Page 2 of The Duke and the Temporary Bride

“S-Sorry?” She stiffened with her back to him, refusing to turn back.

“Why are you dressed like that? Did you—Did we—Oh no. Edmund,” he chastised himself. “What were you thinking? And with the help! Urgh, this is just what I need.”

It was stupid. And Selina knew that she should have just ignored it and bolted from the room as if her life depended on it. But his denouncement of her stung her pride.

“I will have you know that I am not a maid!” She spun back and put her hands on her hips. “And despite what the situation might suggest, I can assure you thatnothinguntoward happened.”

His mouth dropped open. “Miss Gouldsmith!”

“Good morning,” she drawled, feeling strangely triumphant. “Look who has finally caught up.”

“What are you doing here?!”

“I might ask you the same question.”

“Me? This is not my doing. You are the one who?—”

“Who what?”

His lip curled. “Based on what I know about you, Miss Gouldsmith, I should not be surprised. Let me guess—you snuck into my room after I had fallen asleep, hoping to trick me. Or trap me, more like.”

“How dare you!”

“I know your past,” he continued rudely. “My brother warned me of it. I just wish I had listened. And locked the door!”

“My past?” she seethed. “That is rich, coming from a rake like you.”

“Better a rake than a spinster.”

The nerve of this brute!

Selina was vaguely aware of Lord Edmund’s colorful reputation, a true philander who loved women almost as much as he loved the drink. He was a few years older than her, classically handsome but a little boyish for his age, and most certainlynother type.

“You wish for proof that I had nothing to do with this?” Selina snapped.

“How about it never having happened at all?”

“Oh! You are such a…” She shook with rage and might have leveled more hostility in his direction, but now that she had assessed the situation slightly, the danger inherent in what had happened was becoming more apparent.

What was more, the potential consequences if they were caught.

“How is this for proof!” She widened her eyes at him in fury, spun around, and marched toward the door. And she might have stormed through it too, was it not for what happened next.

“Edmund!” a deep male voice called from the other side. “Are you awake?”

“Oh no!” Edmund gasped, pulling at his bed sheets as if he meant to cover himself. “My brother.”

“Your brother! But he was not here last night!”

“Well observed,” Lord Edmund groaned. “This ought to be painful. And then some.”

There was nothing she could do. Frozen halfway across the room, Selina stared stupidly ahead as the door flew open and in walked perhaps the most terrifying man that she had ever seen—the Duke of Northwick.

She gasped at the sight of him.

It was not his size and indomitable prowess that did it, the way his mere presence filled the room as if it was not built to house men of his stature. Nor was it the sense of command that radiated from his being, born from living in a world where he was not used to being told no.

The way she stared at him, the way her mouth hung open, and the way her heart began to race… that was because of his scars. They crisscrossed the right side of his face. Hideous, to be sure. His skin was mangled from brow to chin, the scars snaking down his neck and vanishing beneath his collar.

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