Page 4 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“How can you be sure that she can give me a male heir?” one of the men asked, leering at Gwendoline. She shivered when he looked at her unblinkingly.
“Well, when she becomes your wife, she’ll be happy to offer herself as many times as needed to provide you with a son. I mean, she would be yours, at that point. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?” Timothy asked, lifting his shoulders as if there was no doubt.
To Gwendoline’s horror, the men in the parlor mumbled in agreement. One or two even made a sound of utter satisfaction.
“I’m, uh,” she began, and all eyes were suddenly on her.
Her palms were cold and clammy, but she would not give them the satisfaction of rubbing them on the cheap lace.
“You are willing to assume this role. I understand, Cousin,” Timothy said mock-solemnly.
The other men laughed derisively.
“We should begin discussing?—”
Timothy did not get to continue what he was about to say.
Heavy footsteps thundered toward the parlor door. Then, the wooden barrier came crashing down.
Gwendoline stifled a shriek. One of her suitors even let out a loud gasp as the force of the impact rattled everyone’s souls.
All heads turned toward the tall, dark-haired man looming in the doorway.
Earlier, Gwendoline thought that her cousin dominated the doorway with his size and presence. But that was before she’d seen this man.
She didn’t know who he was, but he seemed important. Everything from his starched cravat to his polished, knee-high boots screamed finery and elegance—something that neither she nor Timothy could boast about.
The intruder was trembling with unbridled fury, his gray eyes sweeping over the room with what could only be described as pure hatred. The intensity made Gwendoline’s suitors shift on their feet.
His eyes landed on Gwendoline, and his jaw tightened. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows knitted as he took in the scene before him.
What did he think of her and all this?
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his deep voice reverberating through the room.
Despite the fear in his eyes, Timothy straightened his back and sneered at the man.
“Your Grace,” he said, executing a stiff bow. “This is, um, an unexpected pleasure. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
A duke?
What was a duke doing in their parlor?
Timothy seemed surprised, if not mortified, to see this duke in his parlor. So that meant the duke wasn’t one of his business partners—one of her potential buyers.
The duke strode toward the center of the room, looking at each suitor one by one, his eyes holding a challenge. Then, he shifted his focus back to Timothy.
“I could ask you the same, Montrose. Why were you parading your cousin before these men as if she were mere cattle?”
“This is a family matter, Your Grace,” Timothy replied.
Gwendoline was surprised that her cousin had let his mask slip away, for his voice trembled slightly.
Timothy was afraid.Veryafraid.
“It’s none of your concern,” he added, lifting his chin in an attempt to show defiance.
“It seems more like an auction to me,” the duke huffed, his focus on Timothy unwavering.
