Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“ W here is he?’ Damian demanded.
It almost sounded as if Greyvale was under siege. Damian marched toward his study, the pounding of his boots reverberating through the hall. Patience was a virtue, but it wasn’t the duke’s. It never was.
His body was tense with irritation and curiosity. He wanted to know—right now—what his unannounced visitor had to say. The butler was terrified when he announced the arrival belatedly, but all Damian wanted to know was whether the visitor had answers for him.
The man had insisted that his business with the duke was urgent. It was rare for anyone to come to Greyvale with such an introduction—barely any, really.
Damian hated being caught off guard, and that was precisely what had happened today. He liked knowing how his day would proceed, but he would rush to meet anyone who could provide him with important information about Timothy Landon. He and Evan were prepared, but any new detail would be welcome.
“Your Grace,” the butler panted, giving him a slight nod while passing him fresh clothes. He had tried his best to keep up with him.
Damian barely acknowledged him. He was busy dressing while the cogs in his brain rattled and turned.
He would have acknowledged his butler out of politeness and respect—just like he did with the other servants—but today was different. His mind was in chaos.
Could the visitor provide him with information to further tip the scales to his advantage?
He dismissed his butler with a nod and straightened his cravat while he waited for his visitor.
For some reason, the study door seemed to become bigger, its heavy wood becoming a contemptuous barrier between him and whatever revelation was to come. The butler pulled it open on his way out, and a wiry man entered.
Damian didn’t know what he expected, but it was not the nervous man who strode inside. He gestured for him to sit in the chair across from his own. Then, the two of them sat down.
The man seemed small in the leather armchair, even though he was only a few inches shorter than Damian. His eyes darted from left to right, and his thin fingers twitched on the mahogany desk.
“You claim to have information,” Damian began, getting right to the heart of the matter. His tone could cut through the air like a blade. “Speak quickly. We do not have much time, and my patience has nearly run out.”
He was not sure if the man blanched or if he had always looked like that. The study was illuminated by the flickering candlelight, which could cast shadows on faces. However, Damian was sure that his visitor felt uncomfortable.
“Your Grace, I have some information that could be invaluable to you. About Montrose,” the man rasped.
Damian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward in his seat. He brought his face closer to the other man’s and sneered. “Why should I trust you? I don’t know you.”
The man’s hands trembled over the desk as he licked his lips. “Your Grace, I’ve nothing to gain from lying to you. Moreover, I’ve lost so much because of our common enemy. Montrose owes me a fortune, and I’m tired of his false promises. I’ll settle for revenge if I cannot claim my dues.”
“Alright. I will listen. However, know this. If I find out you’re lying, I will make you regret it,” Damian warned, narrowing his eyes at the stranger.
The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I’m telling the truth! Montrose had tasked me with hiding sensitive documents. They were proof of fraud and other unsavory transactions.”
More proof? Damian wondered how these would trump the ones he and Evan already had. Did he genuinely need the help of this unkempt stranger?
“Why not bring the documents here?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice calm. However, there was an undercurrent of menace there that he knew the other man had not missed.
“I-I’m being watched. The journey to Greyvale has been long and tiring. I can guide you to where they are, though, Your Grace. For a price.”
Ah, there it was.
Damian straightened, effectively putting some distance between them. However, he knew that he was no less intimidating. He had dealt with enough of his peers to know when men like his visitor cowered.
“How much do you need?”
Need.
Ha. Of course, Damian was not naive. The man looked like he only needed the money Montrose owed him, but would he back away from an opportunity?
The man uttered the amount with wide eyes, simultaneously anxious and thrilled.
Damian’s lips curled into a sarcastic smile. “You gamble with your life by demanding money from me. Know this, whoever you are. Nothing, not even money, can save you if I discover that this is all a trap. That you are working for Montrose and not against him.”
“It’s not a trap. I swear it, Your Grace,” the visitor whimpered, trying to avoid his gaze.
Damian would not have it, though. He kept his eyes on the man, refusing to break eye contact.
He opened the top desk drawer and retrieved a pouch of coins before tossing it to the man. “If everything you’ve told me is lies, this is the last thing you’ll get from me.”
The man might have looked hesitant, but he grabbed the pouch with trembling hands. He must have needed it badly.
“You won’t regret this, Your Grace. I promise you. You will find everything you need to ruin Montrose, and I’m willing to speak against him in court if needs be.”
“I will take your word for it now, and I do hope you have not brought me falsehoods. If I find out that you have, I will find you. You know that I have my resources.”
The man nodded and then bolted from his chair. He rushed out the door almost as fast as when Damian stomped through his own halls to get to his study. He didn’t dare look back, and Damian couldn’t blame him. His glare followed the man until he was gone.
The study fell silent.
Even though he was left on his own, Damian remained tense. His muscles were coiled, ready to snap at any time. Jaw clenched. Hands fisted over his desk. Brow furrowed. He could taste his revenge now, but he knew better than to become complacent.
For the other man, it was a means to an easy end. He merely wanted to get his money back from Montrose—that was if he were telling the truth. In Damian’s case, it was more than that. A lot more than that.
He wanted revenge for what the earl did to the people he loved.
Gwendoline walked down the corridor. More often than not, she skipped or strode, but this time, she was mulling over what had happened earlier that morning.
Damian taught her to use a sword. Yes, it was wooden, but a thrill still shot through her when she remembered how she was able to swing it with a precision she would never have imagined. The fact that she did it in the presence of her half-naked husband was commendable.
She giggled. Then, she recoiled at the sound of her giggle.
Before she could further ponder the virtues of sword training with her husband, a man collided with her. She staggered backward, but she saw enough of the man’s features. He was pale, with eyes that darted nervously everywhere. He wasn’t a complete stranger, though.
He had been at Montrose House more than once. She’d seen him whispering—perhaps plotting—with her cousin in various corners, and especially behind closed doors.
“What are you doing here?”
He seemed like he came from the direction of Damian’s study. A growing suspicion gnawed at her as she walked a little faster toward the library.
Gwendoline was done with tiptoeing around her husband. She pushed the door open without knocking and started when she saw Damian standing by the desk instead of sitting down and checking his ledgers. He wore his usual brooding expression, but there was something different about it today. He looked like he could set something on fire with his mind as he looked at the chair across from his desk.
His eyes flicked to her, but the rest of his body didn’t move. Instead of the heat—and she dared say friendliness—that she saw in his eyes earlier, there was just the typical chill from him as he said, “That’s none of your concern.”
It made her stagger backward, surprised at how different he was not long after he had taught her how to spar. The transformation was a stark contrast to how he had behaved earlier.
She inhaled deeply, calming herself. Then, she stepped further into the room, her arms pressed tightly to her sides.
“You’ve avoided me for days. Then, you were almost like, uh, a friend when you defended me against your trainer and taught me how to wield a sword. Now, you’re upset with me because I asked you about a man who is associated with Timothy?”
“Tread carefully, Duchess. You don’t know what is happening here. You may have been the victim of your cousin’s cruelty, but you don’t know the full extent of what he is capable of.”
The man was a monster.
Gwendoline gasped. Neither of them had said the words, but they seemed to echo in her head as loudly as a church bell.
“After you tell me that I know his cruelty and that I’ve been through so much because of him, you’re telling me that the matter is beyond my understanding? Do you know that he once locked me in my room for days? He didn’t send me food, just water. He wanted me to lose weight, so I’d look presentable for his little auction. Do you think I’ll ever take his side? Do you think I’m not ready to hear about all the other things he’s done?”
“Duchess,” he started, watching her with an impassive expression.
“I am ready. I keep telling you I can help.”
Damian’s gray eyes had narrowed into slits, but Gwendoline knew that she had no reason to be afraid of him. She knew that he would never hurt her and that within that vengeful frame was a man who wanted to protect her.
The realization took her breath away.
How could she be so certain?
At this point, Damian had closed the distance between them. He looked down at her as he towered over her. Under different circumstances, she would not like it when someone looked down at her, but with him, it felt natural.
“That will never happen again,” he said with a fierce determination. “Nobody will hurt you while you’re under my roof. No, that’s not right. Nobody will hurt you again, no matter what. No matter where.”
Gwendoline’s hand flew to her chest, overcome with emotions. Her anger wavered, and she could no longer find a reason to hold on to it.
“Your Grace, I’ve heard promises before. Words are nothing.”
Damian surprised her by reaching out, his hand hovering near her face before he pulled back a little.
“This isn’t merely a promise, Duchess. You know it. I know you do. Look at me.”
The air between them crackled with tension. Gwendoline’s eyes were fixed on his face. Her hand remained on her chest, feeling her galloping heart. She was conflicted.
Should she push him away or try to pull him toward her?
As he inched closer, it almost seemed that he would do it for her. Her lips parted as if they had a mind of their own. Her hand dropped to her side as she held her breath and waited for what he was about to do.
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.
Gwendoline gasped, and Damian stepped back. His eyes had hardened again, and the sudden sound shattered and cut through the tension.
Gwendoline felt a strange sense of loss, but she couldn’t possibly ask her husband what it was. The crackling tension could well be in her imagination only.
“Enter,” Damian barked.
The door swung open widely, revealing Evan with a mischievous grin. “Am I interrupting? I, uh, can come back at a later hour.”
Gwendoline’s cheeks flushed. She quickly turned away, but not before she saw Damian glaring at his man.
“We were just finishing,” he explained curtly, his back more rigid than usual.
Evan’s eyes flicked back and forth between them, his grin widening. “Of course. Fear not. I will leave you both to, uh, finish later.”
Then, he winked at Gwendoline, causing Damian to growl.
“Stop flirting with my wife, Evan. Duchess, this is the infamous Evan Drake.”
Gwendoline shook her head in disbelief at the introduction. She merely nodded at the man, disregarding the proper etiquette. Her heart was still pounding from what had almost transpired.
She could not help but suppress a laugh, her hand rising to her mouth. “Your associate is not affected by your glares and tone, Your Grace.”
Evan gave her a friendly smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Gwendoline decided that she liked him.
“Yes, I’m certainly immune to the duke’s glares now, but I had to work toward it. It’s a useful skill, Your Grace, but I don’t think you should worry about acquiring it. This skill is just as necessary as dodging fists and detecting traps. Speaking of which…” Evan glanced at Damian. “Shall we get to business, Your Grace?”
Damian frowned at his man, confused. They had just talked. Their plans were already in motion. He didn’t understand the urgency.
Gwendoline tilted her head to the side and asked, “Business?”
“It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, Duchess,” Damian grunted with his usual somber expression.
He had dismissed her like this before, leaving her with a sour taste in her mouth. This moment reminded her of that.
The smile that Evan had coaxed from her evaporated.
“If it involves my cousin’s evil schemes, then we can agree that it concerns me greatly. I believe Mr. Drake can see that.”
“Your Grace,” Evan interjected, “your insight might prove valuable. Perhaps you?—”
“No,” Damian interrupted angrily. His ire was directed at Evan, though, as he shot him another one of his glares. “This matter is mine to handle. The duchess should not be involved.”
Evan raised his hands in mock surrender, giving Gwendoline a lopsided grin that Damian was quick to catch. “I will never challenge the duke’s wishes. Apologies, Your Grace.”
Gwendoline pursed her lips but then gave him a nod.
It wasn’t his fault. She realized just how difficult it was to argue with Damian. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to argue. She might have felt more dejected without Evan’s presence, which had added some needed levity.
“Very well, Your Grace,” she said after straightening her back and jutting her chin. She could barely keep her composure. “I’ll leave you two to deal with your business.”
To Evan, she nodded and said, “Mr. Drake.”
“Your Grace.”
Her frustration had reached an unbearable boiling point, so she cleared her throat and executed a slight, awkward bow.
Did she just bow to her husband’s man?
“I will take my leave now,” she said, hastily walking past Evan.
Her heart felt heavy in her throat, and the pounding was loud in her ears. She didn’t turn back.
Why did she push herself in places she was not wanted? She needed to stop this before she lost all her dignity.
“What do you want? Didn’t we just talk and set the plan in motion?” Damian growled after Evan closed the door behind him. “Must you always test my patience?”
“No, no. It’s not about that. The plan is in motion,” Evan said, chuckling. He didn’t seem bothered by Damian’s foul mood. “This is just a friendly visit. And I’m glad I came because I walked in on something far more interesting. And oh, I’m glad to be of service. At least the duchess has a sense of humor. Somebody in Greyvale should have one.”
Damian took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried to hold back a curse and muttered under his breath instead. It wasn’t Evan’s fault that he was seeing through him. Gwendoline had stirred so many emotions within him—feelings that he thought he had managed to stomp on and numb.
The worst thing? He felt like it was only the beginning. He did not doubt that the tension that already hung heavy between them could explode at any time.
“A friendly visit? You’re here for tea or brandy, Drake?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow.
His shoulders slumped a little, easing some of the tension. Perhaps he needed a break from thinking about Montrose. His obsession with the man had become all-consuming.
“I wouldn’t mind some tea or brandy or whatever else you have, Your Grace,” Evan said, shrugging. The unrepentant bastard. “However, I must admit that I’m also here because I heard that you had a visitor today—someone associated with Montrose.”
“Ah. And you heard this where? The man left not too long ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if you saw him on your way in. He looked like the snivelly kind.”
“Don’t be cruel, Your Grace. I might have seen someone with that description leaving your house in a rush,” Evan said thoughtfully. “Was that the man?”
The study’s heavy oak doors were closed, muffling the hum of activity in the manor. It was too easy to get swept up in his obsessions in this mansion.
Damian leaned against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. He regarded Evan, who sat on his leather armchair as if he had no care in the world. His boots rested on a red, embroidered footstool. The warm light from the fireplace provided a coziness that Damian knew was absent in the room. The study had become a place for planning revenge, perusing ledgers, and taking on the full responsibility of his title.
It was a challenge to relax. He felt justified when his man turned to him with a rigid jaw and intense eyes. Beneath the humor and easy-going demeanor, Evan understood their mission.
“The man claimed that he has documents that could tie Montrose to fraudulent schemes. If he’s telling the truth, we’ll further solidify our claims,” Damian explained.
“You paid him?” Evan asked.
“Yes, I did,” Damian answered, looking him right in the eye as if to challenge him.
He grabbed a bottle of brandy and poured Evan a glass. He pushed the glass across the desk.
A challenge.
A bribe.
Damian realized that he was not beneath either, as long as he could achieve his goals. His mission in life. As a young boy, he never thought he would be hellbent on punishing someone else.
Evan took a long, deep breath. He knew when to be careful with his words and was aware of how serious the matter was to Damian. They had grown up together. Even though their status separated them, they understood each other. They had been friends since they were children, although Damian’s father did not approve.
“What if he’s lying? You have easily given him money. Who is to say that nobody else will be coming in with the same claim?” Evan asked, his eyes trained on the brandy in his glass.
“Then we will deal with him accordingly. My instinct, however, tells me that he is not lying. He seemed eager to rid himself of the information but also wanted his money. I can’t blame him,” Damian replied coolly.
“Money. Of course. That’s the eternal motivator,” Evan commented, chuckling. “We don’t need his documents, though we certainly need additional leverage to send Montrose straight to jail and keep him there. It can’t simply be from you because you?—”
“Because I have some personal vendetta against him?”
“It will appear that way, Your Grace.”
“And it’s the truth,” Damian said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with two fingers.
“However, what I want you to focus on right now is the possibility of walking into a trap. The man may still be loyal to Montrose. We don’t know him.”
Damian nodded. He understood the risks, and his friend was willing to eliminate as much of it as possible.
The plan didn’t include him going to the estate. He had insisted several times. In the end, Evan didn’t want him anywhere near Montrose’s territory.
“That’s why I’m going with you. I won’t have you facing danger alone, especially if it’s a trap,” Damian offered, his face suddenly serene.
Evan’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You? Leaving Greyvale, your fortress, to venture into enemy territory? No, it must be a dream. Be still my heart.”
Damian knew that his man was not in the least bit surprised. The comical way he wiggled his eyebrows and clutched his chest was enough proof.
“Mock me all you want, Evan, but you know that someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble than we already are,” Damian retorted.
However, he couldn’t help but smile and roll his eyes. He liked how he could revert to being a young boy around Evan. It was good to know that it wasn’t completely gone.
“Admit it, Your Grace. You’re less worried about me and more about the lady upstairs. You’re like a cobra ready to strike when it comes to her. I’ve never seen you so overprotective,” Evan observed. Then, he drained his glass and set it aside. He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Damian recoiled. His eyes narrowed on his friend and right-hand man, who raised a placating hand.
“Don’t look at me like that. When she’s in your presence, you sometimes forget the revenge you’re planning. She can help us with more information, but I know you don’t give a damn. You want her safe in the little nest you made for her as you hover near her like a hawk.”
“I don’t hover,” Damian protested.
But deep down, he wondered if he was, indeed, hovering.
“Be that as it may, what do you call following her around the house? What do you call watching the servants more than you used to because you don’t want anyone doing anything untoward near her?”
Evan fired his questions like a detective with a huge, boyish grin. Damian felt like his man was enjoying it even more when he scowled.
“You can’t fool me, old friend. You care about your duchess.”
“How do you even know these things? You don’t live here, Evan.”
“I don’t hear a denial. I was merely making a conclusion based on what I had observed so far, but now I know that you care about the duchess more than I thought possible.”
Evan’s grin was still there, but his eyes were more serious.
“She’s my wife,” Damian pointed out, shocking himself by the vehemence with which he said the words. He rose from his chair and paced in front of the fireplace. “She is my responsibility. I promised her safety while I’m still alive.”
“I believe you, Your Grace. You want to keep her safe. But the way you were looking at her earlier… this goes beyond duty, doesn’t it?” Evan’s voice was softer now.
Gone was the teasing edge. It made Damian wonder if it was better or worse.
“When you spoke to her, your tone didn’t quite match the way you looked at her. It brought me to the conclusion that you were not only protecting her from Montrose but also from yourself. Am I right?”
Damian was so close to the fireplace that the heat seemed to sear his skin. His hand gripped the mantelpiece. Control. Duty. These were the things that made him a good duke. They earned him respect, and they made him perform his duties flawlessly.
Whatever he had with Gwendoline couldn’t go on. Yes, he had put himself in this position. Strangely enough, he couldn’t bring himself to completely regret his decision to marry her.
Yes, it was duty. Yes, he wanted to protect her. All these things were true, yet he could also recognize the truth in Evan’s words.
“You’ve always had a grand imagination,” he finally muttered.
But it was evident to him—and Evan—that his conviction had wavered. He didn’t fully believe the words he had just uttered.
“Perhaps, Your Grace. I am proud of my imagination,” Evan said, again chuckling, cutting through that momentary seriousness. “It’s also possible that you’re too stubborn to see what’s right in front of you.”
Damian shrugged him off and then faced him. He wasn’t angry or offended, not when there was a roar in his head.
“We can’t afford to be distracted, Evan. It’s not the time to ponder my marriage and personal choices. Montrose is a real threat, and he will continue being so as long as he walks free. We can’t rest until he gets what he deserves.”
“Agreed, Your Grace,” Evan replied seriously. “But don’t let your quest for revenge consume you. It may be blinding you from the blessings that you have, like your wife. She?—”
“It’s none of your concern,” Damian interrupted, his voice hardening. “Focus on what I asked you to do. We must leave at dawn, as planned.”
“Yes. To meet the informant,” Evan said, without missing a beat.
“There we go. I’d like us to get back to how we were before—driven by this mission.”
Evan held up his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish, Your Grace. However, you know me well enough to know that this conversation is not over.”
Damian ignored him.
Evan Drake was the only man who could talk to him that way and get away with it. His father didn’t like that he was friends with the servants’ son when they were children. But he didn’t really care. He knew from experience that he was a good judge of character, and he had not been mistaken with Evan.
Silence fell over them. This time, Evan respected it. He lingered for a moment, perhaps waiting for more instructions before leaving. He opened the door and looked like he was about to close it, but then he pushed it open again.
“I’m off now, Your Grace,” he said, pausing at the threshold. “Do not brood too much. It’s bad for your health.”
Damian shook his head and merely chuckled at his friend’s advice. He didn’t even have to say, “You’re not my physician,” because they had gone through the same routine so many times before. Evan always looked out for him.
As the door closed behind Evan, Damian was again lost in his thoughts. He realized that it was a dangerous thing as of late. He considered what his man had said.
People were now noticing how he behaved in front of Gwendoline. Then again, Evan was an observant man who knew him well. Still, Damian couldn’t afford more distractions.
But wasn’t that what he wanted? He wanted people to believe in his marriage. What he didn’t want was to start believing in it. He didn’t want Montrose to find him vulnerable in any way. Gwendoline had her way of making him just that—vulnerable. A danger to himself and possibly to her.
Sighing heavily, Damian tore his gaze away from the fire. He needed to prepare physically and mentally for the dangerous road ahead. Revenge on Montrose would demand everything from him, and he couldn’t allow his growing feelings for his wife to cloud his judgment.
Not now.
Damian wondered if that also meant not ever.