Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
“ G wendoline,” he began, his voice unsteady.
Damian and Gwendoline were alone in the same room after what had felt like an eternity. They were dressed for bed after long baths—the duchess’s second for the day—refreshed but hurting all over.
What hurt the most, however, was that Gwendoline would not look at him. It was as if she no longer cared whether he believed her or not. The last they spoke, she had begged him—after she had suffered a blow to the head.
“Your Grace,” she replied, reminding him of the yawning chasm between them.
Her voice was cold, and her body was angled away from him.
Damian knew that he deserved her cold response. He stepped back a few paces, unable to stand inhaling the scent of the woman who might not want him near. Who might hate him with all her heart.
“I owe you an apology.”
Her eyebrow rose, and the surprise flashed across her face. “Apology for what, kind sir? For sending me away? Calling me a liability? Not trusting me? Accusing me? So many things, Your Grace. My mind is reeling from all the possibilities.”
Her words hit him harder than any of Montrose’s blows. He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet her gaze.
“For all of it, Gwen,” he sighed. “I was a fool. I still am. None of the things I said and did are forgivable. I was torn between my fear of losing you and my fear that you were never mine.”
“Do you know what it felt like to be pushed aside when all I wanted was to stand by you? I confessed my feelings, and you banished me. I am not a fragile ornament, either, that you must shelve away.”
“I see that now. I was wrong. I let my fears and prejudices blind me to who you are—a courageous and determined woman. You’re not just my wife, Gwendoline. You are also my partner. My equal.”
“What changed? What made you realize all of this now?”
Curiosity flickered in her gaze. He didn’t see hatred. Instead, he saw hurt and openness. At least, that was what he wanted to think. He wanted to believe that he still had a chance with her.
“When I found out that you went to meet with Marston on your own, I was terrified. I was proud, yes, but I was also terrified. I didn’t want to lose you, and I don’t want to lose you now. I can take the cold shoulder as long as I know you are safe, Gwendoline. In the end, I realized I was afraid of becoming my father. Once he couldn’t see what he wanted from my mother, he banished her.”
“You’re not your father, Damian,” Gwendoline said softly but firmly. This time, she turned toward him.
More open.
Perhaps, ready to forgive him?
“No, I am not him!” he insisted to her—to himself. “But I was heading down that path. I hate myself for it. I lived my life with two goals—to avenge my friends and to become the opposite of what my father was. I almost failed with both. You helped me. I wouldn’t have done all of this without you. I was losing hope. I was lost in vice before you gave me a purpose.”
Tears welled up in Gwendoline’s eyes, but she blinked them away immediately. “Damian, I know what fear was—is. I’ve lived in fear for so long. I lived in fear when Timothy became my guardian. I was under his iron fist, waiting to be discarded or given away. To be sold off. Then, I lived in fear in Greyvale, trying to meet expectations. Trying to be what I’m supposed to be—a duchess. Trying not to be a liability.”
The last sentence felt like a dagger to his heart.
“You’re not a liability, Gwendoline. I did not mean those words. I was cruel and hurtful. But Gwen, I know you are my equal. From this day forward, I will treat you accordingly. I will not push you away. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
She had wrapped her arms around herself as if she was shielding herself from him. She was protecting her heart, and that stung.
“Words are easy, and you are gifted with them, it seems. How do I know they are real?”
Damian sank to one knee in front of her, his hands on her knee as he looked up at her. “Because I will spend every day for the rest of my life proving it to you, my love. I am willing to wait for you, Gwendoline. Just don’t give up on us, please.”
“You don’t have to kneel,” she protested, her breath hitching. “Please don’t do that.”
“I will kneel in the middle of Grosvenor Square if that is what it takes, Gwen,” he said gravely. “I love you. I am so sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier. I let you tell me how much you care about me without confessing the truth that has been festering inside me.”
“You’re an impossible man,” she huffed.
But her voice was softer, and she didn’t turn away from him. Instead, she remained seated while he knelt before her.
“And you’re an extraordinary woman,” he replied. “I don’t deserve you, but I will give my all and my life trying to.”
Gwendoline’s eyes searched his own. They welled with tears—tears that Damian didn’t want to see because they proved that the person who had hurt her the most was not Montrose, but himself.
“I-I love you, too, Damian. But if you push me away again, if you give me another reason to leave, I will?—”
“I won’t,” he interrupted. “I swear it.”
“Rise then, and kiss me,” she commanded, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Damian was glad to be of service. He was hungry for her kisses. It felt like years since he had last felt her lips on his own—felt their softness and warmth.
He poured his love, regret, and hope into their kiss. Words could not fully express them. So, he used what he knew—his mouth, his tongue, his devotion. When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled and exchanged stories.
“I am willing to kiss you elsewhere, savor you, adore you.”
She giggled at that—a little nervously, he thought. They had not made love in a long time. They had been too occupied with their battles.
“You know you’re insufferable,” she teased, breaking the last bit of tension between them.
“You will love me for it,” he said, kneeling back on the floor and lifting the hem of her nightdress. “You will love this.”
“I know,” she whimpered as his tongue trailed up her thigh to that spot that ached for him.
Damian knew that he must prove his love and devotion to her for the rest of his life, and tonight was the beginning. He knew it as he swiped the tip of his tongue over that bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. Hard on his tongue and so sweet, it prompted him to suck on it like a fruit until she was screaming his name.