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

Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

“ N ow, we know what the warehouse is like. They’ve seen us and have accepted our presence,” Damian whispered.

After Evan mentioned just how close he was to becoming like his father, he focused on solving the Montrose problem once and for all. He decided to go to Greyvale and beg for Gwendoline’s forgiveness after everything had been resolved.

It was nighttime when Damian and Evan arrived at the docks. The only source of light was the pale moon, and yet it was clear to Damian that the place was a hive of illegal activity. He lurked in the shadows in his plain black cloak. Evan did the same.

So much depended on this moment.

Even though he had lost most of the documents, Damian pieced together all the information. His anger might have helped him learn the facts by heart. He had managed to disguise himself as one of Montrose’s smuggling partners.

He sent Montrose a message, hinting at a possible lucrative opportunity. He promised a shipment of rare goods, which were supposed to raise profits. With this new opportunity, Montrose was supposed to do better than any other rival. Damian had set the bait, and how he waited in a dockside warehouse.

The place was cold and damp. The warehouse was a tough place to navigate, labyrinthine with its crates and barrels. They were stacked up to almost the ceiling. There were so many places to hide illicit things.

Damian knew that it was the perfect means to smuggle goods, and Montrose would certainly fight to keep his control over it.

“Now what, Your Grace?” Evan whispered back.

“We come at the agreed time. We will have a few of your men hiding in the shadows. I will either come in disguise or you will. If you know a man with a good head on his shoulders, we can let him do the talking. He will pretend to meet about the generous offer.”

“We can do that,” Evan agreed. “I will draw a map of this place for my men to follow. They will know what to do.”

“All right then. I’m going to leave for Greyvale,” Damian said as they exchanged glances.

It felt like they had a lot to do. Then, when it was time to execute some of their plans, Damian had found himself sitting in his recently fixed study, thinking of Gwendoline.

They had been happy. It wasn’t pretend.

Evan’s words echoed in his ears.

“You are beginning to act like your father.”

In the present, Evan smiled at him and bid him good luck. “Take care, Your Grace. Your duchess awaits you. If you don’t come back in time for tomorrow’s meeting, I will be here with our men.”

Damian nodded.

He had just made an arrangement to meet with Montrose, but the latter wanted to meet tomorrow. The next possible meeting would be in a fortnight, and Damian couldn’t wait that long. He would have to see Gwendoline, ask a maid to pack her a bag quickly, and then they would be off to London. It would be a tiring but doable trip.

It would be worth it because, in the end, she would be with him.

What would he be if he had nobody? His victory over Montrose would be for nothing, and he would wonder if he had won at all.

It was almost sunrise when Damian’s carriage passed through the gates of Greyvale. His back ached from exhaustion, as if he had been carrying things on it.

The fatigue seemed to evaporate as something else threatened to take over. Something was wrong. He could feel it. As he neared the house, the feeling heightened.

He quickly stepped out of the carriage as soon as it rolled to a stop. He scanned the estate grounds as if they could give him instant clues as to what was happening or what had happened there. There was nothing. The place might look gloomy, but it appeared peaceful.

Then, there it was. Tension in the air. Damian grew up with it enough to recognize it. His father thought that he was merely being like his mother. Insane. Unreasonable. His father could only take facts, and he only kept things that were of value to him.

When he saw Mrs. Albright running toward him with her face pale and her eyes wide with fear, he staggered backward.

“No,” he muttered. “No.”

His chest constricted. He felt like he was dying, unable to breathe.

“Your Grace, I’m glad you’re here. Something has happened,” the housekeeper said.

Up close, Damian could see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

No. No. No.

“W-What happened, Mrs. Albright?” he asked in a voice he could barely recognize.

“She’s gone. Her Grace is gone,” sobbed Mrs. Albright, shaking her head.

“What do you mean gone?” Damian demanded sharply. “How is she gone?”

Words didn’t seem to register well. His ears were ringing as he grappled with the information he was receiving.

“Hannah will explain everything, Your Grace. She left. Before that, she had an altercation with one of the guards.”

Damian stormed into the house, his boots pounding against the marble floor. In the foyer, the young guard sat on a bench, trembling not from pain but fear. From the way he was looking up at him, Damian could tell that the guard was afraid of him and not of whatever happened to him.

“What happened to you?” he asked, deeply annoyed.

Why did he hire someone who couldn’t be trusted to do his job right?

“I tried to stop Her Grace,” the guard responded, scrambling to his feet and executing an awkward bow. “Uh, Your Grace.”

“Stop her from what exactly?” Damian asked, seeing red.

“She said she needed to leave Greyvale, Your Grace,” the young man explained in a rush. “I told her that she wasn’t allowed to, but she, uh, fought back.”

“She fought you?” Damian asked incredulously, looking the boy up and down.

The guard was only about an inch shorter than him, but he was still so slender.

“Aye, Your Grace,” the guard said hastily. He could barely hide his admiration for his charge. “She twisted my arm behind my back and kicked me. And before she fled, she apologized profusely.”

Pride and panic battled within Damian. Gwendoline had gotten what she wanted, using something he taught her. She was trying to prove something—or perhaps she really wanted to escape. Still, he worried about her. There were too many people like Montrose all around them.

“Did she say where she was going?” he demanded. He tried his best to keep his voice low so as not to alarm the younger man.

“No, Your Grace. All I know is that she was determined, and whatever she was planning to do must have been important.”

Suddenly, Damian felt a presence behind him. Somebody was watching him. He turned around to look at his wife’s maid. She was present when his wife received the poisoned chocolates.

Anger coursed through his veins.

“You,” he bellowed. “What do you know about this? I thought I was clear that Gwendoline should never leave the estate without me. Now, I’m hearing that she left at night on a horse, not even a carriage, and alone?”

Despite how nervous she was, Hannah managed to curtsy. She was trembling like a leaf.

“She left to help you, Your Grace,” she all but whispered. “She couldn’t bear to sit here and wait, not knowing what could have befallen you. She—I found a letter between the Earl of Montrose and Lord Marston. I found it in a corridor, as if someone was in haste to pass it on to somebody. I believe Her Grace was on her way to speak with him.”

“With him? With Lord Marston?” Damian asked, his heart sinking.

He couldn’t believe his wife had gone to a dangerous opportunist on her own. Marston was one of the named associates in the documents. However, he was also his own man. He had his own business, separate from that of Montrose. He was older and wiser. More cunning.

Gwendoline went straight to a nest of vipers.

“Yes, Your Grace. She left to see Lord Marston. She said that she wanted to help you, and it might be her only way to do so,” the maid cried, her hands fisted in front of her face as if to shield herself.

“Damn it, I won’t hurt you. But pray that nobody has hurt Gwendoline. We need to turn around and go back to London,” he muttered to his coachman. “Immediately.”

It was a tiring journey one way, and it was even more so back and forth. However, Damian could no longer afford to waste more time. His wife had left the night before and might have reached London in the early morning. Dawn, even, if Daisy had not bolted again.

Daisy.

Damian could barely imagine the horrific things that could have happened if Daisy had bolted again, possibly flinging her mistress down the dirt path—in a forest where wild animals roamed. He had never felt so much fear in a long time. The last time was when his mother had one of her episodes, muttering about nonsensical things while dancing in the garden.

Gwendoline’s courage might be admirable, but it was also reckless. She might have been bored, guilty, or a mix of both. The roads to London in themselves were dangerous, especially for an unchaperoned woman. Reaching either Montrose or Marston was even more dangerous, depending on the day and temperament of either man.

Damian urged the coachman to drive faster. His window was open, as he was prepared to catch a glimpse of anyone on the ground. They hadn’t crossed anyone on their way to Greyvale, so perhaps Gwendoline had reached London.

Hope bloomed in his chest, but his fear was more overwhelming. He didn’t know what he would do if something happened to her.

The poisoned chocolates? They had made him fly into a rage.

The mare and the tampered tacks? He had been terrified .

Montrose’s attack on Gwendoline? It had made him act unreasonably.

Never again. He would think rationally, consider what could be done and not what he was feeling. He had been cruel to her. He had been willing to hurt her simply because he was afraid of getting hurt.