Page 96 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
London was a half-day ride away from the estate. Gwendoline might have traveled almost the same distance when they went to her family’s old estate, but Greyvale was farther, and the road had more hills. Even with this new challenge, she intended to reach London before dawn. She would have to gain more ground.
As she rode, her mind wandered from Marston to Timothy to Damian. There were so many things she wanted to do, and yet it was difficult to find the words to describe how exactly she would do them.
What if she rode all night, only for Marston to refuse to help? After all, he was involved in shady business, too. Would he really say anything against a man he was working with? Even if he did help, what if Timothy had already covered his tracks? He was already doing it—starting by ransacking Damian’s study.
The most important question, however, was whether Damian would forgive her for leaving.
She shook it off. Damian should be thinking about whethershewould forgive him.
Gwendoline also had to shake that thought off. She must focus on reaching London on time, and on keeping that focus the whole while.
There was no room for doubt. Every mile she and Daisy traveled brought her closer to answers. She was getting closer to ending the nightmare that had plagued her and Damian.
Timothy had done so much damage, caused so much hurt, and almost killed her a few times, but he would not get away with it this time. There was no way she would allow that to happen again.
Gwendoline didn’t reach London before sunrise, but she managed enough. The first rays of sunlight were peeking over the horizon when she saw more houses. She almost felt awkward being in a saddle instead of a carriage. However, the important thing was that she reached the city.
It made its first appearance with its sprawling maze of stone and brick that looked both familiar and strange to her after her exile in Greyvale. She guided her mare through less busy streets to hopefully not draw much attention.
Reaching Marston’s address, she dismounted and secured Daisy in a nearby alley. Her heart pounded in her chest. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure if she could do it. Her palms were cold and clammy.
The building was painted a dull gray, and the windows were shuttered. It felt uninviting, and it seemed like it was trying to hide in the middle of a row of townhouses. It didn’t seem like a gentleman lived there. However, at the same time, it didn’t seem like a place where criminal dealings took place.
She inhaled deeply. Then, she exhaled through her mouth before knocking on the door. Moments later, the door creaked open.A tall, severe-looking man with a skeptical gaze stood there, looking at her.
Was he the butler? He had a less-than-welcoming face. He assessed her from head to foot, not ashamed that he was blatant about it.
“Who are you?” he asked in a wary tone.
“Good day. I’m here to ask for an audience with Lord Marston,” Gwendoline declared in a calm voice. “It’s a matter of great importance.”
“Why should I let you in? He doesn’t know you were coming,” the man said, his eyes narrowing into slits.
There was no chance this man was a butler, and even if he was, then he was not the sort a lord kept.
Perhaps Gwendoline was being judgmental, but she didn’t care right now. She straightened her spine, keeping her composure despite his rudeness.
“Tell him that the Duchess of Greyvale seeks an audience with him. If he values his business, he will speak with me. He knows what this is about.”
At least, she assumed that he knew what it was all about.
The man gave her another look, hesitating. It made his face look more uncertain, not quite as arrogant. He stepped aside, letting her into the foyer.
“Wait here, Your Grace.”
Ah, so he knew enough to use her proper title. Perhaps it was the best way to introduce herself in places like this. Titles. Money. Influence. They affected the way matters were handled.
She knew she couldn’t be that certain about her safety yet. Her pulse quickened when she noticed the dark interior. Greyvale and Damian’s London residence both looked brighter at night.
Minutes later, another man stepped into view. He was slightly older than the first one, perhaps in his fifties. His hair was already thinning, but his smile suggested that he knew how to use his charm if need be. However, he obviously had not learned how to make it seem more genuine, for his smile did not reach his eyes.
“Your Grace,” he greeted smoothly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“I’m here because of Timothy Landon, the Earl of Montrose,” Gwendoline declared, meeting his gaze steadily. She would not allow herself to be intimidated.
“Interesting. Montrose? What has that bastard done to you?” he asked languidly.
“I heard that you know him well. Don’t you?” she asked back, barely blinking her eyes.
