Page 3 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
The gesture might have been fleeting, but the vile act sent a shockwave of revulsion through her body. She shook visibly.
Timothy only chuckled, shaking his head as if he could not fathom why she was making a fuss. Somehow, Gwendoline could tell that he was planning to attempt something again.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, jabbing an index finger at him as she recoiled from his touch. She backed away, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. “You disgust me.”
The rage that she felt earlier was nothing compared to what she felt now. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and the veins in her temples throbbed. She had never felt so much hatred in her life.
Timothy wasn’t deterred by her outburst. He laughed, the sound coming right from his belly.
“Disgusting? Don’t flatter yourself, Cousin,” he taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. It was so potent that she couldn’t help but flinch. “I was merely testing a theory here. You are nothing but the sum of your essentials. Not a great beauty. Not one with the svelte form that dresses flatter. But what you have—your breasts, your womb… They are what matters to the men downstairs. You are going down to show yourself to them—show them that you are the epitome of a satisfying reward.”
His rambling made her shake with both fury and revulsion. She had now realized just how far her cousin would go.
While she felt a twinge of fear deep inside, her anger prevailed.
“You will not touch me again.”
Again, he let out a disbelieving huff, lasciviousness still etched on his face.
“Naïve, little Gwendoline, you are fortunate that I wanted to touch you in any way. Look at yourself in the mirror. Do you really believe anyone would want that large and ungainly bodywhen there are far more slender and ladylike women in the ton? Your only worth is your fertility. Nothing more.”
Gwendoline wondered if she would ever forget his face after everything—after the way he had treated her like cattle. Worse still, the words he had just uttered carved themselves in her chest, each slice collapsing in on itself and leaving her hollow.
“You will go downstairs,” he growled, yanking on her arm and dragging her toward the open door. “You will smile.”
Her blood ran cold as she realized the total helplessness of her situation. Timothy would not stop until he got what he wanted.
“Let me go!” she cried, desperation now tinging her voice.
She struggled—she would not go down without a fight, at least. He was stronger, though. The more she tried to wrench free, the more his grip tightened, the pressure around her arm becoming painful.
Her wedding gown rustled noisily as he forced her out of the room.
The grand staircase—even its gleaming bannisters and intricately patterned carpeting—could not save what seemed like a lost cause. The grim reality of her situation crashed down on her, even though she had been reminded of it over and over again.
Heart pounding and feet fighting every step, Gwendoline was breathing hard when they reached the parlor.
The room grew eerily quiet when she and Timothy made their strange, little entrance. He, with half-wild eyes, gripped her arm, and she looked like she was close to being ravished by a pack of lions.
The silence turned into a hum of low murmurs. There were slight nods and curious stares. Four men stood apart from each other in the space meant for visitors—wantedguests.
Then again, these were guests of Timothy.
A painful silence fell over them again. The men’s eyes turned toward her.
“Gentlemen,” Timothy began smoothly as if he hadn’t just forced his cousin down the stairs to face them. “May I present my cousin, Lady Gwendoline. I had previously spoken about the virtues of having her as a wife,” he announced, his grip on her arm finally loosening.
Sadly, the pressure on her arm remained—she was certain it would leave a bruise.
The suitors inclined their heads politely, but there was something unsettling about them. It could be their gazes. The way they lingered on her made her skin crawl. Some were looking at her with mild interest, while others were not too shyabout the hunger in their eyes—beasts ready to feast on innocent prey.
Gwendoline knew what she must have looked like in the ill-fitting gown made for someone a few sizes smaller. Her breasts were spilling out, and the fabric clung to her hips tightly. She looked more like a whore in a tavern than a gently bred lady.
She knew that life with any of the other men in the parlor would be the same as her life with Timothy or perhaps even worse, as marriage would tie her forever to one of them.
Each of the men made her feel naked, restless, and extremely uncomfortable.
“As you can see, gentlemen,” Timothy continued, his tongue as sweet as the charlatan that he was, “her body is made for giving birth to as many heirs as you need.”
