Page 65 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
The afternoon sun filtered through the high windows, illuminating the drawing room. Golden streaks danced across ornate wallpaper and polished wood. Gentle conversation and the rustling of paper were the only sounds as Damian focused on his work.
It felt like a domestic scene, something he wouldn’t have imagined to be part of when he was still focused on revenge. But here he was, working outside his study, while Gwendoline sat in a corner with her embroidery hoop.
Damian didn’t mind being distracted by her. In fact, the rhythmic movement of her needle gave him a sense of comfort. Her maid, Hannah, stood nearby. She was arranging flowers in a vase, humming happily to herself.
It was undoubtedly an idyllic scene, one that Damian wished he could hold on to.
A knock sounded at the door. It was rhythmic, only disrupting the bliss for a moment. It almost blended with the serenity in the room even when the door opened, and a footman stepped in with a neatly wrapped package tied with a ribbon.
“A delivery for Her Grace,” he announced politely, placing the box on the table closest to Gwendoline.
She looked both curious and delighted. She glanced at Damian, expecting him to say that he had the package delivered, but he only gave her a quizzical look.
Gwendoline looked at the package. Then, she quickly undid the ribbon and carefully removed the wrapper. A little card was stuck under the bow.
“Listen to this, Damian. It says, ‘A sweet treat for a sweet duchess.’”
Damian frowned. Who would have the nerve to send his wife a gift with that kind of note?
“How kind,” Gwendoline added, her hands running over the lid.
There was a little bit of unease in her eyes, though, as she looked at him as if asking for permission.
At this point, Damian was already on high alert. He rose from his desk and approached the footman, leveling him with a sharp look.
“Who delivered it?” he demanded. He softened his voice, aware that his loyal footman had nothing to do with whatever he suspected.
“It came with the usual correspondence, Your Grace,” the young man answered.
“Thank you, Andrew. You may take your leave,” Damian said, his voice low. Then, he turned to his wife. “Leave it for a moment.”
Gwendoline turned to him, surprised. She blinked once. Twice. “Surely, it must be harmless. You don’t think anyone would want to give me a nice gift?”
She asked the question lightheartedly, but Damian knew her well enough by now to detect a hint of insecurity.
“It’s not that, Gwendoline. Many would gladly shower you with gifts, but we must be careful. Does it at least have a name? A signature?”
Damian had already approached his wife with a determined look on his face. Gwendoline pushed the package toward him, and he removed the lid with the utmost precaution. They found a delightful assortment of sweets wrapped in pink tissue paper. The chocolates were undoubtedly sweet, judging from the aroma that wafted up to them.
“Ohh.”
Gwendoline inhaled the sweet aroma, a pleased expression on her face. Damian only wanted to see it in his bedchamber. Not here. Not because somebody sent her a box of sweets.
He could see that his wife’s trepidation had quickly faded. Her hand reached for one of the confections, but he was well-prepared. He gripped her wrist as gently and firmly as possible.
“Don’t,” he ordered in a rough voice.
The room suddenly felt stuffy. The silence was no longer peaceful. Instead, it was heavy and tense.
“What is going on, Damian? They’re just sweets,” Gwendoline complained, looking a little hurt.
“We must be sure,” Damian insisted, his eyes focused on the box.
Then, he turned to Hannah, who was no longer arranging the flowers but looking at them nervously.
“Hannah, bring the apothecary immediately. Isn’t he here today?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The maid nodded. “I will go right away.”
