Page 30 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
Gwendoline did not expect to see Damian stripped of his usual composed demeanor. She could clearly see that he was not fighting to maintain his physique—maybe partly, yes—but that he was unburdening himself of emotions that plagued him.
He moved gracefully for a large man, swinging his right hand and hips with dexterity she found equal parts mesmerizing and unsettling. There were also other things about him that she did not know before or had not laid eyes on. After all, he was not only stripped of his usual behavior but also of his shirt.
The sunlight fully illuminated his bronzed skin, his muscles rippling and completely on display.
Gwendoline swallowed hard. Her husband looked handsome in his regular clothes, if not a little too stiff and aristocratic. Without them, he looked like a god, all gleaming muscles honed by physical work and training. Her cheeks flushed when she realized that she had been ogling every flex and movement.
How long had she been staring?
Did someone notice?
Yes, the man was magnificent, which made her belly tighten with longing and what she could only describe as unease. He was a duke, but not all dukes looked like him. He was already out of her league.
No, their marriage was nothing. In the end, she might be a chess piece for him.
A pawn.
Not the queen.
Not even a true duchess.
Her throat tightened at the thought of not having completely relinquished the role Timothy had crowned her with. A crown of thorns.
It didn’t help that Damian looked like he did. Moved as he did. He lunged forward, and the tip of his sword grazed his trainer’s shield. Gwendoline felt the movement graze her walls, threatening to make them crumble.
To her surprise, she found herself on the edge of the courtyard. When had she walked toward him, like a woman possessed? Her slippers merely whispered against the stone, keeping her movement stealthy and muted.
It took her a moment to find the courage to speak.
“Your Grace, do you intend to hone your skills or slash your trainer into submission?” she asked in what she hoped was a jesting tone. “Don’t you want to keep your men alive?”
Both men turned toward her, startled by the sound of her voice. They had also subconsciously backed away from each other, their swords now pointing downwards. Despite her interruption, Gwendoline noticed that Damian had managed to remain guarded, with his shoulders stiff and his lips pressed together.
“Duchess,” he said, his voice softened by a hint of amusement. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”
As far as Gwendoline could tell, Thomas’s shoulders sagged with relief. The older man even caught her eye and nodded. She nodded back in acknowledgment.
The sparring had, indeed, become too intense. Evidently, Damian was wrestling with more than just something physical and ended up wearing down his trainer.
Pretending not to have noticed the trainer’s reaction, Gwendoline feigned nonchalance and shrugged. “I was merely curious, Your Grace. Sparring seems interesting, especially for a sheltered woman like me. It’s something that I would want to try for myself,” she said, batting her eyelashes at her husband.
The trainer snorted, sounding and looking dismissive.
For a moment, Gwendoline regretted trying to cover up for him. Thomas certainly didn’t want the duke to know that he was concerned about their training session. When your own trainer showed fear during your spar, perhaps it was time to hire someone better.
“It’s not a skill for ladies, Your Grace. It takes years of strength and discipline. You may be better suited for observation than participation. Certainly, His Grace would want you to be here, by his side.”
Gwendoline’s temper flared. How dare he? After she had strived to divert her husband’s attention from his blatant relief, that was how the trainer chose to repay her?
She narrowed her eyes at him and pressed her lips together. She had become better at controlling her words and actions. Not because she was afraid of her husband, but because she believed in living peacefully. She didn’t know how long she’d have to pretend. Therefore, she’d rather enjoy what she could of it. But it didn’t mean that anyone could simply walk all over her.
Damian seemed to have sensed her barely suppressed wrath. Before she could retort, he shifted his displeased gaze to his trainer.
“She was interested in something that you teach. Be grateful, old man, because it might mean further employment at Greyvale,” he said coolly. “Tell my wife what you believe makes sparring interesting without being rude to her.”
Thomas’s jaw clenched visibly, but he nodded at his master and cast a glance at Gwendoline. He took a long, deep breath.
“It’s about balance, precision, and reading your opponent. Strength alone won’t do it. A good swordsman uses his mind as much as his blade.”
