Page 18 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
He had to make sure that Montrose would not escape justice. He had been planning his moves with patience and precision. He had made himself a promise that he wouldn’t stop until he had made the man pay for everything that he had done.
Timothy Landon would pay for everything that he had done.
To Mary.
To Levi.
And to Gwendoline.
Chapter Six
“Would you like to have dinner, Your Grace?” The soft voice broke into Damian’s reverie.
He looked up to see Gwendoline wearing a modest evening gown. Her honey-blonde hair was loosely pinned to her head, allowing soft tendrils to fall gracefully on her shoulders.
What was different tonight? Why would she ask him about dinner? She knew better than to cross the boundary between them.
Still, Damian could not help but look at her face. Her eyes looked vulnerable, as if she had forced herself to come and ask him to join her for dinner.
It must have been difficult for her to shed her pride and approach him, a man who had repeatedly insisted that there should be no romance or friendship between them.
Damian hardened himself, burying the pang of guilt that threatened to rise. He couldn’t afford to break his own rules. Distraction was a luxury he could not allow.
“I am occupied, Duchess,” he responded, his voice curt as he returned his gaze to the ledger on his desk.
“Even so,” she continued, undeterred as she stepped into his study, her skirts brushing against the floor. “Even dukes must eat, and why not use this time to?—”
“I appreciate the invitation,” he interrupted with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
It was a long night, and she was making it… Well, he wasn’t certain. Not any longer.
Interesting.
“But you know that?—”
Her voice cut through his protest, sharp and defiant. “Are you planning to decline my invitations forever? Or is disposing of me part of your elaborate plan? If so, then you mustn’t wait to send me somewhere. Perhaps a convent? I wouldn’t mind. At the moment, though, we are married, Your Grace. It wouldn’t hurt to sit at the same table for a meal once in a while. I am not asking you to do it every night.”
Damian’s head snapped up at the heat in her words. They struck a chord within him, making him see the fire in her eyes.
He hadn’t expected her to issue a challenge, but there it was. No, Gwendoline Landon was not merely inviting him. She was challenging him.
God, this woman was here to test him at every turn.
For a moment, he remained seated. He was caught off guard by her boldness. Why was he even surprised? Her preoccupation was temporary. Of course, she would find a way to get the answers she needed.
He slowly, deliberately, rose to his feet.
His movements were unhurried and purposeful. He was acutely aware of how his towering frame could fill the room, and he liked using it to his advantage.
When Gwendoline instinctively took a step back, however, it wasn’t satisfaction he felt. He could see that her defiance didn’t waver. He easily crossed the distance between them, stopping when she was only a breath away.
“You are bold tonight, Duchess,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low.
His eyes scanned her face, taking in the blush on her cheeks and the determined set of her jaw.
“And you—you are intolerable,” she retorted, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice.
Her stutter only made him want to groan aloud. How did she do that?
