Page 9 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
The duke’s eyes narrowed, the gray darkening.
“Pity?” he repeated and shook his head in disbelief. “Lady Gwendoline, you inspire many things in me, but pity is certainly not among them.”
Gwendoline found herself leaning away from him. His words and actions were still ambiguous, even though she didn’t feel afraid enough to jump out of the carriage.
The duke also straightened. Then, he watched her with the same coldness as earlier. His expression had become more neutral, more in control.
“This will be a marriage of convenience,” he clarified severely. “You will be my duchess. You will be treated with all the respect the title commands. However, there will be nothing more. There will be no love between us—not even pretense.”
Gwendoline shivered. She stared at the man in front of her, her mind racing to process his words.
Who would do something like that? Trap themselves in a marriage of convenience?
Several people in the ton, apparently.
Still, she longed for the love her mother and father had. Her mother’s death when she was sixteen broke her, but it had broken her father even more.
“Pardon me, Your Grace, but you are vague and cold,” Gwendoline said. “Why should I believe you are doing this out of the goodness of your heart? Or are you on your way to self-destruction, and you’re merely dragging me down with you?”
His expression hardened at her words, but she couldn’t find in it herself to regret them.
“Trust is earned, my lady. Consider the alternative, though. Would you return to Montrose and his schemes? Would you risk that?”
“I don’t know what or who to believe in this world,” she admitted softly, tearing her gaze away from him.
The clatter of wheels seemed to slam through her consciousness. Even then, the sound seemed more muffled than before, as she was so consumed by the man before her. There was something about him that captivated her, that made her stare at him for longer than she ever had any other man.
It startled her that she had zoned out for a long time, focused on the infuriatingly mysterious man in front of her.
Her savior.
Or her captor?
Somewhere in between.
“You have a sharp tongue, Lady Gwendoline. I’ll give you that,” the duke murmured suddenly, his voice laced with dry amusement.
Somehow, his deep voice slid over her skin like a caress. Startled by that strange sensation, Gwendoline could not help but gaze back at him.
“This isn’t an elaborate plan to entrap you,” he continued, his lips curling into a maddening half-smile. “I have far better things to do, and you’ll quickly learn that.”
Yes, a man like him would be more calculating. He wouldn’t give in to his impulses. However, he also didn’t seem like a man who would barge into another man’s parlor simply to invite his cousin to leave with him.
Or would he?
Gwendoline imagined a moment when his eyes had lingered on her. It could be her heightened senses, her active imagination. Whether or not his attention had been on her, she had noticed the intensity in his eyes.
What had his eyes seen?
What things did they want? Liked?
Still, she bristled at his words. She dug her fingernails into her palms as she tried to keep her temper in check. For someonewho had been silenced for too long and thrown into a situation that she hadn’t asked for, it was a challenge.
“Far better things to do? Is that supposed to reassure me? Pardon me, Your Grace, if your self-sacrificing hero act seemed more like a power-hungry man showing others that he would do things simply because he could!”
The duke remained unperturbed by her sudden outburst. He raised an aristocratic eyebrow, further irritating her. He remained calm, and even that slight arch of his eyebrow sent a shiver of irritation—or something else—through her.
“Pardon me then, Lady Gwendoline, for finding your suspicion tiresome. You seem hellbent on arguing with the man who has just offered you your only chance for freedom,” he murmured, leaning closer for a moment, inhaling sharply as if he was breathing her in.
