Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“ T hank you,” Gwendoline said.
The nerves caught up to her as the winding road gave way to a path within a sprawling estate.
She sat stiffly, her back rigid, but she managed to tilt her chin up and look ahead. As for her new husband, he looked the same as always.
Calm. Collected. Composed.
Yes, the Duke of Greyvale—Damian Redmond was his full name—married her only two days after he had stormed into Montrose House.
It was a whirlwind affair that still left her breathless. In hindsight, though, she watched everything unfold with delight and horror. If this were somebody else’s life, she would have clapped her hands with glee at the utter ridiculousness of it.
Gwendoline studied her new husband from beneath lowered lashes. She couldn’t believe that it had only been two days since Damian walked into her father’s townhouse, startling everyone inside.
They were now bound by law and title.
She noticed every sharp angle of his classically handsome face. She even eyed the hard muscles under his shirt. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t appropriate. But she was trapped here in the carriage, with him.
“For what?” he asked nonchalantly, his piercing eyes looking everywhere but at her. They looked distant, withdrawn.
“For marrying me.”
Gwendoline’s voice was steady, even though the knot of anxiety in her stomach had tightened further. When would she truly feel light? Unfettered?
“And for everything else,” she breathed.
An unwanted memory flashed through her mind.
After her mother’s death, her family’s finances had deteriorated. Even with her father still alive, Gwendoline had to rely on Timothy’s help. Turned out he had only been waiting to be repaid for his ‘generosity’. She hoped that it wouldn’t be the same with her new husband.
Finally, the duke looked at her. Briefly. It felt like mere acknowledgment. Then, he looked away again.
“Don’t,” he said curtly. “There’s no need to pretend that this is anything more than an arrangement. No affection, remember?”
His words felt dismissive. She bristled at them.
“You speak as if it is purely transactional.” Her voice had gained some strength, but it became huskier somewhat.
Stop it, Gwendoline. Of course, the whole thing is transactional.
She berated herself even though she recognized the truth in what he said. Wasn’t this what she had wanted all along? To be left alone?
“Isn’t it?” The duke met her gaze, but again, his eyes were unfathomable. “Wasn’t I clear?”
Her cousin was about to sell her off to the highest bidder. Without the duke’s intervention, Gwendoline would have been subjected to horrors she could only imagine. She could have been married off to a man who wanted her for children, or a man who just wanted a curvaceous woman on his arm. Worse, she could have been married off to a man who wanted to do to her the things that women spoke about in hushed tones.
Her blood ran cold.
Her union with the duke was practical, one that she should welcome with open arms. Yet, there was a niggling feeling that there was more to their marriage and more to this man.
If she had to find a way to pass her time, it would be to discover what the Duke of Greyvale was really about.
“We don’t have to be friends, but at least we should know enough about each other,” she said in a quiet, firm voice.
The duke’s eyes drifted out the window again. “I am a private man, Duchess. I do not like interrogations.”
Gwendoline exhaled in frustration. “This is not an interrogation, Your Grace. I am merely trying to understand the situation— our situation. Surely, you can see why I need some clarity.”
“Clarity is not necessary in our case. What we have is a marriage of convenience, nothing more. You do not need to know more about me, nor will I force you to tell me more about yourself. We won’t be or know anything beyond what is required.”
“What is required then, Your Grace?” she asked, emphasizing his title, her indignation leaving no room for true respect.
Again, he gave her one of his enigmatic smiles, that small curve that he thought could pass for civility. Her breath hitched at the sight of him, impossibly handsome when dour and even more so with a slight curve of the lips.
And those lips…
“We have roles to fulfill. You as my duchess, and I as your husband. Nothing else matters beyond that. You can request the necessary things you will need to enjoy your solitary time. For reading. Embroidery. Or whatever else young married ladies do.”
Gwendoline’s hands curled into fists. She kept them on her lap as she watched the soft purple velvet barely crease.
“Nothing else matters,” she muttered, staring at the luxurious velvet. “How convenient then, Your Grace. How perfectly convenient for you to find a way to reduce a person’s whole existence to how useful they can be to you.”
But wasn’t she always meant to be like that?
Timothy had said so.
The lecherous men had reiterated that with their gazes.
The duke’s faint smile further retreated into the abyss it came from. Something replaced it. It was not anger. At least Gwendoline liked to think that it wasn’t. She took advantage of his hesitation and pressed on.
“Why were you at Montrose House? I know you weren’t there for me. You were there for my cousin.”
The duke glanced at her before she continued.
“You said you have incriminating evidence against him. What evidence? Why should it matter to you if he was doing something illegal?”
“That’s none of your concern,” he growled, his eyes narrowed into slits.
“None of my concern? My cousin was about to auction me off to the highest bidder. If you think I will keep quiet while you keep secrets that directly affect me, you are sorely mistaken, Your Grace.”
The duke leaned forward. Gwendoline swore she could see smoke coming out of his ears and nose. His eyes were like burning ashes, something threatening to rise and destroy everything.
Up close, though, his eyes held something else. Secrets? Lies? She found herself holding her breath and biting her lower lip.
“Lord Montrose will get what is coming for him. I promise you that,” he huffed. “That’s what you need to know. And it is a fact that you will most likely welcome. Won’t you, Duchess?”
Her new title stilled her, but she tried not to show it. Everything they had was merely for show. Even though she was legally a duchess, she was not his duchess. Not really. When would she get used to it? Perhaps never?
Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she was frustrated. She knew better than to persist in annoying Damian and herself, but she couldn’t help it.
Have you ever felt like you are in a box? You push and push and you can’t do anything but simmer in rage and fear. She had suffered through that feeling and more with Timothy. She wouldn’t want her husband to do the same to her.
“That’s enough for me, Your Grace. I have a right to know why you chose to bring me on a whim and what you plan to do with Lord Montrose. Maybe I will be able to help.”
“Help?” he echoed. This time, his tone had a trace of mockery even as he kept casting glances at her lips. “You are free of that scoundrel. You are safe. Shouldn’t that be enough for you?”
But the weight on Gwendoline’s shoulders remained. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest.
“Free?” she asked bitterly. “Do you think I’m truly free?”
His eyes flickered with an emotion that she couldn’t fathom. Perhaps he regretted something—or perhaps he felt a twinge of guilt? His expression hardened after that momentary glimpse into his thoughts.
“Even if you don’t treat me like a real wife, Your Grace,” she continued, “at least give me the benefit of knowing what my life is truly about now. What I should be worried about. What I should expect.”
He didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. His silence and his dour face seemed to be the loudest response she had ever received.
“Duchess,” he began in a dangerously low voice. There was a softness there, one that didn’t match the words coming out of his mouth. “I suggest you remember your place. You will not question me again.”
Gwendoline then realized that he had leaned so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body.
“Why do you care so much?” she whispered, trying to stop her chin from wobbling to no avail. “Why are you going to all this trouble? Is it because of me, or is it because of my cousin?”
The duke was silent for a moment. His eyes softened uncharacteristically, dropping to her lips—and they lingered this time. She licked her lower lip and wished she could wipe the moisture growing on her upper one.
Time stood still. With it, Gwendoline held her breath as she listened to her thundering heartbeat. His steely eyes lingered on her mouth, then they flicked back to hers. They were still heavy-lidded, burdened with unspoken thoughts.
Suddenly, the carriage skidded to a halt, rocking him backward. The soft eyes were gone, and he had locked himself away from her again.
The coachman called out, announcing their arrival at Greyvale.
The duke opened the door and stepped out. He turned to her and offered her his hand, but his face was inscrutable, again.
“Welcome to Greyvale, Duchess,” he said in a voice as cold as the winter air.
Gray, indeed.