Page 94 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Color rose in Selina’s cheeks at his unexpected candor, her eyes bright with something close to joy. The waltz carried them in slow circles beneath the glittering chandeliers, weaving past other couples and along the edge of the ballroom.

As they turned near one of the columns, Rowan caught sight of Lady Winsley watching them.

Her blue eyes tracked their every step, her expression unreadable but edged with something cold. When she saw him looking, she lifted her glass in a mock toast, the curve of her lips more warning than welcome.

The sight of his father’s former mistress sent an unexpected chill through him. Annette had been more than a passing fancy for the old duke—she had expected to become the next Duchess of Aldermere, right up until his father’s untimely death.

“Rowan?” Selina’s concerned voice brought him back to the present. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he assured her, deliberately turning so his back was to Lady Winsley. “Just someone I’d rather not see.”

“Lady Winsley,” Selina guessed, her perceptiveness catching him off guard. “She was watching us earlier. There’s something unsettling about that woman.”

“My father’s former mistress,” Rowan confirmed. “Best avoided.”

“Gladly.”

The music ended, and Rowan led Selina from the floor before Lady Winsley could approach them.

They spent the rest of the evening together, moving through the crowd with the ease of a couple long accustomed to each other’s rhythms.

There was nothing hesitant or strained in their interactions now—only comfort, quiet smiles, and a shared understanding that needed no words.

A quieter, steadier pull now resided within him. Not toward vengeance, but toward a future he hadn’t imagined possible.

A life with Selina. A chance to build something lasting, not from duty or survival, but from choice.

Edward Bentern still required answering, but perhaps not with the all-consuming urgency he had once believed. Perhaps there was room in his life for both justice and joy, for both the past and the future.

Rowan made a silent promise to himself—and to her. He would solve the mystery of his abduction, but not at the expense of what they were creating together.

Some pursuits, he was discovering, were far more rewarding than revenge.

CHAPTER 31

“These roses are lovely,” Selina said, adjusting a bloom in the crystal vase on her dressing table. “Agnes, please thank Mr. Peterson for selecting them from the hothouse.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Agnes curtseyed before departing to deliver the message to the head gardener.

Selina moved to the open window, breathing in the sweet summer air. Below, gardeners moved quietly among the formal flower beds that framed the townhouse, their motions calm in the morning light.

Beyond the gates, the familiar sounds of London filled the air—carriage wheels on cobblestones, vendors calling out, and the distant chime of church bells.

How dramatically her life had changed in such a short time. From a marriage of cold convenience to… whatever this was. Notmerely passion, though there was plenty of that, but a genuine partnership that grew stronger with each passing day.

They had fallen into comfortable routines together. Breakfast in the garden when weather permitted, Rowan reading excerpts from the morning papers while Selina poured their tea.

Their afternoons were often spent apart, each tending to their own responsibilities. Rowan managed his business affairs while Selina oversaw the household and attended to her charitable work. They always came together for dinner, then passed their evenings in the library, sometimes reading aloud to one another, sometimes simply enjoying the quiet, their presence enough.

Rowan had spoken more freely about his time at sea. He talked about the night he was taken by the press gang, the brutal shift to life aboard a warship, and the long months that followed.

Each confidence shared had strengthened the bond between them, transforming their hasty union into something neither had expected—something real and precious.

A knock at the door interrupted her reflections. Rowan entered, already dressed for the day in a coat of deep blue that complemented his gray eyes.

“You look pensive this morning,” he observed, crossing to join her at the window.

“Just thinking about how much has changed.” She leaned into him as his arm circled her waist. “If someone had told me a month ago that we would be like this, I would have called them mad.”

---