Page 87 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
It looked like Montrose’s men had a hard time finding the documents. Or were they simply trying to wreak as much havoc as possible?
“Documents. Some papers. We thought it strange that they didn’t even bother to check if you have secret passages. They didn’t seem interested in jewelry or paintings,” the footman said. “They seemed to know their way around your study, Your Grace. They opened the drawers and even your secret panels. Look at them.”
True enough, there were some wooden planks on the floor.
If Damian had felt shocked at seeing his study destroyed, now he was certain that Montrose had taken what he needed. They were back to the beginning, when hope seemed lost.
He had lost to Montrose, again.
There was such certainty in the attack. Montrose’s men didn’t go to Greyvale. Instead, they attacked his townhouse right after the incident. It was clear what had just happened.
He slowly turned to face his wife. Judging from her pale face and trembling lips, she did exactly what he thought she did.
“What did you tell him?” he asked, his voice cold.
Gwendoline blinked as if taken aback. His question cut her like a blade. Damian was aware of it, but he didn’t think he needed to apologize.
His wife had directed his enemy to where the important documents were. She didn’t even think to misdirect him. She told him when he asked.
“I-I…” she stammered.
“You told him where the documents were, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Your Grace—” Evan began, lifting his right hand.
“Step aside, Evan. This is between me and my wife. My wife, who could be merely pretending to help us. Remember how she involved herself in this investigation even when I told her not to?”
Bitterness was clouding his judgment, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. Frustration. It had always been ugly on him.
“Your Grace, she almost died three times,” Evan protested.
“She did not. She was almost hurt or hurt enough, but she was not…” Damian faltered, knowing full well that his words were hurtful—more damaging than the things that had happened to Gwendoline.
So, he wasn’t surprised when she flinched and stepped back from him. Her eyes were full of pain. Guilt. Despair.
“I was trying to protect you!” she shot back. “You didn’t really think that I would do that voluntarily, did you, Your Grace?”
It was Damian’s turn to flinch. She used his title as a way to widen the gap between them. He could feel the gaping void stretching, and he couldn’t stop it.
“You could have screamed.”
Even he knew the ridiculousness of his words. He was floundering, caught between wanting to believe everything she was telling him and protecting himself from her. From himself.
It wasn’t supposed to be anything but a damn-you act to Montrose.
Their marriage was supposed to be for show. It was a means for him to evade the young ladies of the ton so that he could focus on revenge—and the marriage itself was a form of revenge. And yet it had become something more. Hadn’t it?
“You don’t know what you’re saying. He pinned my arm behind my back, and I would not have said anything. Nothing. I would have kept my mouth shut if it was just me he threatened. But he was looking at you through the window. He said that someone was there. He said that his man would hurt you—no,killyou as soon as he gave his signal. Stab you. Poison you. They would have found a way, Damian.”
His name sounded like a plea, and his chest hurt at the thought of Montrose hurting Gwendoline.
“That can’t be true,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
Evan had already retreated, giving them some space and privacy.
“I’m not lying. I would not do that to you. I care for you, Damian. You may not see it, but I do. If anyone’s going to be hurt, I’d rather it be me, not you.”
“You were supposed to trust me. You were supposed to let me handle it.”
