Page 50 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“She was. She’s not the sunshine that was your mother. My mother was terribly confused. There were days when she could light up the room, and there were days when she darkened them. Yes, she was wonderful,” Damian said, his voice low. “Until she wasn’t.”
“What happened to her?” Gwendoline asked gently.
Damian knew that his wife could see how his shoulders tensed, but he couldn’t help it. “She took her life.”
“Oh,” Gwendoline gasped softly, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“She was never happy, Duchess. It was bound to happen. Father was ashamed of her supposed antics. When I was ten, she had a breakdown in public. It was frightening to me, but it was embarrassing to Father. Instead of finding a cure, he sent her to a convent. It was there that her condition worsened,” Damian continued, his voice breaking at the end.
He was afraid of his mother, but it did not mean he did not love her. It did not mean that he wanted her to die. Hiding her away in a convent, away from those who loved her, had pushed her over the edge.
The weight of his words finally settled over them.
Gwendoline reached out, her hand resting lightly on his back. It was the first time she had initiated touch. She rubbed his back gently but with enough friction to create more warmth. However, Damian froze, unaccustomed to such tenderness.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
“Comforting you.” Her response was simple. Direct and to the point.
“I don’t need your pity,” he groused. “Not your comfort.”
“Pity?” she echoed, drawing back her hand so it hovered over him. He could still feel her heat, and damn it, he wanted it back on him. “Is that what you think this is? It is not pity that I feel for you. I know what kind of man you are. You are strong—even intimidating to most people. You are the man in control of Greyvale. But everyone needs someone, and at this very moment, you need me. I need you, too. You stir things inside me that I have never felt before. Never thought I’d experience. How can I pity you?”
After her little speech, Damian turned to face her. His eyes were no longer dark with anger or sadness. But they held something else, something that could destroy her.
“What do I stir inside you, wife?” he demanded.
Gwendoline didn’t understand why she felt thrilled when he said that word. Wife.
Her heart raced, but she held his gaze. She didn’t want him to see her cower. For the first time, she felt bold enough to lean in and whisper, “Don’t you want to know, Your Grace?”
A low growl rumbled in Damian’s chest as he pushed her onto her back and pinned her hands above her head. The sudden movement took her breath away, but the heat in his eyes held her captive.
She wouldn’t close her eyes. She wanted to experience everything with them wide open.
“You enjoy tormenting me, don’t you, Gwendoline?” he murmured, his voice rough and edged with desire. It made her want to press her thighs together. The way he said her name drove her insane. “Perhaps it’s time I show you how sweet torment can be. What I did to you before would pale in comparison.”
It sounded like a promise—a deliciously dark one. Gwendoline could not wait for him to deliver as she whimpered and writhed beneath him.
He trailed his lips down her neck, raining feather kisses as his free hand slid down her side. She gasped, arching into him. She wanted to feel more of him. More. He had shown her what pleasure could be before, but it wasn’t enough.
Damian’s touch fluttered around her body, teasingly provocative. He knew how to make her want more, but he wouldn’t give it to her. At least, not yet. He let his hand roam but not linger.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Gwendoline,” he whispered huskily in her ear before nipping it. “But I like that you have come out to play. I’ve wanted this. Wanted it so badly.”
Gwendoline could hear the conflict in his voice. He ground his erection against her belly, showing her how much he wanted her. Yet, he continued to torture her and himself.
“And you’re holding back,” she panted, her voice shaking with need.
She had never felt like this before. She had become a wanton, writhing beneath him. Her body was begging for something she could not properly define. It begged for release, for something—anything—to ease the tension coiled tight inside her.
“Why?”
Damian fixed her with his intense gaze, his grip on her wrists tightening as he leaned in. “Because,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “I want to see how far I can push you before you break.”
“Break?” she echoed.
Like her voice? It sounded broken and hoarse, as if she had been screaming when they had not even begun. For some reason, images of her screaming as Damian pleasured her flashed through her mind.
