefer it to be?”

Her eyes met his, challenge in their hazel depths. “A dance between husband and wife who actually speak to one another. Who trust one another.”

“I trust you,” Rowan said automatically.

“Do you?” Selina’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his shoulder.

The waltz carried them past a cluster of observers, forcing a pause in their conversation. Rowan used the moment to gather his thoughts, acutely aware of her body moving with his, the warmth of her beneath his palm.

“My secrets are my burden to bear,” he said finally as they swept past the orchestra.

“A convenient excuse.”

“An unfortunate reality.”

They completed another circuit of the floor, their bodies drawing incrementally closer with each turn. Rowan could feel the heat of her, smell the lavender in her hair. The fine fabric of her gown whispered against his legs. If he pulled her just a fraction closer, her body would be flush against his.

“You disappeared for a year,” Selina said, her voice barely audible above the music. “Returned to claim me as your wife, then promptly began vanishing again. What am I to think?”

“That I have responsibilities. Obligations.”

“That take you away for days at a time? That return you to our home looking exhausted and haunted?”

Her perception unsettled him. Had she noticed the nightmares that sometimes woke him shouting? The way he flinched at certain sounds, certain smells?

“This isn’t the place for such a discussion,” he evaded.

“It never is.” Disappointment shadowed her eyes. “There’s always a reason to avoid the conversation, to maintain your distance.”

The music neared its conclusion, the final notes approaching. Rowan realized with surprise that he didn’t want the dance to end. Here, with Selina in his arms, the nightmares and plots felt distant, manageable.

“I…” he began.

But the final chord sounded, ending the moment. All around them, couples separated, bowing and curtseying to their partners. Selina stepped back, a carefully correct distance opening between them.

“Thank you for the dance, Your Grace,” Selina said, her voice formal as she dipped into a graceful curtsy.

Rowan returned the gesture with a polished bow, fully aware of the eyes tracking them. “The pleasure was mine.”

He offered his arm as custom dictated, and she accepted it without comment. But as soon as they reached the edge of the dance floor, she let her hand fall away.

“I see Georgiana across the room,” she said, her tone light. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Before he could respond, she had already turned, the sapphire blue of her gown vanishing quickly into the swirl of silks and lace.

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