Page 23 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“What about her?” Damian asked, sounding too defensive for his own liking.
“In the short time I’ve known her, I can tell that she won’t rest easy until she knows what you are planning. Am I correct, Your Grace?”
Damian furrowed his brow. He was deeply aware that Evan was right. Gwendoline’s curiosity might ruin their plan.
“I’ll handle her,” he snapped.
After further discussion and planning, Damian dismissed his man and leaned back in his chair as soon as he heard the door click shut.
He had intended to rest his eyes for a few minutes before he got back to poring over his ledgers. It was his nighttime routine. Daytime was for exploring, training, and inspecting his property and staff.
It was time for him to breathe. To relax. But even then, thoughts of a blonde spitfire came rushing back to him. He knew that he’d carry those visions into his dreams and beyond.
Gwendoline found ways to occupy herself in the vast estate. She would stroll through the manicured gardens and explore the rolling hills, which delighted her.
“An estate with a large garden also has its wild hill?” she gasped as she explored on her own.
She did enjoy some of the freedom that Damian had insisted that she had.
If it weren’t for what she perceived as her uncertain and precarious position, she would have thought she was living in a fairytale. She had read about them—fairytales—even when she was still living with Timothy. They were a means to forget her reality, since she had never truly believed that she would physically escape her tyrant cousin.
She breathed in the crisp air, squeezing her eyes shut. It felt like a dream, and she had to remind herself that it was real.
She was here. She didn’t have a husband hovering over her, demanding things of her. It should be perfect.
She also explored the halls of the grand mansion, marveling at how her footsteps echoed against the marble floors. She even called out whenever she was alone in a large, empty space and giggled when she heard her voice echo back.
Her eyes feasted on the ornate architecture, and she was intrigued by the various rooms. She knew that each one had a story more interesting than the last.
It was unfair that such a large house was not populated with people, as it should. She thought of her enigmatic husband,who seemed content to isolate himself in his study, filling his thoughts with revenge.
In one of the sitting rooms, she stumbled upon an arresting painting. The house was full of paintings and sculptures. Therefore, it was interesting that this one made her pause.
It was a violent seascape, with the waves rising high even as they crashed against a jagged cliff. The sky was so dark and turbulent that it couldn’t possibly tame the water below. Instead, it urged it to go insane.
Gwendoline inspected the painting and was delighted to see an artist’s signature in the lower right corner. Eric Westback.
Mm.
She wondered what it would be like to be Eric Westback, a man who could be free to reveal his emotions through art. The water felt almost alive. It moved across the canvas, evoking a feeling of helplessness.
“Such raw emotion,” she muttered, her fingers hovering over the canvas but not truly touching it.
The painting must have cost a fortune. For some reason, though, it felt familiar. Where had she seen something like it? Where could she possibly see another Eric Westback painting? She wondered if Mrs. Albright had some answers for her.
Unlike Cook and the other servants, the housekeeper was more open. She spoke more freely, giving her some hope. The others were still distant, though they were always polite.
Gwendoline somehow understood their need to assess her first. Assess her sincerity. Then again, Mrs. Albright might simply be more vocal because it was her job. She was their leader. Their commander.
Gwendoline giggled at the thought of Mrs. Albright in military uniform.
“Do you have any idea how the duke obtained the Eric Westback painting? I feel like I’ve seen it before.”
“That’s not surprising, Your Grace. Eric Westback has become famous. He’s also quite mysterious. Nobody truly knows his identity.”
“Oh,” Gwendoline murmured.
“Rumor has it that the painter is a member of the ton. I would not be surprised if His Grace knows who Eric Westback is. He is a man who can keep secrets,” the housekeeper said.
