Page 92 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
No more second-guessing herself.
She did not do anything wrong. And even if she was physically weaker as a woman, there were other things that women could do.
She lay in bed that night, staring at the canopy above her. It was then that she thought of Damian again. His face. His voice. His fierce protectiveness.
The darkness could be deceitful, too. It also reminded her of his mistrust. His anger and disappointment. Then, there was his fear. No matter how angry he was at her, she knew that he was rattled when he saw her unconscious form on the ground.
“I’ll prove it to you, Damian,” she whispered into the night. “I’ll show you that while I’m a woman—a weak one at that—I’m not a liability. I can help you take Timothy down in my own way. I can make you see that I’m not a victim, nor am I your deceiver.”
It felt easier to sleep that night.
With her resolve renewed, she closed her eyes and felt her heartbeat slow down. She was not a hopeless woman who had no control of her own life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When things became rough, Damian found himself in his private boxing chamber. It was not anything huge, but just enough of a space to take out his anger and frustration. It was a sanctuary. He knew that Westgrave and the others also boxed, but he preferred to exert himself alone or with Thomas and Evan.
He had been spending more time in the chamber. The rhythmic thud of his fists against leather echoed through the walls. He needed a way to let out his frustrations, and the punching bag was the best target. He didn’t have to hurt anyone, and it couldn’t fight back either.
Even then, he knew that his efforts were futile. His anger seemed to increase day by day. Guilt gnawing at his insides.
The image of his wife’s pale and hurt face kept flashing before his eyes. It was almost as if she were there, and he didn’t want to envision her face when he was at his most violent.
Gwendoline had already been through so much. She was hurt, but he had let his pain prevail. His doubts had led him down a dark path. He had expressed his mistrust in her, and he saw how much that shook her.
Was he right in saying that he did it to protect her? Or was he simply making up excuses to push her away? She was a constant reminder of his growing vulnerability and how he had easily veered away from the path he had set on a long time ago.
When Gwendoline had given away the location of those critical documents, Damian had long lost his way. He had taken too long to gather enough evidence against his mortal enemy.
He had started with mere murmurs. Mostly word of mouth. None of them would have been enough to have Montrose arrested, but he was too angry to realize that he should have been quieter with his investigation.
Yes, it was on him. He was the weak one.
The door creaked open almost tentatively. Damian barely spared it a glance. It might be a servant coming in with refreshments. Who else would want to see a miserable duke punch his way into oblivion?
Yes, with Gwendoline gone, Damian and Evan didn’t really do anything. He sulked. Evan tried to get some new information to no avail.
“I thought I might find you here, Your Grace.”
Damian stopped punching the bag for a moment, watching his old friend walk in with a concerned yet frustrated expression on his face.
“That won’t solve your problems, Your Grace. Why can’t you at least talk to Her Grace? Explain things. Beg for forgiveness. Pardon me for overstepping, but you’re the only one I know and tolerate who sent a woman away for receiving a blow to the head.”
Damian didn’t respond. Instead, his focus remained on the bag. It was as if it took over his field of vision, blocking everything else.
Damn. It was some sort of protection. For him. The coward.
The thud of his fists against the leather startled him more than Evan.
Evan sighed. He barely hid his exasperation, it seemed. He stepped even closer to him.
“This isn’t you, Your Grace. I know you. You’re not a man who runs away from your problems. But what you have been doing these past few days…? You’ve been hiding. This isn’t preparation for war. It’s an escape. Please go to her. Have you ever wondered what she’s doing now? How she is feeling?”
Damian stopped his assault on the punching bag, his breath coming in heavy pants, but he managed to ground out, “I sent her away to keep her safe. You wouldn’t understand.”
He also wondered if he was the one who did not understand. He had always been a good decision-maker. He was a natural leader, his father used to say proudly. Not that he was proud of that old bastard.
“I’ll try to understand. I want to know what you really feel. It looks to me like you’re afraid. Yes, Her Grace was right. You are afraid of something.”
