Page 70 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“We need to focus,” he reminded her roughly, even though it was difficult for him to physically tear himself away from her.
“You started it,” Gwendoline teased, chuckling softly.
She had not stopped touching him. Her fingers stroked and traced his jaw.
“You know that’s not true, Gwendoline. You’re the one who—never mind. You’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned as he leaned back in his chair while still cradling her.
“Oh no, Damian,” she said softly, standing up to straighten her dress. “Only if we fail.”
The words seemed ominous and tempting at the same time.
Even during the night, they gravitated toward each other when they inspected ledgers and studied books. Gwendoline felt one with Damian even in the library. She was pleased when she discovered that both of them loved books. Her eyes feasted on the books lining the walls, their spines cracked from use. She couldn’t help but admire her husband—her handsome, smart, and surprisingly kind husband.
The house was silent. However, the oppressive feeling was gone because Damian had let her in again. She sat on the floor tonight, scribbling notes on a ledger while her husband paced the room.
She loved that he would sometimes pause his pacing to look at her with what she would like to think of as affection. Appreciation. Love. She shouldn’t hope for too much. She wasalready fortunate that he had decided to involve her in his life at all. She was now his partner, in one way if not the other.
“Has anyone told you that you are brilliant, Gwen?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he stopped in front of her, admiring the way she perused the ledgers as carefully and as patiently as she could.
“Ha! Flattery will get you everywhere,” she retorted with a big grin. “Where has Evan been, anyway? I must say, I’ve missed him.”
Before he could respond, she rose to her knees and pulled him by the shirt to capture his lips. This kiss was slow and deliberate. It was full of promise. Nobody would be able to blame Damian when his hands slid under the hem of her skirt and stroked her thighs.
“How can your thighs be hot on a night like this, my duchess?” he murmured.
“Maybe because you are near me, Your Grace,” she teased.
“We should stop,” he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction.
“Like earlier, husband? Where’s the fun in that?”
During breakfast the following morning, Damian and Gwendoline sat across from each other. There were days where they preferred to sit right next to each other. The promise of touch and nearness had always been stronger than following the rules.
“We’re alone, anyway,” would be Damian’s defense.
“You are the master of this house,” would be Gwendoline’s.
Evan was there, though, sitting and eating breakfast with them while they tried their best to slice and eat their eggs and sausages like well-behaved children expected to be seen, not heard.
“Why are we quiet today?” Evan asked, watching them quizzically.
Gwendoline glanced at Damian and giggled. He tried to give her a stern look but failed. This time, Evan had to roll his eyes. Damian had never seen his friend looking exasperated. He was the sunshine to his gloom.
“Montrose’s men are getting restless,” Evan continued. “They’re losing faith in their mission. In their leader. We can perhaps push them a little more.”
“We can turn them against him by offering them protection or money,” Gwendoline added, stirring her tea absentmindedly. “Whatever it takes. Or we can proceed with the warehouse confusion. Interrupt a shipment. Leave clues that someone is onto them.”
“Mm. Those are great ideas, Your Grace. That will certainly make them wonder if working for Montrose is worth it if there’s a threat to their freedom or lives. In some cases, their reputations. We can also put pressure on some of your peers who have a stake in Montrose’s operations.”
Damian nodded.
There was a time when he would have intensely scrutinized every detail, with so much focus that it would be Evan’s job to lighten the mood.
Not this time.
He was too absorbed in the way the sunlight played with Gwendoline’s hair and the way the rosy hue on her cheeks made her come alive. Real.
She was here. She was real. The fascination would turn into passion again, and all he could think about was how to drag her back to his bedchamber and forget that the rest of the world existed.
