Page 13 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
The coachman called out, announcing their arrival at Greyvale.
The duke opened the door and stepped out. He turned to her and offered her his hand, but his face was inscrutable, again.
“Welcome to Greyvale, Duchess,” he said in a voice as cold as the winter air.
Gray, indeed.
Chapter Five
“You will take the duchess’s chambers, as expected,” Damian declared, leading his wife up the grand staircase.
He didn’t normally look back when walking, but he did now to see if she was following.
Gwendoline was not born poor. With a titled father and a modest home in the eyes of the ton, she had experienced comfort.
Still, Greyvale seemed to overwhelm her, judging by her open mouth and wide eyes.
Here in Greyvale, the staff lined up in neat rows to greet the duke and his new wife. Damian returned the bows and curtsies with a perfunctory nod. He was more focused on ushering Gwendoline inside.
He noticed the way her eyes darted around. She looked like a child taking in everything—the intricate and opulent interiors, the high ceiling, and the coordinated way his servants moved, from receiving them to returning to their tasks.
The hand he kept on her lower back dropped as if scalded. It seemed that she didn’t notice anything when he took a few steps back.
What was he thinking? Why did he make such a brash decision?
Damian was always a picture of control. He blamed Montrose for the changes in him. The cad ignited a fury that he didn’t know he was capable of harboring.
Gwendoline would need to adjust to everything, but he had little intention of helping her do so. His mind would be elsewhere, occupied by hatred.
She seemed captivated by Greyvale. Perhaps she would be too preoccupied with the estate that she wouldn’t ask questions again.
“They adjoin my room, should you need anything,” he added.
Somehow—though he had met her only a few days ago—he already knew that she would have a retort for that. What she said, however, was not what he had been expecting. He thought that she would protest the proximity and question his motivations.
She stopped her perusal of the mansion to focus on him. “And will you be available, should I need anything?”
Doubt hung heavy in those words.
A doubt of a different kind.
Although he had an answer for her every question and complaint, Damian understood her. Not enough to comply with her requests, but enough to know that he was not dealing with a complete nitwit.
He did stop walking and looked her in the eye. She deserved that much.
“I trust you will find the servants quite capable. It is why Greyvale has a number of them at our beck and call. For everything else, Duchess, I know you can manage on your own.”
He watched her lips press into a thin line, but she remained quiet. For once. Perhaps she was beginning to accept the situation without any more questions.
He left her there, suddenly craving the solitude of his study.
The next few days passed in a blur of routine. Damian did what he was good at—keeping the estate running smoothly. Yet, no matter how deeply he buried himself in his responsibilities, hecould not escape Gwendoline completely. His new wife haunted the halls of Greyvale.
He would see glimpses of her in the countless galleries of the grand mansion, like an indignant ghost. Her steps would be hesitant but purposeful—perhaps a way to find some kind of reason for her new life.
He couldn’t help but notice some details. The forced smiles. The quiet, barely imperceptible steps. The wide eyes.
It unsettled him.
