Page 75 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“Do you think we will have true peace one day?” she asked hoarsely.
Because of the silence, even her whisper sounded loud.
Damian stirred from what seemed like a light sleep, his arms tightening around her. He liked doing that whenever she felt uneasy. She didn’t even have to tell him. Somehow, he always knew.
He kissed her forehead, his warm lips a balm to her skin.
“We will,” he promised. “All things must come to light. No secrets can be kept forever.”
“People would like to think so about us,” she grumbled, thinking about all the rumors—some too far from the truth.
“For now, Gwendoline. Our day will come, and when that day comes, I’ll ensure that you achieve everything you’ve dreamed about. I will remind you of tonight, of how I made you scream with pleasure and then made you sleep well afterward.”
Gwendoline laughed. He had been making her laugh more often. Exercise for the heart, he reasoned, but it was a marvel to see him so transformed.
She turned to watch his face. She loved seeing it after a good laugh. His intense eyes would crinkle at the corners, and the stormy gray would warm up. She was glad to know that eventhough this man carried a very heavy burden on his shoulders, he had learned to talk about dreams and peace. There was also so much conviction in his words.
“You’ve changed me,” he admitted, the mirth gone from his face. “You made me believe that I can be happy again. I didn’t think it was possible. I have an ally in Evan and you, and I deeply appreciate it.”
Gwendoline smiled, even though something about his words disappointed her.
Was that what she was to him? An ally? Perhaps it was all that it was. After all, he had said that there would be nothing between them. Whatever they had was a mere diversion. A distraction.
When Damian fell asleep again, she watched his face as if she could find answers there. He slept soundly, his breathing even.
Peace was fleeting. Anyone who had experienced happiness only for it to be snatched away so quickly should know.
The next day, a messenger arrived with a letter bearing Oliver’s seal. The contents confirmed what they had both feared and somehow anticipated—Timothy had grown desperate. More complaints of fraud were reported not only in Devil’s Draw but in many other establishments. There were no preferences or patterns.
Damian read the letter to Gwendoline. They had retreated to the privacy of his study. They were both tense, with Gwendoline’s hands folded primly on her lap and Damian’s brow furrowed.
“He knows we’re closing in,” he said, setting the letter down. “While his downfall is imminent, he will do whatever it takes to strike back. He’s not the sort who will sit quietly in one corner and take blows.”
“What can he do? What will we do when he strikes back?”
Gwendoline didn’t like the sound of her voice. She was no longer the confident woman who was suggesting plans left and right. She had never been in any battle. She used to be the princess in the tower, shabbier and more hopeless.
Damian glared at the letter as if it was at fault. “He will soon face justice. All actions have consequences.”
Gwendoline didn’t have the heart to remind him that, many times, justice didn’t prevail. Sometimes, the villains escaped, and the heroes suffered.
She did admire her husband’s determination. He was not unaffected, though, she reminded herself. The tension in his shoulders was back. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. She might look the same.
She retreated to the library, feeling the pressure mounting. She also wanted to give him more space. Books were her retreat, thelibrary her tower. Yes, she was aware that in her retreat, she also imprisoned a part of herself.
After an hour or so, she was so engrossed in what she was reading that she didn’t hear him enter the library. She felt him when he stepped up beside her.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s almost midnight, Gwendoline.”
“Almost midnight? I have not checked on Cook or Hannah or…” she rambled, rushing to get up from her chair.
“No. You must take a break from that. They are capable of doing their jobs on their own, Duchess. Leave them be. Again, you’re supposed to be resting.”
She was supposed to be resting. The words seemed to convey more meanings depending on her state of mind. She was supposed to be resting to prepare for a battle that might be more mental than physical.
“So are you,” she retorted.
Damian chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Touché. You got me there, my love.”
