Page 19 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
His lips curled into a faint smirk. “Am I?” he asked, deeply amused but also feeling more with this woman.
He leaned in so close that he could smell her hair. He fought the urge to breathe her in. She smelled sweet, like vanilla or honey or both. Her proximity was dizzying. He could feel the heat of her body, and he knew that she could feel his breath on her skin.
“Tell me, Duchess,” he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper, “is this your way of asserting control over an unfamiliar situation?”
Her breath hitched, but her gaze remained unwavering. “I only ask for your presence at dinner. Is that so great a demand from your wife?”
Gwendoline managed to keep her voice steady, but Damian had learned enough about her to detect her uncertainty. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides. There was no way his wife was relaxed at this very moment. However, he must commend her courage to even brave a battle of wills with him.
Something primal and possessive stirred within him. It was an unwelcome feeling, one that he had always left outside thelocked door of his heart. His hand moved, brushing against her wrist before he caught himself. Startled by the movement, he drew back sharply as if she had burned him.
Damian exhaled slowly, forcing himself to step away. He raked a hand through his hair, breaking the spell that had momentarily consumed him—one that he hoped she had not noticed.
“Very well,” he finally said in a clipped tone. “I will join you for dinner.”
Gwendoline blinked, clearly surprised by the turn of events. However, he didn’t wait for her response, turning his back to her and returning to his desk.
“You should go,” he added, almost rudely. “I won’t keep you waiting for long.”
She lingered momentarily, a strained smile on her face, searching for something he wouldn’t let her see. Then, without another word, she turned around and left the room, leaving him to wrestle with the storm she had unleashed within him.
The dining room felt like a frozen tundra. Damian had never remembered it that way. Perhaps he had been spending so much time in his small study, or perhaps the awkwardness between them brought the chill.
As usual, Cook had outdone herself. The table was laden with an array of elaborate dishes, which looked more suitable for a feast than a dinner for two.
Despite the sumptuous sights and smells, Gwendoline picked at her food. Her movements were slow and tentative. For someone who had invited him for dinner, she certainly didn’t look enthusiastic about eating.
She winced as she brought the food to her mouth.
“Is the food not to your liking?” Damian couldn’t help but ask, breaking the silence that he would not have minded.
“No, everything is wonderful, Your Grace. Cook has never cooked anything that I didn’t like,” she said in a rush, a little startled by his question.
Guilt flickered in her eyes. Somehow, he missed the combatant Gwendoline. This woman, the one who was too eager to please… That couldn’t be the real her.
Damian wanted to tell her that he was aware that she made it a point to compliment the staff, including Cook, but he stopped himself. That would be breaking his own rules.
“Then what is it?” he pressed, trying to keep his voice soft.
He tilted his head to the side and watched the candlelight dance across her face. Something in him stirred.
“I… I am simply not used to such abundance, especially for a meal for two,” she confessed, her fingers curling around the stem of her full wine glass.
The gentle touch soon became a tight grip.
Damian could not help but frown. Just how much had this young woman been through? Exploitation, certainly. But had she suffered hunger, too?
“I understand that your father’s finances had been strained.”
“Even before,” she agreed softly.
Her gaze dropped to her plate, taking her shame and sadness with it.
“To think that anyone who looks at me would never believe that I had been through… I look like someone who can eat a whole sack of potatoes. Or someone who had successfully done so.”
Damian studied his wife carefully. He had tried not to do it often. Every time he had tried before, his eyes couldn’t help but wander to her generous bosom. He thought it would be unforgivably cruel to ogle the woman he had promised not to even be friends with. Yet, it should be safe enough to admit that he thought there was nothing wrong with her appearance. She was merely shaped the way a woman should be.
Generous bosom. Hourglass shape. Womanly curves.
