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

Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

“ I am tired of it,” Gwendoline confessed. “Every time the rest of the ton see me, they think of Montrose’s lies. I could understand if they acted like this in the beginning, but not now. Not when they have seen what I am like in person.”

Soon, the ballroom had begun to settle into a quieter, calmer rhythm. Even the buzz of conversation had died down.

After Gwendoline and Damian took a break on the balcony, they went back inside.

Gwendoline was no longer as apprehensive about the people around them, freely mingling, talking, and laughing. She especially became more relaxed when she found Abigail and Alexandra.

“Do not mind them,” Alexandra said. “There will always be someone like that, eager to make you feel less because they want to hide their own insecurities. They want to feel and look better than others.”

“It can be a struggle with them,” Abigail agreed. “However, the ton most likely no longer think of that particular scandal. It’s not quite as scandalous as a marquis with a mistress, for example, or a young viscountess who left her home without a chaperone.”

“Oh.”

Gwendoline’s interest was piqued. She knew it was wrong to inquire about those incidents, knowing full well what it felt like to be the subject of gossip. However, she understood some of the allure of knowing such things about other people.

Soon, though, the conversation veered into more lively territory. The three young women promised to visit each other more. The promise of keeping in touch lifted Gwendoline’s spirits.

Perhaps things were getting better, after all.

“Let’s explore the garden,” Alexandra suggested with a smile. “That is if you want a respite.”

“Certainly,” Gwendoline replied, smiling widely. “How about you?” she asked Abigail.

“Let’s go together, before the gossips notice. We might even see some tales fit for the papers there,” Abigail said mischievously.

The three women felt rebellious walking out into the garden at night, wrapped in their shawls. They were freer with their stories away from the rest of the guests. The garden seemed to sprawl like a dark, tranquil sea, tempting and foreboding at the same time. Gwendoline heard the rustling of leaves in a corner near a copse of trees.

She didn’t know how long she was preoccupied by the sound. All she knew was that when she turned around, her two friends were far ahead. Abigail and Alexandra seemed to have met a few more ladies of the ton. They were laughing.

Gwendoline could only guess that they were laughing about having the same idea that night. All the young ladies wanted to escape the stuffy ballroom and the judgmental stares of the ton.

She turned left and right, suddenly wondering where Damian was. She couldn’t understand the sudden urge to find him.

That was when she heard a voice. His voice.

“Oh, so where is your other half? How charming. Why did he let you out of his sight?”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Even before she turned around, she knew who was behind her. How could she not?

She slowly turned around, barely able to breathe past the dread clogging her throat. Timothy Landon emerged from the shadows, a smirk on his face. His dark coat blended with the night, with only a bit of moonlight illuminating his form. The light was enough to reveal his glittering eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, instinctively stepping back.

Her heart leaped in her throat, a heavy lump that seemed to expand as time went on.

It was only a few seconds. But with Timothy, they felt like more. It had always been more. Like an eternity of suffering.

“Where are the ledgers that you stole from me?” he asked, still smiling, but danger dripped from his voice.

He was not here to jest with her. It was a grave matter for him, and it looked like he was willing to hurt her. He had tried to hurt her before. Not once, but twice. It could be more, but perhaps she was fortunate enough not to have learned of any other attempts.

“I-I don’t know what you mean. I’m going back to the ballroom now. My husband must be looking for me.”

“Where are the ledgers? I am giving you one last chance to tell me so that nobody gets hurt.”

Again, there was that dull monotone, full of warning and dread even as he looked at her with a grin on his face.

Her blood ran cold.

“I don’t know,” she insisted, afraid that her voice would rise to a squeak. No matter what—no matter how afraid she was—she didn’t want him to hear the fear in her voice. To know that he still held some control over her life. “Whatever it is you think I have, I don’t.”

“Oh, but you do. I know you do. I am not certain how much you know about the information your dear husband has been collecting about me, but I know you know enough.”

“I think you need to stop this right now, Cousin. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her mind reeled. She looked left and right to check if anyone could see what was going on. Everyone was too far away to see or hear what they were talking about. Timothy’s eerie smile could be misconstrued as friendly from afar.

He stepped closer. She stepped back.

He took one step closer, and she stepped back again.

This time, her knees were shaking, although she had managed to keep herself upright. His figure loomed over her. It always had—something she had struggled to escape.

“Lying is beneath you, Gwendoline. You know that you’ll regret it if you don’t tell me. Haven’t you been in enough danger? How were the sweets? The mare?”

He was admitting to his treachery in front of her, but she would not have any evidence of their conversation. Her heart thundered against her ribcage.

Timothy meant to hurt her—and more.

“You’re evil,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “I’m evil? Do you know what you’re talking about?”

For a brief moment, his face almost looked pained. It made him look younger than his thirty-eight years. At that moment, Gwendoline almost felt sorry for him, remembering talk about how his father had been cruel to him—his second born.

But the pity turned into anger when she reminded herself that Timothy had taken her father’s title. He took her life. And because she was a woman, she wasn’t able to do anything about it.

Her face hardened, and the villainy in Timothy’s eyes returned.

“Yes, you. You now have everything my family had, and you are still not content. You just had to?—”

She didn’t get to finish what she wanted to say, for he lunged at her. The wind was knocked out of her at a shocking speed. He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. She whimpered.

He leaned closer to her ear and turned her left. “Do you see what I see, Gwendoline?”

Gwendoline saw Damian by the window. He was talking to some of his friends. Her chest tightened at the implication that Timothy knew precisely where he was at that moment. She knew her cousin was issuing a warning, and he meant it.

“W-What’s going on?’ she asked, although she knew it.

She knew what Timothy was trying to tell her, but her whole being rebelled against it. How could a man become so evil?

“I know where your dear husband is. It is apparent. We are looking at him, Gwendoline. We are looking at the man who somehow took in someone like you. What did he see in you?”

She tried not to sob. Timothy knew how to hurt her physically. However, he had started with this—bitter jabs at her appearance even as he pawed at her in the end.

“That man doesn’t love you. He is all for appearances. After I spread the word of your wickedness, he is bent on proving to everyone that you are his truly. It’s all for show, Gwendoline. After he has me locked up, do you think he will still want you?” he continued, his breath hot on her ear.

“I have no illusions of fairytales,” she retorted. “However, he cares for me enough, and he is an honorable man. Certainly not like you. I’ve heard about the things you’ve done.”

“Oh? Did you? The things I’ve done, and I’d do? Do you see how close we are right now, almost in an embrace—albeit a tight one? But the ton doesn’t know that, do they?”

“I don’t care much for gossip. You’ve already tainted my name several times, Timothy.” Gwendoline somehow meant every word.

“You don’t care much for gossip, but I have a man in there looking the part. He can do so much damage. Perhaps shoot Greyvale or maim him. Poison him, maybe? He has been sampling his favorite foods, and we know what they are. Remember that I knew him before you’d even heard of him.”

Gwendoline’s heart rate quickened again, her panic rising. She tried not to give in, remembering how Damian had taught her to defend herself. To fight. It wasn’t much, but it should work.

She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her lips. She pushed all thoughts out of her mind. Then, summoning her courage, she shifted her weight and drove her elbow into her captor’s ribs with all the strength she could muster.

Timothy let out a grunt, loosening his grip a little—and for a fraction of a second. But Gwendoline didn’t need much. She used that second to twist free and face him. Her chest hurt from panting, but she was prepared to fight.

However, he chose that moment to pull out a pistol. Gwendoline gasped. However, he didn’t aim it at her. Instead, he aimed it at the window where Damian still stood, laughing.

“Scream if you want to, Gwendoline. Damn it. You can even scream louder. I will give you a reason to.”

“Put that pistol down,” she begged. “You don’t have to do this, Timothy.”

“Then give me the location of the papers. Now, Gwendoline.”

There was no smile on his face now.

Gwendoline’s mind raced. Was there any way she could get away with withholding information? Her eyes flicked back to her cousin. No. Evil had overtaken him. He wouldn’t let her get away with anything.

So, she told him. She told him even though it broke her heart.

She and Damian had worked together to secure those documents. She thought of the night after they had found them. It had felt too easy, as if they were waiting to be collected. Something must go wrong after, and now it did.

“Ah, you’re more useful than I thought, Cousin,” Timothy said with sheer self-satisfaction before he swung his pistol and everything turned black.