Page 76 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
My love.
The other day, Gwendoline had said those exact same words. It was a slip of the tongue, and she was afraid of his reaction. There was none—at least none that she could detect.
“I worry about you,” she admitted after they had sat across from each other and relished the late hour. The quiet. The hearth. The honesty.
It was the witching hour, and yet Gwendoline could not blame anyone else for what she might say next.
Damian’s gaze met hers. The hard steel she’d seen earlier that evening had somehow disappeared, perhaps smoothened by the flames flickering in the grate.
“And I worry about you,” he replied.
His words were like a balm, as were his touches and glances. Then, there was the question of whether any of them was real. What did they say about people who had suffered together? They usually ended up clinging to each other to survive.
“What would you do when this is all over?”
“I can do many things when this is all over,” he said. “For now, I simply want to defeat my enemy.”
His enemy? Not theirs?
“Our enemy,” he added as if he read her mind.
“Oh, but don’t you have at least one immediate plan?”
The heart could only hope.
He fixed her with a stare, and though the eyes were the windows to the soul, Gwendoline couldn’t be too sure why he was hesitating.
“Vengeance. Peace. That should be enough.”
Damian’s words were simple and honest, but Gwendoline was greedy for more. She was afraid to ask if she’d still be of use once Timothy had fallen.
“What about you? What do you want?” Damian asked gruffly.
“I want the same,” Gwendoline said, almost choking on her words. It wasn’t really a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “I want you to be happy, Damian.”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back quickly. She wouldn’t cry now.
“Then we will fight for that, my duchess,” Damian promised, kissing her knuckles.
They were supposed to rest and save their strength for when they met with Montrose. However, there were other kinds of rest. Sometimes, people merely want to rest from their worries. Gwendoline’s mind was still in turmoil.
The couple remained in the library even after the fire burned down to embers. Their conversations hopped from one subject to another. Even the storm within Gwendoline died down. Damian’s presence often did that to her.
With his back to the hearth, Damian seemed haloed in firelight. Like a wrathful angel. He had saved her the day he met her. It should be enough for her. But looking at his face, she wanted more from him.
Even with her wants and restless desires, the library’s serenity almost lulled her into sleep.
“The soiree hosted by the Marquess of Soulden was never the venue for our little plan,” Damian blurted out, breaking the companionable silence.
“What?”
“I, uh, am sorry, Gwendoline. A larger gathering will take place soon. We will attend this ball, hoping Montrose will attend. He has been invited—I’ve made sure of it.”
“You made sure of it? Why didn’t you ensure his presence at Abigail’s soiree? I was there. I was waiting for him to emergefrom the shadows. I enjoyed the gathering, but I was on high alert. I feared he would do something to you while I was in the sitting room with Abigail!”
“It happened so quickly. Oliver and Evan informed me that more people will attend what everyone is calling the event of the decade,” Damian explained, but Gwendoline was already furious.
“You should still have told me. I thought I was your partner in everything, but I was just there for what? To listen to all the rumors they were spouting about me? No, Damian, don’t tell me it is about you, too. When it comes to scandals, women suffer more. After all of this is over and you’ve discarded me, where will I go?”
