Page 85 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“When would I have mentioned it? During our hasty wedding ceremony? The strained carriage ride afterward? Or perhaps during one of the many silent breakfasts we’ve shared since?” Bitterness tinged her words. “Besides, you made it clear you had no interest in claiming your marital rights when you sent me away on our wedding night.”

“I sent you away because you were shaking,” Rowan said, his voice low and raw. “I thought I’d frightened you. That you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

“Frightened?” Her eyes widened. “Yes, I was nervous—worried I’d do something wrong. But repulsed? N-no…”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing her cheek, then tracing the edge of her mouth. “What about now?” he asked, his thumb skimming her lower lip. “Are you afraid now?”

Her breath caught. “No.”

That was all he needed.

He closed the space between them and kissed her. No hesitation this time. The hunger that had been simmering beneath hiscontrol poured out in that single moment. She stilled, just for a heartbeat, then surged into him, arms winding around his neck as she kissed him back, fierce and sure.

His hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him, then lifting her off the floor with effortless strength. She let out a quiet gasp as her back met the wall, her fingers tangling in his hair, her eyes dark with wanting.

“Not here,” he said roughly, pulling back just enough to breathe. “Not your first time.”

Without waiting for her reply, he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. She clung to him, soft and warm against his chest, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. The scent of her, lavender and something entirely her, wrapped around him, unraveling whatever restraint he had left.

In his chambers, he set her down beside the bed, his gaze searching hers. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t answer with words. She reached for him instead, pulling him down into another kiss that said everything he needed to hear.

This kiss was different. It was deliberate, unhurried. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of evening stubble beneath her touch. His hands found her waist, drawing her closer until the space between them vanished completely.

“Selina,” he whispered against her lips, her name a reverence in the quiet room.

She met his gaze, finding vulnerability there she’d never seen before. The formidable duke, always so controlled, now looked at her with unveiled need and something deeper that made her heart flutter wildly against her ribs.

Her fingers moved to the knot of his cravat, working it loose with tentative movements. The fine linen slipped away, and she watched the pulse at his throat quicken as she unbuttoned his collar.

“I’ve thought of this,” she admitted softly, “more than I should confess.”

His laugh was low and warm, vibrating through her as his hands slid up her back, finding the fastening of her gown.

“And I have thought of little else.”

The silk loosened around her shoulders. His fingertips traced the newly exposed skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. She closed her eyes at the sensation, at the tender exploration that felt like worship.

When she opened them again, he was watching her with such intensity that her breath caught in her throat. He bent to press his lips to the curve where her neck met her shoulder, and she gasped, clutching his arms for support.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her skin.

“You,” she answered simply. “Just you.”

His hands trembled slightly as they continued their careful undressing, each new revelation met with gentle touches and quiet wonder. The weight of their shared history—all the misunderstandings, the distance, the longing—seemed to dissolve with every barrier that fell away between them.

When her gown slipped to pool at her feet, leaving her in only her thin chemise, she felt no shame under his gaze. There was only the warmth of being truly seen, truly wanted.

He drew her closer, his fingers tangling in her hair as it came loose from its pins.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the words brushing against her ear. “More than I deserve.”

“Let me decide what you deserve,” she replied, her hands working at the buttons of his waistcoat.

The candlelight cast golden shadows across his features as she helped him shed his formal attire. He kept his shirt on, and she didn’t press, sensing his hesitation. Instead, she focused on the warmth of his skin beneath the linen, the powerful lines of his shoulders, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

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