Page 47 of A Duchess Untouched

Selina wanted to remind her father that he had, at some point, been thrown into the Thames by his creditors after he could not pay his debts, so he was the last person to mock someone else, but she only sighed.

“Magnificent!” the Dowager Duchess cackled. “He does have the brains of a turnip. Yet no one would believe me when I told them. I think they were blinded by all the diamonds his wife likes to wear. I find it absolutely crass to display wealth that way, do you not agree, Mr. Quinten?”

“You could not be more right in your judgment, Your Grace. People spend so much effort on displaying their wealth that they forget what true class looks like.”

Selina bit her tongue. She would like to remind her mother-in-law about all the sapphires and emeralds she wore at the last soiree. They were particularly blinding. She remained standing in the doorway, wondering if she was still dreaming. Seeing her father and her mother-in-law happily giggling over gossip that could well have featured her very own father was quite disturbing.

Hell must have frozen over.

Or perhaps I am still sleeping in the kitchens, ready to be discovered by the servants.

“Selina, my dear,” Antoinette called, finally noticing her. “What are you doing hovering at the door? Come sit with us. Your father and I were merely reading about the latest society gossip. It is the best way to break your fast in the morning!”

“I… I am glad you two are getting along,” was all Selina could say as she stared at her father’s cheerful face. She could not fathom how he had managed to get her mother-in-law to even speak to him.

Still, Selina could not force down more than two bites from her breakfast. Sitting in front of the bizarre display of merriment, uncertain about what Matthew was thinking, was too much. She did try to drink a bit of tea and eventually finish half a roll, but then she had to excuse herself.

“Your Grace, Papa, I need to visit the widows this morning,” she announced as she rose from her seat. “I will leave you two to… whatever it is that you are doing.”

The two barely even looked at her as they continued to giggle over the gossip columns.

Within an hour, Selina’s carriage had reached the small parish where she usually met the widows. She had brought all twenty wicker baskets she had assembled with Matthew.

Her mood lifted as she began handing each widow a basket.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Ernest gasped, her gnarled hands trembling as she reached for her basket. Her eyes welled with tears as she reached in and discovered the contents. “You have no idea what this means to me. This tea alone will help soothe my throat and my joints. God bless your kind heart…”

“You are most welcome, Mrs. Ernest,” Selina said, patting the old woman’s knuckles. “You will be glad to know there is honey in that basket, too.”

“My little ones will enjoy the sugar and porridge, Your Grace,” Mrs. Debbs said. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Ensure that your children eat their fill, Mrs. Debbs. I will see what else to bring next time,” Selina said, giving the young widow a genuine smile.

Selina liked that she could at least make a difference in a few lives. However, her mind kept drifting back to the night before. She smiled and spoke sincerely to the widows, but every time her fingers grazed the ribbons in the baskets, she remembered how Matthew’s hands contrasted with the delicate strings, and how they had felt against her skin and inside her…

Selina blushed and pushed the thought away. A secret warmth rose from her chest to her neck. The memory made her step lighter and her cheeks rosier. Hopefully, no one would notice her dreamy, faraway gaze.

Did what happened mean anything to him? Was it enough to make him stop going after other women?

Those questions continued to torment her. Her throat tightened at the thought of believing him when he said he was done pretending he did not want her. Was it simply a moment of weakness for him? Did it not change anything between the two of them? Would he stay?

Selina had left Wentley House to rid herself of thoughts of Matthew, but it seemed futile. He was making her wonder whether he had truly opened the door for her or whether it had shut again.

The door to his study was firmly shut, and Matthew was once again in the grand room. Though everyone might have assumed he had eaten, his breakfast was barely touched. He had no appetite, and even his tea sat untouched, growing cold.

He knew he needed to focus on the task at hand, but the lingering scent of Selina had overwhelmed his senses. He could still feel her soft body in his hands, hear her moans and whimpers, and taste her on his tongue.

He knew he wanted her, and it was no simple desire. He wanted her with a feral intensity unlike anything he had ever felt. When he told her he was done pretending he did not want her, he meant it. It was getting too difficult to pretend when he wanted to fling open her bedchamber door and lock her inside with him for days, showing her exactly what she did to him.

Matthew groaned aloud and dragged his hand down his face. Yes, that was what he wanted to do. But his past still weighed on him. He had a debt to pay and a mission to complete. He could not simply forget about Robert and his child just because he wanted to lie in his wife’s arms all day.

The unwavering duty he had taken upon himself should propel him forward again. He had to uncover the truth behind the shadow that had hung over Wentley House since Robert’s death. Only after clearing his conscience completely could he finally allow himself to claim his own happiness.

With a determined sigh, Matthew turned to Harrison’s latest correspondence. Reports from Oakridge and London traced the movements of Mary Wills and her son, Robert. The document was written in fine, slanted handwriting and included some information Matthew already knew, such as Mary’s departure from Oakridge for London.

According to a reliable source who resides near the Earl of Essex’s residence, Miss Mary Wills is reportedly employed as a maid in his household. The household is scheduled to host a ball this coming weekend.

Matthew’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at the parchment in his hands, reading the document over and over until the words blurred.