Page 2 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
Mother? Father? Anyone?
Her thoughts were pleading, but she would rather die than let Timothy see through her. Even though her situation was hopeless, she didn’t want him to see her desperate and afraid.
Under the sunlight of hope, the manicured gardens seemed to stretch endlessly. The swaying trees and blooming flowers danced softly in the lively breeze. Unencumbered. Unburdened.
Free.
“What’s not right?” Timothy asked harshly.
“Parading me in front of men like a prized heifer. It’s undignified.”
Timothy laughed. It was low and humorless, with a more dangerous undercurrent.
“Spare me your dramatics, Lady Gwendoline,” he said. “Remember that you are under my charity. Without me, you will be out on the streets, penniless. You would have to do worse than what I’m asking of you. Without me, you’ll be forgotten.”
“I’d rather be forgotten, then,” she retorted, her voice rising in defiance.
Boiling anger fueling her, she twirled around. With that swift motion, her gown caught the sunlight. For a moment, she was part of its brilliance, its hope, and the cheap fabric became something more.
“I’d rather be a pauper than be sold like a broodmare to one of your business partners!”
Timothy reared back in surprise for a brief moment. Unfortunately, he recovered, and the look of shock on his face turned into a sneer.
“When have you gotten so feisty? So melodramatic?” he asked, taking steps toward her.
As he came closer, Gwendoline found it harder to breathe. It was as if he took every ounce of air from the room—just like he took the house and everything else that was left of her family.
“What do you expect? You are a woman, Lady Gwendoline. Unless you have forgotten that. A woman with no dowry or consequential title has no prospects. You cannot do anything on your own. So, the least you can do is be grateful that I am going to great lengths to find you more opportunities.”
“Opportunities?” she echoed, her fists clenching at her sides. “No, you have taken every opportunity for yourself. I get nothing from these arrangements, and you are well aware of it.”
She could see his patience thinning as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Watch your tongue, Cousin. You know that nobody else will help you now. Nobody else could be bothered.”
“No, you’ve done nothing but exploit me,” she responded, unaware when her courage would start faltering.
But there were so many things she had to say. For the moment, all that she felt was indignation, and it was fueling her onward.
“And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, you make me parade myself before your vulture friends!” Her voice shook with fury.
Timothy stepped closer, his shoes feeling heavy on the wooden floor. The tips sunk into the plush rug where Gwendoline stood. His eyes looked her up and down once more as if trying to assess a product he wanted to sell.
He took on a more menacing stance, standing straighter and looking down his nose at her. He was like one of those monsters from her childhood nightmares, except that she was no longer a child, was she? She was a woman, she reminded herself. A grown woman.
“Do you truly believe that you are far above your suitors, Gwendoline?” he asked in a softer but still menacing voice that scraped across her skin and froze her bones.
He took another step, bringing them closer than she would ever want in her lifetime.
Mere inches separated them now. Even so, the distance felt like nothing—Gwendoline felt like he was invading her soul.
“Perhaps what you really want is formeto take you as my wife? Tell me, Cousin, should we send all of them home so I can have you all to myself?” he asked, a smirk on his face.
Timothy Landon was not an ugly man, but there was something disgusting about him. Something vile. Gwendoline would never choose him as a husband, cousin or not. Women flocked to him even though he treated them badly, for reasons she could never understand.
The sudden drop in his voice did not prepare her for his words, which felt like a slap to her dignity. Malice dripped from each syllable, every breath, and every intonation.
Before she could respond or flee, his knuckles brushed against the lace of her bodice. There was no doubt what he was trying to do. He traced the hem, his fingers grazing the generous swell of her breasts.
“What are you doing?” Gwendoline gasped, slapping his hand away.
