Page 25 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
Of course, that thoughtful gaze was for the painting, not for her.
Her chest ached for no reason other than perhaps her pride being battered. Then again, she should be used to that.
Then, he turned his attention to her. This time, his eyes were blazing. Not with anger, but with passion. Yes, she was certain it was that. It seemed that the painting had that effect on people. It certainly made her feel many things when she was studying it.
“You like it,” he noted.
It was a statement, not a question, which was typical of him.
She nodded and sighed. The sigh did two things: take away the heavy feeling in her chest while also expressing her contentment.
“It’s breathtaking. There are so many emotions in the brushstrokes. The sea, everything about it… It overwhelms me.”
Damian looked at her. Those eyes could be so intense, so probing, and yet they softened in an instant when his lips quirked into a smile. Then, he sat next to her on the bench. She could feel the heat and energy radiating from him. He was so close—too close—that she couldn’t breathe.
What was going on with her?
“Westback has a gift for capturing untamed energy,” he murmured, glancing at her when he said the last two words. His eyes had become heavy-lidded.
Untamed energy.
There was so much that she wanted to say about that, but she restrained herself, as she always did.
“Do you know the artist?” she asked instead, her breath catching, though her curiosity was certainly piqued.
“Westback is a mysterious figure, and his art attracts those who have been through some very darkest moments,” Damian replied enigmatically.
Normally, Gwendoline would have been disappointed, pressed for more, and felt dissatisfied and frustrated.
However, she only felt peace after the brief exchange with her stranger of a husband.
After their encounter in the sitting room, Damian barely saw his wife sit still. She was going back and forth, engaging in activities she didn’t have to participate in. She had assigned herself responsibilities that would have normally been assigned to the servants. Still, she worked side by side with them.
There were no complaints of tiredness. There were also no declarations of achievement. She simply worked, seemingly not asking for anything in return. But the red hue on her cheeks showed her satisfaction with what she was doing. She was indeed a puzzle. He couldn’t help but feel admiration for her, along with a mix of frustration and desire.
Every time he saw her, she seemed to glow more. Her honey-blonde curls became brighter. Even her cheeks and lips had gained some color. She was no longer losing sleep and had gotten used to her life without him.
“Mrs. Albright, how am I doing? Would I be able to keep my job?” he heard her jesting with the housekeeper one evening.
“Oh, Your Grace! You mustn’t tire yourself. Everyone is waiting for a Redmond baby to walk the halls of Greyvale.”
“Mrs. Albright!”
“It’s high time, Your Grace. You and His Grace will make beautiful babies.”
Damian was not used to this side of his wife, carefree and ready to laugh. It was an unguarded moment, one that she had not shared with him before. Mrs. Albright’s words also made him think of children, not other people’s expectations or the practicality of siring an heir. He considered what it would be like to be a father.
He realized that he had discarded the possibility.
After all, he had warned her that she’d never become anything more.
Not a lover.
Not a friend.
That was the refrain. The rule.
The pain that lanced through him manifested into his clenched fists. He had to force himself to move away from the sound of her laughter.
