Page 48 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
Hard.
Chapter Fourteen
“We’re stranded,” Evan cursed under his breath.
“We can’t stay out here,” Gwendoline said, her voice steady despite the storm. “There are rooms in the estate. They’re dusty and cold, but it’s better than this. Anyway, the horses had been secured under a dense tree.”
Damian hesitated, his protective instincts battling against his rational mind. “The structure may not be safe. It’s an old, uninhabited place.”
“It’s been standing for decades. It won’t collapse in a few hours simply because we decided to stay the night,” Gwendoline countered. “Unless you prefer getting drenched?”
Damian sighed, raising his hands in surrender. “Lead the way.”
The interior of the house was as expected—dusty and cold. They lit candles they had managed to find in the kitchen, their flickering light casting long shadows on the walls. The storm had quickly darkened the estate’s interior.
Gwendoline led them through the maze of hallways with an unsettling familiarity that Damian couldn’t help but notice. Her connection to this place had not been diminished by time. A part of her still considered it home, where she grew up with her family before things fell apart.
“Here,” she said, pushing open a door.
The hinges creaked, revealing a master bedchamber that was surprisingly intact compared to the rest of the house.
Damian felt like they were in some kind of dark fairytale. He prepared himself to be enchanted. If he were being honest, he was already enchanted. Byher.
A grand four-poster bed dominated the room, its once-rich drapes faded and tattered. A musty smell had taken over, but it was manageable. They could stay here.
A cold hearth stood against one wall, and a single window, cracked but intact, let in the faint glow of lightning.
Evan peered inside and raised an eyebrow. “Cozy. I’ll find another room.”
Before Damian could protest, Evan disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone with his wife. His pretend wife. The one whose lips he had ravished not too long ago. The same one whose wet heat had clenched around his fingers. He shifted from one foot to another, afraid he would lose control again.
When he looked at her, he found her staring back at him with parted lips. He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the matter at hand.
“We’ll need to make a fire,” he said. “You’ll freeze, otherwise. Damn it, I’m not even going to pretend that I won’t.”
Gwendoline giggled and moved toward the hearth. She knelt, inspecting the remnants of old logs and ash. The whole place was decrepit. “There’s enough here to start one if we can find kindling.”
Damian removed his coat and began searching the room. He found an old chest filled with brittle fabric, seemingly waiting for them. Seemingly waiting to be of use.
“This should work.”
They worked silently, their movements synchronized. Soon, a small fire was crackling in the old grate, radiating much-needed heat into the room.
“Thank you,” Gwendoline whispered with a small smile.
Damian’s chest tightened at the mere sound of her voice. He sank into a chair near the fireplace, watching as she stretched her hands toward the hearth like a pagan worshipping fire.
She ought to be worshipped.
The thought came unbidden to his mind, making him stiffen.
When she rose, she looked like a goddess rising from the fire.
“There’s brandy somewhere here,” she suddenly declared as she walked toward a cabinet and opened it.
Her declaration and actions made laughter bubble up his throat. The whole thing was unexpected.
However, she didn’t laugh, and that gave him pause.
