Page 26 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
He reminded himself that he needed to make Montrose pay. The rest of her conversation with Mrs. Albright became a series of muffled sounds that couldn’t hide her delight.
The woman certainly expressed how she felt. She was so unlike him. She laughed when she was happy and bared her soul when something touched her.
It was like that evening when she gazed at the painting with pure curiosity. Other members of the ton would only do so to pretend to be educated, but his wife… She genuinely saw value in Eric Westback’s painting.
His duchess was stirring things in him that he had long buried. He had tried to push her away, but he couldn’t deny that she had quite the effect on him. He needed to push down whatever strange feelings he was developing.
Timothy Landon.
Montrose.
He had one goal in life, and nothing and no one could stop him.
Chapter Eight
“Your Grace,” Gwendoline said as she pushed the door open.
It was time to forget her pride. Armed with a tray of oysters and Turkish Delights, she had paced the length of the corridor outside her husband’s study. Back and forth. Back and forth.
She had been patient long enough.
As she balanced the tray on one hand—a skill she had mastered of late—her other hand hovered over the iron handle. She reminded herself that she might have agreed to a marriage of convenience, but she had the right to confront him. If not to confront him, then she had the right to find out if he was well.
She took a long, deep breath.
There was also the mystery that linked her husband to her cousin. While she had become accustomed to life at Greyvaleand had been sleeping better, she could not truly rest without knowing what occurred between the two.
The door opened with barely a creak, but she still stiffened.
The study was dimly lit as always, with only the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows. They cast shadows over the room and the imposing man behind the large mahogany desk.
Damian’s golden-brown beard seemed to be thicker. He had not been taking care of himself, she noted with dismay.
His right hand gripped a quill while he inspected the papers on his desk.
Instinct told Gwendoline that something else was on his mind. It couldn’t be the ledgers and the estate. She was well aware of how Greyvale was run and knew that it was doing well.
Hearing the same noise that made her flinch, Damian looked up at her.
“Gwendoline,” he said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of quivering, Gwendoline closed the door behind her. She also knew not to find hope in him saying her name. It sounded like he was scolding her. This time, though, she would be the one advancing toward him.
“I would like to talk,” she said, her gaze unwavering as she set down the tray on his desk.
She had caught him off guard.
His eyes flicked to the tray, then narrowed.
“If this is about eating dinner together,” he began as he set the papers down with deliberate care. “I am not in the mood for company. What is this, Duchess?”
“It’s not about dinner, and you will be happy to know that I came bearing gifts,” she said, trying not to snap at him.
“Why are you bringing me these? What are these?” Damian demanded suspiciously.
“I will never poison you if that is what you are worried about,” she said with a smirk. “Here are some oysters and Turkish Delights. Apparently, the latter is your favorite.”
“And the former?” he asked, his eyes darkening with heat.
