A Rescue by the Rakish Duke (A Game of Rakes #5)

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

G wendoline was still tired from the trip to Willowbrook, but she was not so tired that she would immediately fall asleep. Instead, she was in Damian’s room, watching the flames flickering in the hearth. It was uplifting to no longer associate the night with loneliness.

The fire crackled softly—a sound that Gwendoline had gotten used to. It provided a warmth of a different kind, surrounding her and simmering inside her. She glanced at her husband, who was sitting on the sofa opposite her chair. He might not be like the heroes in the fairytales, but he was kinder than anyone gave him credit for.

He didn’t love her, at least not in the romantic way young women dreamed about. However, Gwendoline wasn’t sure she loved him either. Young women of the ton like her were often sheltered. It didn’t help that her mother died when she was still too young.

The flickering shadows didn’t elicit any fear or sadness. Instead, Gwendoline felt comfortable curled up on the armchair, wrapped up in a robe.

Damian seemed moodier than usual, his gray eyes trained on the hearth.

Gwendoline had gotten used to her husband’s highs and lows. Tonight, however, she hadn’t expected his broad shoulders to tense when they returned from a lovely visit to Willowbrook.

The air between them suddenly felt thick. It was different this time—it was devoid of the sexual tension that had them tearing each other’s clothes off every time they were alone. Tonight, Damian was simply… there.

Gwendoline’s chest tightened as she studied him.

What was he thinking?

Was he regretting his decision to go against his own rules?

Secrets hung over them like a dark shroud.

Gwendoline drank the rest of her sweet wine and placed the glass on the table beside her. Then, she went back to studying her husband, and the contemplative nature of his silence. It wasn’t meant to shut her down but to look inward.

Oh, how she wanted to see inside him.

“Damian,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the silence and tension.

His gaze turned to her. He seemed disoriented. Surprised. She was right. He was so near and yet so far.

“Tell me something. A secret.”

“A secret?” His voice sounded hoarse.

His body was still not relaxed. It looked like every muscle was coiled. Jaw clenched. Shoulders hunched. The grip on his glass tight.

“Yes. I am your wife. Ours may not be a love marriage, but I do want to know more about you. I’ve told you what it was like to suffer at Timothy’s hand. So, it’s fair that I know why he has made your life miserable.”

His nostrils flared. He set the glass down on the table next to him, mirroring what she had done earlier.

“He happened to Levi and Mary,” he began, pain etched on his face.

There it was. It was the moment Gwendoline was waiting for, and yet a part of her was afraid of what it would do to him.

His eyes flashed with fury, shutting out the world. His walls were up again. His jaw clenched, and his whole body stiffened. He became more like a cage than a man. Then, just as quickly as he caged himself, the walls seemed to crumble.

Gwendoline didn’t want to think of it as proof of defeat. No, it wasn’t like that. It was more like resignation. He knew he had been keeping her at arm’s length.

“Levi,” he continued, his voice rough, “was more than a friend. He was like a brother.”

Gwendoline’s heart ached at the raw pain in his voice. She leaned forward to show him that she wanted to hear every painful word or syllable.

“And Mary?” she prompted, her voice barely audible in the quiet room. “Who was she?”

“Mary was Levi’s sister. So, she was, in essence, a sister to me. Montrose destroyed them both.”

Gwendoline had heard vague stories of betrayal during her daily explorations of Greyvale, but none of the servants wanted to elaborate. They were afraid of their master’s wrath. They had seen his pain and knew when to step back. Now she would learn what had transpired, and it would make everything too real.

She clasped her hands together and swung her legs over the chair to rest her feet on the rug. It drew her closer to him. She wanted him to know that she would be there for him if he needed her.

“What happened to them?”

“I’ve always expressed my distaste for Montrose’s treatment of women. Of you. Of many women he may interact with regularly—or not. But he did something to Mary… something unforgivable.”

Gwendoline didn’t say a word. She wanted him to continue, even as she felt her palms grow clammy. Despite that, she didn’t rub them together. She didn’t want to distract him.

“She loved him, but she was merely an object to him. When she found out she was with child, he refused to marry her,” Damian scoffed. “He was fortunate enough to win her love, and he had the gall to refuse?”

He paused, his chest rising and falling quickly.

He seemed in distress. So, Gwendoline rose from her armchair and padded toward him, before resting a hand on his shoulder. She could feel his ragged breaths as he tried not to cry. She wanted to tell him that it was all right for a man to cry, but she didn’t. She would show it instead, by listening and just letting him be.

“Damian, Timothy is a terrible person. He would do that to anyone. Mary deserves better.”

“Deserves?” he echoed. “Mary is long gone, Gwen. She was sent by her relatives to the countryside. She gave birth there. Perhaps if she—” He broke off.

“I heard that giving birth in the city isn’t quite as great as people make it out to be. The fresh air of the countryside would be better for a woman with child,” Gwendoline said without thinking.

She realized her error when she felt Damian tense under her hand.

“Better? Her family hid her because of their shame. Her being with child was doomed from the beginning, with her constantly crying in despair about what happened to her. Levi tried to find the best physicians and midwives for her. In the end, nobody could arrive in time. Even Levi couldn’t arrive in time. He was looking for someone to help her give birth safely. She died alone.”

“I… I am sorry, Damian,” Gwendoline whispered. She could feel his sorrow seeping into her soul.

“That was not even the end of the chaos that Montrose brought to Mary’s and Levi’s lives. Levi left to join the army. I knew then that he wouldn’t have done it if not for Mary’s death. He would have stayed with her. He would never have left her.”

“I know. I know,” Gwendoline soothed as she sat next to him.

“He died, Gwendoline,” he sobbed. “He died months after his sister died. I lost Levi, Mary, and her baby.”

“Years ago?” she asked tentatively.

“Five years,” he confirmed.

Five years. Gwendoline couldn’t imagine holding on to so much rage for so long. She had lost her mother. The grief was overwhelming, but she couldn’t imagine harboring rage and a desire for revenge, as well.

Husband and wife sat together in silence, watching the fire in the hearth. The crackling echoed their heartbreak.

Gwendoline let Damian sort through his feelings before she said anything.

Now, she could understand him better. He had lost so much. A void was left five years ago, just about when he became a notorious rake. She wondered if there was any space left for her in his hollow husk. She sighed softly.

Damian turned to her, his eyes red-rimmed and probing.

“Now, I understand you better, Damian. You’re not just a man on a quest for revenge,” she declared, keeping her voice steady. The moment was his. There would be a time for her to reexamine her feelings. “You lost people you love. Of course, you want justice for them.”

Damian’s eyes searched hers. What was it that he was looking for? Was he looking for some answers? For absolution?

She wouldn’t look away even though she was afraid he would see more into her than she was willing to share. She’d like to think that she made his defenses crumble.

“I don’t know if justice will be enough,” he admitted.

“It will be, Damian,” she insisted. “I want to help you seek it, you know that.”

For a long moment, the two simply stared into each other’s eyes, as if they were having a silent conversation. Gwendoline was startled when Damian stood up without warning and pulled her to her feet.

His hands moved from her arms to her cheeks, the touch so gentle but insistent that it could only be his.

“Gwendoline,” he murmured, his breath so close to her lips. So warm. It smelled of the liquor he usually sought comfort in. “You don’t know what you’re asking for by looking at me like that.”

“I do, Damian,” she whispered, even though her heart thumped in her chest. “I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

Gwendoline had never been kissed before she married Damian. She hadn’t known what to expect in the bedchamber. After he introduced her to the pleasures of lovemaking, she could not get enough. It didn’t matter what he felt about her—at least that was what she told herself. She’d take anything from him.

Their mouths crashed together. It was just like the other times but more. It always began with a searing kiss. Damian didn’t know how to start slowly. It was always passionate from the beginning, with all restraint thrown to the wind.

His lips were hungry and demanding as if he wanted to mold himself to her. Gwendoline responded just as eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair. She wanted him just as close. Her skin tingled with his closeness. His touch. His kisses.

Damian almost lifted her off her feet. She was impressed. She wasn’t obscenely fat, but he made her feel like she didn’t weigh much.

One hand gripped her waist while the other tangled in her curls. The tendrils had already escaped their pins when they were still in Willowbrook. But this time the whole braid loosened, and she didn’t care. His tongue—taste—was addictive.

Gwendoline thought their kiss would never end and gasped loudly when he broke it. They were both panting, looking into each other’s eyes. The intensity of their connection left her trembling.

“This is dangerous, Gwen,” Damian warned hoarsely, but she wasn’t sure who he was warning. Her? Himself? Both? “If you stay with me right now, there’s no turning back. You cannot leave.”

“I don’t want to leave, Damian. I can’t,” she said, reaching up to trace his jawline with her fingertips. “I want you.”

Damian groaned. Then, he kissed her again. Gwendoline didn’t think it was possible, but this kiss was harder, more passionate, hungrier. Then, he stepped back, just to look at her. His eyes scanned her like a predator would their prey.

“These curves are mine. Understand, Duchess? Now undress, and show me what belongs to me alone.”

Gwendoline trembled, not with fear but with excitement. She gaped at him.

“Do not keep me waiting. I want to see every inch of you, every soft curve that belongs to me and me alone. Let me look at my treasure, my duchess, and remind you exactly who you were made for.”

Gwendoline bit her lower lip. She half-expected him to do the deed himself, but he wouldn’t touch her. Not yet.

“I said undress. Now. Or shall I do it myself and show you just how little patience I have when it comes to what is mine?”

This time, she complied. She slowly removed her robe, feeling the fabric slide down her skin.

Gwendoline shivered as soon as the cool air kissed her skin, but it didn’t take long for Damian to warm her again with his touch. He trailed kisses down her neck, his hot breath making her shiver for an entirely different reason. He moved lower, his teeth nipping her skin.

Each tiny, playful bite made her see stars. Each made her arch into him. She moaned when his large, calloused hands cupped her breasts, and her moans became louder when his thumbs brushed her pebbled nipples.

“Damian,” she breathed.

There was no mistaking the need in her voice. The tremor that overcame her. She was no longer in control, and yet she was all right with it.

Damian didn’t respond with words. They were beyond them now, grasping for completion that they both didn’t want to come too soon.

He lifted her effortlessly and carried her to the bed. As he laid her down gently, his eyes held hers. Gwendoline could see the fire there, mirroring the fire in the hearth or even more. She was aware that she had been stripped of not only her clothes but also her defenses.

At that moment, she was willing to be stripped of everything. For Damian. For this. For whatever this was.

He knelt between her legs, spreading them wide. His palms were hot against her thighs. The contact made her gasp, although she should have already expected the heat. When his fingers brushed against the most sensitive part of her, she bit her lip to stifle a cry.

“You’re so beautiful, Gwendoline,” he murmured against her neck as his fingers slid in and out of her. “Do you know that? Do you know what you do to me?”

Gwendoline could not speak, overwhelmed by desire. However, even if she could, he seemed eager to hush her words and keep her moaning. She felt this when his mouth replaced his fingers, his tongue spearing her. Savoring her. Her back arched off the bed with every assault. He knew just how to make her feel so good, circling her most intimate places. Teasing. Tasting.

She writhed beneath him, her fingers curling into the sheets.

“Please,” she begged.

She didn’t know how to articulate her needs. She just needed , as she always did whenever he pleasured her.

“Please, Damian.”

Each time Damian made love to her, he knew how to draw her pleasure and make her reach the heights of passion. She did not doubt that. Tonight, though, he seemed to take his time. He was slowly setting her on fire.

“Damian,” she begged again.

A part of him woke up from the fire he had buried himself in, and he took off his clothes in a rush.

Gwendoline had seen his naked body many times over the past few days and nights, but it still made her breath catch in her throat. Strong, sculpted, and scarred in some places, his body was devastatingly beautiful.

When he joined her on the bed, she eagerly reached for him and pulled him down for another kiss. He groaned into her mouth when his erection pressed against her thigh. She panted at the thought of having him inside her again.

Anticipation coursed through her, fueling her desire.

“Are you sure you want me like this?” he asked.

She knew what he meant. He was sad. He had just shared a secret he had held close to his chest for years. What they would do would not just be making love, but also a way of finding comfort.

“Yes, Damian,” she immediately responded. “Yes.”

With a growl of triumph, he positioned himself between her legs. Their eyes locked as he entered her slowly.

Gwendoline gasped at the welcome intrusion, feeling him slide into her inch by inch. When he was fully seated inside her, they stopped breathing for a moment. Stilled. They simply looked at each other and savored that moment of intimacy. Of oneness.

It was as if Damian knew exactly when to move. When he began thrusting into her, each stroke was deliberate and deep. Each one was perfectly measured to push her closer to the brink, and she matched him for every thrust and stroke. She wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer and control the pace and rhythm.

Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of their passion. They varied in intensity and volume, from whispered pleas and soft gasps to screams and grunts. The creaking of the wooden bed added to the symphony they had created.

Gwendoline clung to Damian, the only one she could see clearly. The fire in the hearth illuminated everything else, blurring all except for him.

She was lost in her emotions. Soon, she could barely see anything. She could only hear his breaths in her ear and the slap of skin on skin. She could feel him hitting every sensitive spot until she climaxed with his name on her lips. He followed soon enough with a loud cry. When he rested his forehead on hers, he whispered her name over and over.