Page 74 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
Abigail’s use of the honorific didn’t dampen the mood. Gwendoline relied more on her friend’s gentle eyes and wide smile than the two formal words that emphasized her rise in station.
“And His Grace…” Abigail continued thoughtfully. “He seems… softer. Happier even. He seemed so unhappy even when he drowned himself in drink and jumped from one woman to another.”
Gwendoline’s chest tightened at the reminder of Damian’s past. She knew she had no reason to be jealous of any of those women, but she couldn’t help but wonder about them. What were they like?
Abigail was right. There were more days when Damian seemed happier. His posture was no longer stiff. Whenever Gwendoline massaged his back, he relaxed under her fingers.
“He’s… complicated,” she admitted after a pause. “But I am getting to know him better. We are finding our way.”
“Good,” Abigail murmured, reaching for her friend’s hand. “Do remember that you deserve only the best, my friend. You deserve happiness.”
Her simple but profound words hung between them, making Gwendoline raise her hand to her neck unconsciously. Her hand slid down her chest, and she realized that her heart had been racing. Damian made her heart race. She had thought it was theexcitement of working together to bring Timothy down. Now, she wondered if she had been wrong all along.
“Thank you for seeing the best in me and making me see that I truly deserve a better life, Abigail,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Abigail pulled her into a warm embrace.
Even in this position, Gwendoline could feel her friend smiling. Their short conversation spoke to their years of friendship.
“Now, let’s return to the soiree before they wonder where we’ve gone. Or, let them wonder. I’d love to hear the stories they will come up with!”
Gwendoline laughed as they made their way back to the ballroom. The movement from silence to noise was startling, but she no longer let these things affect her. She made the rounds, talking to as many people as possible. After she had talked to them, she saw some curious and even slightly disgusted faces transform into something else—something more pleasant.
To fight prejudice and lies, there should be no more hiding. She danced through the night with Damian or in groups. Every now and then, his hand would brush hers lightly or touch her arm. He would ask if she needed anything to eat or drink. It was his way of showing that he cared—that he was near.
“Are you all right, Gwen?” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes,” she replied, looking up at him. “I am.”
And for the first time in a long time, she truly meant it. She didn’t know if Damian felt the same way because Timothy didn’t come to the soiree at all.
Chapter Twenty-One
They spent the days following the ball plotting. They had not yet decided to sneak into the warehouse, and nothing definitive was imminent. Despite Damian’s assurances that they would be together even after, Gwendoline still felt the uncertainty hanging between them.
Yet, they had formed a bond. People thought that they had got married because of an indiscretion. A maiden who had been compromised, with child or not, should get married.
“It must have been lust,” some declared. “A rake wouldn’t just stop what he’s doing and fall in love.”
“They said they couldn’t get enough of each other.”
“It’s lust. Soon, you’ll see that he’ll discard her. Divorce her.”
“Would he be willing to ruin her?”
“Ruin her? She is already ruined.”
Gwendoline might still be affected by some of the comments—some of them cruelly whispered when she was close enough to hear. But she knew better.
Whatever she and Damian had was not only passion. True, they couldn’t stop touching each other and kissing each other. But their relationship was more than that. It wasn’t all expressed in the bedchamber and wherever else they made love. It was in the quiet gestures—the way his hand would linger on hers comfortingly or on the small of her back possessively.
It was in their laughter, too. Laughter was never something Gwendoline had expected from Damian. He had seemed too consumed by revenge to allow himself to be happy. And yet they had many moments of levity with or without Evan.
They were all wrong about what they were to each other, even though Gwendoline herself could not still define what it was.
One night, alone in bed with Damian, she couldn’t help but be plagued by several questions, one of which was whether she was misinterpreting her husband’s actions and everyone else was right. But then she’d remember Abigail telling her that she deserved this happiness, and she would be comforted.
There were other things that remained with her, though. They followed her, even when she rested her head on Damian’s chest and listened to his steady heartbeat. Steady, like him.
