Page 61 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
No. He knew that Gwendoline felt more comfortable with his man. It was nobody’s fault but his.
“It did,” he agreed, keeping his voice soft.
Gwendoline’s head snapped toward him as if she was surprised to hear him voice his opinions. Even Evan raised an eyebrow, but he kept his mouth shut. Damian could tell that he didn’t want to interrupt whatever was going on.
The rest of the journey was quiet, but it made sense, given the activities of the day. Damian noticed with pleasure thatGwendoline’s cheeks were still flushed from exertion and happiness. They initially decided to make the little trip to see what the villagers thought of them—ofhim. Instead, they ended up doing so much more than learning of the damage Montrose had done to their reputations.
Much of the damage had been self-inflicted, anyway, Damian had to admit to himself.
He glanced at his wife. She was so serene that she looked like she would fall asleep any time.
So peaceful. So innocent.
For her, the visit was about giving some of her time to the people when he was using it to fuel the fire that was already burning within him. Anyone who got too close to his feelings would be scalded, and he hoped she wouldn’t suffer that fate.
“We’re almost there,” Gwendoline mumbled sleepily but happily.
Undoubtedly, she felt proud that she knew the route to Greyvale better now.
“Yes, we’re almost there,” Damian agreed, but his thoughts were on Montrose.
Chapter Seventeen
Gwendoline was still tired from the trip to Willowbrook, but she was not so tired that she would immediately fall asleep. Instead, she was in Damian’s room, watching the flames flickering in the hearth. It was uplifting to no longer associate the night with loneliness.
The fire crackled softly—a sound that Gwendoline had gotten used to. It provided a warmth of a different kind, surrounding her and simmering inside her. She glanced at her husband, who was sitting on the sofa opposite her chair. He might not be like the heroes in the fairytales, but he was kinder than anyone gave him credit for.
He didn’t love her, at least not in the romantic way young women dreamed about. However, Gwendoline wasn’t sure she loved him either. Young women of the ton like her were often sheltered. It didn’t help that her mother died when she was still too young.
The flickering shadows didn’t elicit any fear or sadness. Instead, Gwendoline felt comfortable curled up on the armchair, wrapped up in a robe.
Damian seemed moodier than usual, his gray eyes trained on the hearth.
Gwendoline had gotten used to her husband’s highs and lows. Tonight, however, she hadn’t expected his broad shoulders to tense when they returned from a lovely visit to Willowbrook.
The air between them suddenly felt thick. It was different this time—it was devoid of the sexual tension that had them tearing each other’s clothes off every time they were alone. Tonight, Damian was simply… there.
Gwendoline’s chest tightened as she studied him.
What was he thinking?
Was he regretting his decision to go against his own rules?
Secrets hung over them like a dark shroud.
Gwendoline drank the rest of her sweet wine and placed the glass on the table beside her. Then, she went back to studying her husband, and the contemplative nature of his silence. It wasn’t meant to shut her down but to look inward.
Oh, how she wanted to see inside him.
“Damian,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the silence and tension.
His gaze turned to her. He seemed disoriented. Surprised. She was right. He was so near and yet so far.
“Tell me something. A secret.”
“A secret?” His voice sounded hoarse.
His body was still not relaxed. It looked like every muscle was coiled. Jaw clenched. Shoulders hunched. The grip on his glass tight.
