Page 7 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“That’s what I thought,” the duke said and turned to her, offering her his hand.
Gwendoline gulped as her eyes flicked to his hand and then back up at Timothy, who glared daggers at her.
Not anymore.
She took the duke’s hand. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said.
He nodded once.
“Know this, Montrose.” He turned to her cousin before they walked out the door. “I will ruin you if you cross me again.”
Chapter Three
“Why are you doing this, Your Grace?” Gwendoline asked, looking up at him.
As they stepped outside, the cold air nipped her skin. She was surprised, but not really. The heat inside the parlor came from deep within her. The tension she had to live in. The constant fear.
Surprise and apprehension bloomed within her. Could there really be anyone willing to save her? Take care of her? It seemed too good to be true.
For a fleeting moment, the duke’s eyes became distant. Angry. His jaw clenched when he seemed to recall a haunting memory.
“Did he hurt you?” he only asked.
Gwendoline nodded, her throat constricting. She breathed in and out quickly, trying to ease the tightness in her chest. Yet, shefelt a flicker of hope. A lightening of burdens. It had been a long time since she had felt this way.
Even so, how many prospects did a young, unmarried, and impoverished daughter of a dead earl have, especially when she was wearing a ridiculous gown?
Her mind was flooded with various thoughts, and when they finally reached the duke’s waiting carriage, she broke the silence.
“Why are you doing this? I am a stranger to you.”
“No one deserves to be treated like merchandise, Lady Gwendoline. The only way I could take you out of that situation was to offer marriage.”
Gwendoline studied his face. She hoped to see a nervous tick, or perhaps a glint in his eyes that would reveal hidden motives.
She couldn’t find any. At least, none that she could discern.
“Montrose will never lay a hand on you again. You have my word,” he said as though he could read her thoughts.
Gratitude and skepticism swirled in her chest.
Promises.
Gwendoline could not find herself fully relying on them quite yet. It was why her mind was in turmoil, the clutter in it echoing with the carriage wheels’ rhythmic clatter.
When the townhouse became a blur of distance and haze of the early evening, she finally realized the enormity of the decision she had made. She scrambled to hold on to the last embers of self-control by sitting stiffly, her back ramrod straight.
The velvet seat was plush, but she wouldn’t allow herself to fully succumb to its comfort and the soothing rhythmic movement of the carriage. Young women should always be alert. Know where they were. Know their place.
Across from her, the Duke of Greyvale sat with the same straight, effortless posture. Still, his piercing gray eyes were watchful.
Perhaps they were both feeling the same way. She wondered if she was part of an intricate revenge plan. If that were true, it seemed that she was being punished, too.
The carriage interior felt suffocating. Worse, the duke in question filled the small space with his presence. She was aware of their every movement and every breath. She wanted to scream.
What was she thinking?
She escaped the control of one man to throw herself into a stranger’s arms. She exchanged a known danger for an unknown one. It didn’t seem like a sane decision.
