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

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

“ Y ou have eagle eyes, Gwen,” he praised his wife, who was seated across from him in his study.

Damian circled the name of a warehouse in London. It was in a spot no members of the ton would dare venture in. Criminals were known to frequent the area, and officers of the law were often bribed to look the other way. They often agreed to some amount of money because they reasoned it would not hurt. Only goods were being smuggled. No harm was being done to people.

Damian knew they were merely lies people told themselves so they could break the law.

He had been ignoring her lately, not because he was furious with her but because his plans for revenge had consumed him. What was actually preventing him from taking action now? He had evidence.

He knew and understood that he needed to be careful with his movements. If he made the wrong move and merely managed to disturb the hornet’s nest, Gwendoline might be hurt this time around. Coming to terms with the fact that he couldn’t lose her terrified him.

Then, this morning, she came up with a plan. It was a good plan. He and Evan had been working hard. The details had been laid out, and they knew where to strike, but by golly, Gwendoline knew where to strike Montrose where it hurt the most.

‘T-Thank you. I s-suppose,” she stammered.

Damian couldn’t blame her. He had ordered Hannah to watch over her for the past few nights and sleep on the sofa in her bedchamber. Instead of comforting her, he decided to distance himself a little.

He had always thought himself a reasonable person. He had even made a list of the reasons he should stay away from his wife.

One, she needed protection, but she shouldn’t see her protector at his weakest. He needed time to vent without her seeing it. Sharing a chamber had made him too vulnerable.

Two, he might be the target. What if there were spies inside the house? Maybe they would tell Montrose that Gwendoline did not mean much to him. That she was to be discarded.

Three, he must not be distracted. The battle was almost upon them, and he couldn’t afford to lose to Montrose when he had been plotting his downfall for years.

Four, Gwendoline might get too close to him, too deeply rooted that he might be devastated if he lost her.

Selfish. Damian suddenly felt both selfish and foolish. He had drawn an invisible but heavy boundary between them. Now, she was here, shedding all her pride to help him see some things that he had known all along but couldn’t quite fathom. He valued the lives of those he loved, but Montrose valued money.

A map of Montrose’s business empire lay on his desk. His eyes traced the lines of ink, following a path that led back to the circle he had made.

A warehouse near the docks.

Since money was a motivation for Montrose, the warehouse was a key piece in their plan to dismantle the earl’s evil empire. A man who had been collecting illegal money shouldn’t even have to ‘sell’ his cousin. Damian’s hands curled into fists on his desk as he studied the other documents detailing the contents of Montrose’s warehouse.

His shoulders relaxed slightly when Gwendoline stepped behind him and massaged them. Her breath was so close to his ear that he felt himself stiffen for a different reason. For a better reason. His duchess had not given him enough respite.

Damian could feel her soft hands kneading his muscles, but he could also feel her elsewhere. Somewhere more dangerous.

“We can sabotage the warehouse. Cripple his supply chain”, she whispered.

Her words were stern and focused, but her tone made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Damian turned his head slightly, knowing what he must do. He didn’t have to run away from this woman. They were married. Divorce was not an option for nobles unless they wanted to be shunned by Society.

Oh, excuses.

Of course, he would find many, even as his lips brushed her cheek softly. He had never been this gentle with anyone, not this close. An unbidden thought came to him—of losing Gwendoline like he lost Levi and Mary—but he shook it off.

Damian realized that his wife had taken over his senses, filled them with her scent, which was a mix of something sweet like roses and something sharper like rebellion. He loved it. He wanted her, and it concerned him that he wanted her all the time. The nights he had her spend with her maid were nights wasted.

Damian wanted to pull her into his lap and forget all about Montrose and his quest for revenge. He wished he could throw away the map and discard the schemes he had lost sleep over, only to lose himself in her instead.

The sense of duty was still strong, though. Revenge awaited.

“It’s risky, Gwen,” he murmured into her neck. “Montrose will have men. He’s not the sort who does everything on his own. We need more help.”

Gwendoline straightened, her probing gaze on his.

It was so difficult to think about her without thinking about all the things he wanted to do to her. Her eyes were blazing, her determination burning bright and deep. Damian found himself being drawn further to her. Into what those eyes were trying to say. His pulse quickened with anticipation as he could almost see the cogs turning in her head and her mouth opening and closing.

“I can help,” she whispered. Her eyes were still on his, not hiding.

The women Damian had been with had been open with their bodies but not their souls. They would coquettishly bat their lashes or cover their faces with fans, even though they were not shy under the sheets. They had never looked him in the eye—at least not in the way Gwendoline did.

“What? I like your plan, Gwendoline, but there is no way I’m taking you to this warehouse. It was one thing to sneak into an empty shell of an estate, but venturing into a possibly well-guarded warehouse containing smuggled goods was another. “How will you do it, anyway? Fight Montrose’s men? Seduce them?”

Damian shuddered at the thought of using his wife for revenge. It made him think of the times Gwendoline believed she was merely a pawn in his game. Seeing it in her eyes had made him feel disgusted with himself.

“I can pick locks, Damian,” she said, shifting on his lap. “Even though Montrose believes I’m a fat hog?—”

“Stop talking about yourself like that,” he interrupted, pulling at his hair in exasperation.

He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at Montrose, and even at himself for not being in her life when he should have been.

An irrational thought, but a genuine feeling.

“I can slip into the warehouse, Damian. I am nimble-footed even though?—”

Damian fixed her with a glare, and she stopped. But then she giggled. Her laughter died down when his hand shot out and gripped her hips, pressing her against him.

What was wrong with him? Perhaps he needed a physician to examine him. He was always hard when she was near. He couldn’t focus in her presence. He couldn’t focus when she wasn’t there.

“It’s too dangerous. If Montrose catches you, he will do much worse. The rumors are nothing. They had not harmed us. Words are nothing because we know what is true. But risking physical injury? We may not be able to come back from that, Gwendoline.”

She looked at him sharply, though he swore he could read the worry in her eyes. Unshed tears. Furrowed brow. Pouty bow-shaped lips. He was far too gone. But what was it? A sense of possession? Lust?

“This is our fight, Damian. Don’t shield me from it because we both know that he’ll keep trying. He will break through our defenses. So, why can’t we do the same to him?”

His grip on her loosened, his thumbs stroking her hips over and over. It was like that with her. Whatever he did with her, he wanted to do it repeatedly.

She shivered and sighed, confirming that she was not immune to him. It wasn’t long ago that she was still a maiden. Now, she had become bold with her movements, rocking her hips against his as he tried to stifle a groan.

“I’m going to straddle you,” Gwendoline murmured.

She wasn’t asking for permission. She lifted the skirt of her dress and straddled him. Then, she moved over him again, her heavy-lidded eyes watching him closely.

“You’re impossible,” Damian groaned as he felt the last of his resolve shatter.

His hand reached up to her cheek and caressed it oh-so gently. His voice was thick with frustration and something else. Did he dare mention it?

Need.

Affection.

Gwendoline’s lips curled into a smirk he was getting used to. They began their acquaintanceship with scowls and glares. He was thankful that they were past that.

“Yet, here you are, letting me do what I want with you,” she murmured. Her lips hovered over his own, and their breaths mingled.

“What do you want with me?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Admit it, Damian. You want me, don’t you? You want me as much as you crave revenge.”

Of course, he did. God help him and anyone who came between him and his cravings, but he did.

His eyes widened at the confidence of the woman before him. He loved how she was able to transform herself into something else. Something bolder.

It was enough for him to pull her lips toward his and kiss her with desperation and hunger. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her close and molding her to him as much as he could. But he was also reminding himself that she was here. She was safe. Alive. Warm and breathing. Panting and kissing him.

Gwendoline clutched at his shirt as if she felt the same way, afraid that he would suddenly disappear. With the desperation they felt, they clung to each other. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, not wanting to let go. And he didn’t want to let go either.

When they finally pulled apart, they were breathless, their foreheads pressed against each other. It was a gesture that had become familiar to them. It made Damian feel close to her. They felt like one, and at the same time, they felt like equals.

“We need to focus,” he reminded her roughly, even though it was difficult for him to physically tear himself away from her.

“You started it,” Gwendoline teased, chuckling softly.

She had not stopped touching him. Her fingers stroked and traced his jaw.

“You know that’s not true, Gwendoline. You’re the one who—never mind. You’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned as he leaned back in his chair while still cradling her.

“Oh no, Damian,” she said softly, standing up to straighten her dress. “Only if we fail.”

The words seemed ominous and tempting at the same time.

Even during the night, they gravitated toward each other when they inspected ledgers and studied books. Gwendoline felt one with Damian even in the library. She was pleased when she discovered that both of them loved books. Her eyes feasted on the books lining the walls, their spines cracked from use. She couldn’t help but admire her husband—her handsome, smart, and surprisingly kind husband.

The house was silent. However, the oppressive feeling was gone because Damian had let her in again. She sat on the floor tonight, scribbling notes on a ledger while her husband paced the room.

She loved that he would sometimes pause his pacing to look at her with what she would like to think of as affection. Appreciation. Love. She shouldn’t hope for too much. She was already fortunate that he had decided to involve her in his life at all. She was now his partner, in one way if not the other.

“Has anyone told you that you are brilliant, Gwen?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he stopped in front of her, admiring the way she perused the ledgers as carefully and as patiently as she could.

“Ha! Flattery will get you everywhere,” she retorted with a big grin. “Where has Evan been, anyway? I must say, I’ve missed him.”

Before he could respond, she rose to her knees and pulled him by the shirt to capture his lips. This kiss was slow and deliberate. It was full of promise. Nobody would be able to blame Damian when his hands slid under the hem of her skirt and stroked her thighs.

“How can your thighs be hot on a night like this, my duchess?” he murmured.

“Maybe because you are near me, Your Grace,” she teased.

“We should stop,” he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Like earlier, husband? Where’s the fun in that?”

During breakfast the following morning, Damian and Gwendoline sat across from each other. There were days where they preferred to sit right next to each other. The promise of touch and nearness had always been stronger than following the rules.

“We’re alone, anyway,” would be Damian’s defense.

“You are the master of this house,” would be Gwendoline’s.

Evan was there, though, sitting and eating breakfast with them while they tried their best to slice and eat their eggs and sausages like well-behaved children expected to be seen, not heard.

“Why are we quiet today?” Evan asked, watching them quizzically.

Gwendoline glanced at Damian and giggled. He tried to give her a stern look but failed. This time, Evan had to roll his eyes. Damian had never seen his friend looking exasperated. He was the sunshine to his gloom.

“Montrose’s men are getting restless,” Evan continued. “They’re losing faith in their mission. In their leader. We can perhaps push them a little more.”

“We can turn them against him by offering them protection or money,” Gwendoline added, stirring her tea absentmindedly. “Whatever it takes. Or we can proceed with the warehouse confusion. Interrupt a shipment. Leave clues that someone is onto them.”

“Mm. Those are great ideas, Your Grace. That will certainly make them wonder if working for Montrose is worth it if there’s a threat to their freedom or lives. In some cases, their reputations. We can also put pressure on some of your peers who have a stake in Montrose’s operations.”

Damian nodded.

There was a time when he would have intensely scrutinized every detail, with so much focus that it would be Evan’s job to lighten the mood.

Not this time.

He was too absorbed in the way the sunlight played with Gwendoline’s hair and the way the rosy hue on her cheeks made her come alive. Real.

She was here. She was real. The fascination would turn into passion again, and all he could think about was how to drag her back to his bedchamber and forget that the rest of the world existed.

Evan cleared his throat, pulling Damian from his increasingly lewd thoughts. “There’s also the ball next week. Montrose will be there. I wonder if we can make our move there.”

Gwendoline smiled. “It’s possible.”

Damian raised an eyebrow at his wife, wondering what was going on in that head of hers. She was full of surprises, which he liked. But surprises during their quest to catch Montrose in the act could be deadly.

“What are you exactly planning, Gwendoline?” His tone held a warning that he hoped she could hear.

She exhaled and shrugged, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “You know that I can always distract Timothy.”

Damian didn’t like the sound of that, but he couldn’t express it the way he felt it. “Be careful,” he said instead. “You should never underestimate him.”

“Neither should he underestimate me,” Gwendoline replied, her eyes flashing even though she tried to keep a light tone.

Damian understood that it was her own warning. She wasn’t pleased.

“Her Grace can handle Montrose. She had lived with him for years, Your Grace,” Evan pointed out.

For a moment, he was back to his cheerful self, although Damian had started to see cracks in him. He cared about Levi and Mary, too. He wanted justice for them.

“We’ll just have to stay close to each other,” Damian insisted.

The other two nodded meekly, but somehow he suspected that they were willing to put their lives in danger. They wanted to catch Montrose as soon as possible.

He did, too. There was a time when he would have been more insistent on hunting for Montrose faster, but he had become more cautious the more he got to know Gwendoline.

As soon as Evan left the room, Gwendoline rose to her feet. Then, she quickly stepped behind Damian and wrapped her arms around his waist. He leaned back lightly, feeling the connection between them. It was so natural. He didn’t have to think about what to do when it came to her.

“You worry too much, my love,” she whispered. Then, she paused as if her own words startled her. The following two words were huskier, almost as if she was choking on them. “Trust me.”

I do.

However, Damian didn’t say the words out loud. Instead, he held the hands on his stomach and threaded his fingers through hers.

Entwined.

It was beautiful and terrifying.

The days and nights blurred together. The two took advantage of every moment, stealing time to be together in various parts of Greyvale while savoring kisses and more in the bedchamber.

In the garden, Damian pressed her against a stone wall and kissed her until she saw stars—and almost forgot her own name. In the study, they christened his desk. He would say that she started the dance by massaging his shoulders. They debated over the safety of their next move and whether they needed more men.

“Would you like to relieve the tension elsewhere,” would end their brainstorming session, and they’d be lost in each other again.

At night, there was nothing that could quench their desire for each other. Gwendoline had never thought that she would be insatiable when it came to the art of making love and that she would hunger for him and know each part of his body and how it reacted to each touch and lick.

It should be the best days and nights of their lives. But they’d often stop—out of duty, out of guilt. Timothy’s shadow continued to loom over them. Every kiss and touch came with knowing that they could not fail. It wasn’t an option. They had a mission.

Gwendoline often made light of the situation with her quick plans and cheerful disposition, but deep inside, she knew why Damian was worried.

She would never return to Montrose House. No. She felt alive and free in Greyvale. Her marriage might be unconventional, born out of revenge, and with a man who often ran cold, but it was the only thing she wanted right now.

Damian made her happy. However, she understood the possibility of their current blissful state ending even if he wouldn’t consider divorce. He would never ruin her, but he could simply abandon her.

One evening, after another run-through of their final plan in the study, Gwendoline could not help but ask. Her temples had been throbbing the whole day, and her palms were cold.

It must be the chill in the air.

“What happens then?”

There were no more lighthearted jests this time. She wanted to know the answer even if it hurt her.

“When Timothy falls and you—we—get our revenge and it’s all over, what will happen? What will happen to me?”

Damian looked up from the papers on his desk, his expression frustratingly unreadable. He was like that—all clean lines and serenity on the outside and a ticking bomb on the inside. Gwendoline had learned to live with it because she’d seen him whenever the bomb exploded into unimaginable passion.

But now she worried about a different kind of explosion. Of anger. Of destruction.

“Then we rebuild together, Duchess,” he said in the even tone he’d used when she first met him.

She didn’t like it. His words were what she wanted to hear, but they were delivered through waves of false placidity.

She smiled, but she knew she couldn’t hide the sadness she felt. “Promise me something, Damian.”

“Anything.”

She thought that his answer was too quick. She did notice that he straightened his back and leaned toward her.

Hope. There it was. She didn’t want to entertain it, but it liked to peek and tease her.

“No more ghosts,” she said softly. “Just us.”

“That’s a promise I can keep,” he agreed earnestly, pulling her toward him.

Gwendoline wanted to scream and push him away. She wanted him to stop reaching out to her and for her to see if he would still want her if there were physical barriers between them.

But she was weak.

Whenever he pulled, she gave in. What fool could resist the kisses of a handsome duke? She had pondered on it for so many nights and realized she could be that fool. She could say no to a handsome duke but couldn’t say no to Damian.

Kisses always led to more. Every worry seemed to fade away whenever they fell together in his bed. She pushed them away, even though they’d be there again tomorrow when she woke up.

The war wasn’t over yet because the battle had not even begun. But neither were they. They were just beginning.

Or at least, that was what she wanted to believe.