Page 20 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
However, she was not only that. She had the face of an angel—soft red cheeks and bright hazel eyes. It was framed by soft, honey-blonde hair, which in itself was a work of art.
Damian shook the cobwebs from his mind. He should not entertain such thoughts. Gwendoline Landon—as he still called her in his mind—was a means to an end. She wasn’t the light at the end of the tunnel. She was the tunnel, no matter how crass that might sound.
“You don’t look like someone who can eat a whole sack of potatoes,” he muttered as he dug into his food.
Then, he looked back at her. She was staring at him again, looking thoughtful. She seemed to be waiting for him to say more, questions forming in her mind.
He realized that her guarded demeanor and her seemingly endless questions at the beginning of their arrangement were the result of criticism, deprivation, and being under someone else’s thumb.
He felt something strange in his chest.
Could it be guilt? No, it couldn’t be. He only wanted to set things right.
The Duke of Greyvale could never be wrong. A muscle ticked in his jaw when he remembered all the things his father did, especially to his mother. He would never be like that man.
“You should also remember that you are no longer at Montrose’s mercy,” he continued. “Your life will be different here. You will be more comfortable. Enjoy Cook’s dishes. She would be pleased if you’d scrape your plates. That would be the best compliment you could give her.”
Her face contorted when he said those words. She looked down at her food quizzically, possibly detecting a semblance of truth in what he said.
She pushed her fork deep into her Haricot lamb. The ferocity almost made Damian laugh, but he sipped his brandy instead. He shouldn’t laugh when she was still battling with her insecurities.
Then, Gwendoline looked at him. Her eyes searched his face for answers.
“Will it? I would like to give her a compliment either way. I want her to know that her efforts matter.” She paused for a moment. “Every person matters.”
I matter.
Damian heard those unspoken words.
It took him a while to remember that she was asking about whether her life would truly be comfortable with him in Greyvale.
Unfortunately, the question hung in the air, unanswered.
After dinner, Damian gave his wife a polite nod and headed back to his study. He thought that a few more hours with his ledger could help him get some work done. He didn’t like work piling up, but most of all, he needed a distraction.
He needed something to distract him from his wife.
His thoughts were plagued by Gwendoline. Yes, she often tested his patience with her questions and recommendations. She stirred something within him that he thought had been dormant or even missing for years.
Damian realized that it mattered how she felt about her past and her future. Yet, he didn’t want to do anything about it. It wasn’t part of the plan.
As he turned his focus back to the numbers in front of him, he heard a soft knock. Nobody asked for his permission, though. The door simply opened, and she walked in.
This time, no loose tendrils fell to her shoulders, and she looked breathless if her heaving bosom were anything to go by.
“I have tried to do my part quietly, but I can no longer accept being taken for granted, like a cheap vase placed among antique ones,” she huffed.
Damian wrinkled his nose at the comparison.
“We were clear about what we are, right from the beginning,” he said patiently. “I would also deeply appreciate if you stopped barging in without my permission.”
“I am not asking you to be a true husband, Your Grace. I merely would like you to not treat me like an inconvenience,” she said, her voice softening a little.
“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Duchess. We’ve talked about this before. It’s an arrangement. No feelings involved. You get to avoid being sold to the highest bidder, while I get to return to my routine. I have much work to do if you can’t already tell.”
They stared at each other, each too stubborn to back down.
Moments passed, and their stare-down became more charged. Anger turned into something more difficult to define. Tension crackled between them.
