Page 87 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Not with Veer’s confession still echoing in his mind, not with that receipt bearing Edward Bentern’s signature locked in his drawer, and not with threats still lurking where he couldn’t see them.

“I know you want to know where I’ve been in the past year,” he said quietly. His thumb brushed her lower lip, a deliberate distraction. “I promise I’ll tell you. But right now, I’d rather focus on the present.”

“I didn’t?—”

“I know. Still. I want you to know that… I wish to tell you. And I will, soon enough.”

She hesitated. He saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but it passed when he kissed her. When they drew apart, she looked up at him, thoughtful.

“I thought you had business in Plymouth. Felix mentioned it at the ball.”

Rowan made a mental note to strangle his friend. “It can wait.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You’ve never put off business before.”

“I have a good reason to now,” he said, his hand sliding slowly along her waist, savoring the warmth of her skin.

Her breath caught. “Rowan?—”

“Plymouth will still be there next week,” he said, deciding as the words left his mouth. “Right now, I’m more interested in getting to know my wife.”

Her smile was soft and a little uncertain, but real. “I’d like that very much.”

Something in him let go at her response. The investigation could wait. For now, he wanted to stay here in this quiet moment, to understand whatever was growing between them. Her presence calmed him in a way he hadn’t expected, something steady beneath all the turmoil.

It wasn’t love. Not yet. Not with the walls he’d put up after the Intrepid. But it was something strong. Something worth holding on to before the world demanded more from him.

“Then let’s call this a delayed honeymoon,” he said as he pulled her close. “And let it begin now.”

She laughed, and the sound was light and bright and so full of life that it struck something deep inside him. For the first time since his return, Rowan felt a shift he hadn’t thought possible.

Hope.

CHAPTER 29

“You’re staring,” Selina murmured, her eyes still closed as she burrowed deeper into the pillows.

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room in a golden haze. Rowan had been watching her for some time, taking in the way sleep had relaxed her features, how her hair spilled across the pillow, the curve of her bare shoulder where the sheet had slipped low.

“Can you blame me?” he said, tracing a slow line along her arm. “The view is rather captivating.”

Her lashes lifted, a hint of color blooming in her cheeks. For all they had shared during the night, this quiet, easy closeness felt new. Uncharted.

“What time is it?” she asked, though she didn’t move.

“Just past nine.” His fingers followed the slope of her collarbone, unhurried. “The staff will assume we’ve both taken ill.”

“Or they’ll come to a more obvious conclusion.” She caught his hand in hers and brought it to her lips, brushing a kiss against his palm.

The simple sweetness of it startled him. He hadn’t expected tenderness to undo him more than passion ever could.

A knock at the door interrupted whatever reply he might have made. Selina pulled the sheet higher as Rowan called for the visitor to enter.

Simmons appeared with a laden tray, his expression betraying nothing at finding the duchess in his master’s bed. “Your breakfast, Your Grace. Mrs. Wilson thought you might prefer to dine privately this morning.”

“Thank you, Simmons. That will be all.”

When the door closed behind the butler, Selina buried her face in the pillow with a groan. “The entire staff will know by luncheon.”

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