Page 32 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
She inhaled sharply, shaking off her increasingly lewd thoughts.
“Feet apart,” he instructed huskily, his warm breath fanning her ear. “You must keep your balance.”
Her balance, indeed.
She could think of a few other things she was about to lose.
Everything felt tilted sideways for Gwendoline. She had undoubtedly developed a different view of the world over the past few years. As Damian’s wife, she felt even more off-kilter.
She adjusted her stance. She tried to forget how close his body was to hers. His large, rough hands moved to her arms, angling them to hold an imaginary sword. She wanted to hold a real one, but she couldn’t be trusted—not like this. Not yet.
It might not be his truth, but for her, every touch felt deliberate. Each felt like a caress that set her body on fire. What would he think if he knew what was on her mind?
Oh, shame. That was one of the things Gwendoline was slowly losing.
“Well done, Duchess,” he murmured, his voice rougher and deeper. “Imagine your opponent in front of you. Focus on how you want to make him pay. There’s no fear left in you. Just revenge.”
Gwendoline wondered then if he was talking to himself more than he was talking to her. Still, the words reverberated through her like a seduction instead of a weapon of destruction.
“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, her pulse quickening.
It wasn’t the sword she was afraid of—it wasn’t even the opponent. She was afraid of herself and how she was responding to Damian’s touches. Men were supposed to make her cringe and cower, but he made her want to mold her body to his.
“No, darling? Prove it then,” he challenged, a possible momentary lapse of judgment making him whisper a term of endearment.
Gwendoline turned her neck so that she could watch him. Their eyes met, and the air seemed to crackle between them. Her breath hitched as she felt herself waver under his scrutiny. Theworld around them seemed to fade, and there were just the two of them.
Husband and wife.
In the courtyard.
With him teaching her how to hold an imaginary sword.
The hilarity caused some tension to burst, but Gwendoline held back her merriment. Why? She liked this. She liked to prolong the moment, although she knew that was impossible. Soon, they would be back to fussy Gwendoline and cold Damian.
Damian let her swing her empty hands for a few moments. He showed her how to parry and thrust. Then, he gave her a wooden sword to practice with. At first, Gwendoline was insulted. She kept silent, though, as she eventually understood the real reason she was given one.
It was for her safety.
She might always be eager to prove what she could do, but she was no fool. She practiced with the wooden sword.
Parry and thrust.
Parry and thrust.
Sweat trickled down the valley between her breasts and down her temples, but she didn’t care. The whole thing was exhilarating. She felt lighter than she had ever felt before.
“You’re like a tree trunk, Lady Gwendoline. You need to lose some weight!”Timothy’s words echoed in her mind.“How can you move with that body? Ladies should glide, not trudge.”
Her anger carried her through the rest of the practice session, her cousin’s face a growing target. The red hue on her cheeks was no longer due to embarrassment. It was pure anger—anger at the person who had made her life a living hell.
Who else could it be?
“You’re a quick study,” Damian remarked softly, his warm palms lingering on her waist. “Perhaps too quick. Are you certain you’ve never wielded a blade before?”
“A blade?” She laughed at her wooden sword. “Only in my dreams.”
Pride, embarrassment, and something else swirled in her chest. She finally turned around to face him.
