Page 91 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“And no one objected to this?” Rowan’s voice held barely contained anger.

“Who would object? It was a good match on paper—a baron’s daughter elevated to countess. That I was essentially sold to pay my father’s gambling debts was of no consequence to society.”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Lord Galerton was kind, in his way. He wanted a nurse and companion, not a true wife. When he died, I had my freedom, if little else.” She twisted to look up at him. “We’ve all survived things we would rather forget.”

Rowan’s eyes shifted, something unspoken moving behind them. Recognition, perhaps. Or understanding.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Yes. Though some scars are easier to see than others.”

She had the sense he wasn’t just talking about her. But before she could ask, the dinner gong echoed through the house.

“We should get ready,” Rowan said, rising and offering his hand.

He helped her to her feet, and they walked together toward their chambers, his hand resting gently at the small of her back.

Selina couldn’t help but marvel at how much had changed in a single day. The space that once stood between them had vanished, replaced by something warmer, something real. A closeness she hadn’t dared hope for.

Whatever had spurred Rowan’s transformation, she would not question it. For now, it was enough to savor this unexpected happiness, to explore the connection blossoming between them.

Tomorrow would bring its own revelations.

CHAPTER 30

“What do you see when you look at me like that?” Selina asked, her voice still heavy with sleep as she turned to find Rowan propped on one elbow, watching her.

“Everything I never expected to have,” he said, surprised by how easily the truth came now. Honesty had started to feel natural between them, especially over the past week.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the tangle of sheets. Sharing his bed had become their quiet habit, her own room used only for dressing and keeping up appearances for the staff. Not that anyone in the household was likely fooled.

Selina smiled and reached up to trace his jaw. “You need a shave.”

“Later,” he murmured, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “We’ve nowhere to be this morning.”

She shifted closer, warm against him. “A dangerous indulgence, Your Grace. We might never get up.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

Her laughter rumbled softly against his chest. “The servants would talk.”

“Let them.”

He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. It still astonished him how quickly things had changed. Just a week ago, they had barely exchanged more than polite conversation at breakfast. Now their days were filled with quiet companionship and shared looks, their nights wrapped in each other’s arms. Every barrier that had once stood between them seemed to slip away.

The papers on his desk remained untouched. Letters from Plymouth. Notes about Edward Bentern. None of it had mattered since the Harrington ball. He still wanted answers, but that single-minded urgency had dulled beneath the weight of something else. Selina.

“I need to visit my solicitor this morning,” he said after a pause, reluctantly pulling away from the stillness between them. “But I’ll be back before luncheon.”

“Business at last,” Selina teased. “I was starting to think you’d abandoned it entirely.”

“Not entirely,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. “It just feels a little less important than it used to.”

She studied him, her hazel eyes searching his face. “You’ve changed.”

“For the better, I hope.”

“Decidedly.”

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