Trapped with the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #5)

Chapter 3

“ Why are you doing this, Your Grace?” Gwendoline asked, looking up at him.

As they stepped outside, the cold air nipped her skin. She was surprised, but not really. The heat inside the parlor came from deep within her. The tension she had to live in. The constant fear.

Surprise and apprehension bloomed within her. Could there really be anyone willing to save her? Take care of her? It seemed too good to be true.

For a fleeting moment, the duke’s eyes became distant. Angry. His jaw clenched when he seemed to recall a haunting memory.

“Did he hurt you?” he only asked.

Gwendoline nodded, her throat constricting. She breathed in and out quickly, trying to ease the tightness in her chest. Yet, she felt a flicker of hope. A lightening of burdens. It had been a long time since she had felt this way.

Even so, how many prospects did a young, unmarried, and impoverished daughter of a dead earl have, especially when she was wearing a ridiculous gown?

Her mind was flooded with various thoughts, and when they finally reached the duke’s waiting carriage, she broke the silence.

“Why are you doing this? I am a stranger to you.”

“No one deserves to be treated like merchandise, Lady Gwendoline. The only way I could take you out of that situation was to offer marriage.”

Gwendoline studied his face. She hoped to see a nervous tick, or perhaps a glint in his eyes that would reveal hidden motives.

She couldn’t find any. At least, none that she could discern.

“Montrose will never lay a hand on you again. You have my word,” he said as though he could read her thoughts.

Gratitude and skepticism swirled in her chest.

Promises .

Gwendoline could not find herself fully relying on them quite yet. It was why her mind was in turmoil, the clutter in it echoing with the carriage wheels’ rhythmic clatter.

When the townhouse became a blur of distance and haze of the early evening, she finally realized the enormity of the decision she had made. She scrambled to hold on to the last embers of self-control by sitting stiffly, her back ramrod straight.

The velvet seat was plush, but she wouldn’t allow herself to fully succumb to its comfort and the soothing rhythmic movement of the carriage. Young women should always be alert. Know where they were. Know their place.

Across from her, the Duke of Greyvale sat with the same straight, effortless posture. Still, his piercing gray eyes were watchful.

Perhaps they were both feeling the same way. She wondered if she was part of an intricate revenge plan. If that were true, it seemed that she was being punished, too.

The carriage interior felt suffocating. Worse, the duke in question filled the small space with his presence. She was aware of their every movement and every breath. She wanted to scream.

What was she thinking?

She escaped the control of one man to throw herself into a stranger’s arms. She exchanged a known danger for an unknown one. It didn’t seem like a sane decision.

She cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady. “I still have my doubts, Your Grace. I do not know you.”

The duke’s expression remained inscrutable, but his sharp eyes had somehow softened.

“It was the only option, Lady Gwendoline. We both know it,” he said, confident that she would understand that completely.

What would it be like to have that self-assurance, she wondered.

She shook her head. In that regard, he seemed like Timothy. They were certain about what was good for her. She couldn’t help but let out a bitter chuckle.

“I never jest about these things, Lady Gwendoline,” the duke reassured her. “I could not leave you in that house after what I had seen.”

Comforting words. No, Gwendoline was not used to them. She could still hear Timothy’s voice echoing in her ears. His cruel, insulting words. The way he implied that she was nothing but a pair of breasts and a womb. It almost made her want to find a blanket to cover her body.

Her fingers curled into the folds of her dress—her wedding dress. She scoffed at how ridiculous she looked, tightly bound in cheap white cloth.

Her curiosity and fear came to the fore, and she couldn’t help but ask, “So what happens now, Your Grace?”

“We are headed for my townhouse. It’s secure—you will be safe there. I will talk with my servants so that they will know what to expect. Meanwhile, I will make the necessary arrangements for our marriage, after which we will head for Greyvale.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How on earth can you be certain of anything? That you’ll obtain a marriage license so quickly? That you’re not making a massive mistake?”

“I have my ways, my lady.” Damian smiled, but this time, all the humor was gone.

Gwendoline could only guess that there was something dark behind that statement. She also wished that he wasn’t too damn handsome even when he frowned.

Wait. She shouldn’t be thinking that at all.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she pressed, frustrated at being left in the dark. “You barge into the parlor, disrupt everything, and now you are telling me that obtaining a marriage license is as simple as having your servant serve you tea?”

“Yes, I can obtain a marriage license easily. I have enough power and influence to grant me those privileges. It is as simple as that,” he said, with a lopsided smile. “And I would rather have my servant serve me brandy, not tea.”

His nonchalance maddened her. His inscrutable face was also just as maddening. Still, she found him fascinating.

She tilted her head to the side, studying the man who saved her from a forced marriage, only to offer himself as her husband.

The Duke of Greyvale was a puzzle. An infuriating one. Usually, Gwendoline prided herself on reading other people’s thoughts and feelings, but she drew a blank with him. It didn’t sit well with her, and she suspected she would be restless the whole time she was with him.

“So, you really weren’t bluffing?” she asked, her eyebrows knitting.

“I do not bluff,” he said calmly. But as his smile widened, a sliver of the man behind the title peeked through.

After that commanding declaration, silence fell over them again.

Gwendoline didn’t know where to look. Staring at the duke might give away her fascination with him. But it couldn’t be helped, right? He knew she wanted to peel back his layers, to find out why he did what he’d done. Looking away, on the other hand, would seem like she was shying away from him, even though she was afraid of him.

After a few moments, he broke the silence.

“I know what kind of man Timothy Landon is,” he said, before heaving a sigh. “I have seen what men like him could do to women. And inheriting your father’s title has not helped.”

Her breath hitched at his words. How could this stranger affect her so much? Perhaps it was because he had saved her, and he understood what women like her had to endure. Yet, there was something else that she couldn’t quite place—something hovering in the recesses of her mind.

Gwendoline wanted to know more, but something on his face and his voice warned her not to pry.

“What Lord Montrose did to me was cruel and degrading,” she began haltingly. “But marrying me…”

“Marrying you?” the duke echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“I want to know if you’re doing it because you pity me.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed, the gray darkening.

“Pity?” he repeated and shook his head in disbelief. “Lady Gwendoline, you inspire many things in me, but pity is certainly not among them.”

Gwendoline found herself leaning away from him. His words and actions were still ambiguous, even though she didn’t feel afraid enough to jump out of the carriage.

The duke also straightened. Then, he watched her with the same coldness as earlier. His expression had become more neutral, more in control.

“This will be a marriage of convenience,” he clarified severely. “You will be my duchess. You will be treated with all the respect the title commands. However, there will be nothing more. There will be no love between us—not even pretense.”

Gwendoline shivered. She stared at the man in front of her, her mind racing to process his words.

Who would do something like that? Trap themselves in a marriage of convenience?

Several people in the ton, apparently.

Still, she longed for the love her mother and father had. Her mother’s death when she was sixteen broke her, but it had broken her father even more.

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but you are vague and cold,” Gwendoline said. “Why should I believe you are doing this out of the goodness of your heart? Or are you on your way to self-destruction, and you’re merely dragging me down with you?”

His expression hardened at her words, but she couldn’t find in it herself to regret them.

“Trust is earned, my lady. Consider the alternative, though. Would you return to Montrose and his schemes? Would you risk that?”

“I don’t know what or who to believe in this world,” she admitted softly, tearing her gaze away from him.

The clatter of wheels seemed to slam through her consciousness. Even then, the sound seemed more muffled than before, as she was so consumed by the man before her. There was something about him that captivated her, that made her stare at him for longer than she ever had any other man.

It startled her that she had zoned out for a long time, focused on the infuriatingly mysterious man in front of her.

Her savior.

Or her captor?

Somewhere in between.

“You have a sharp tongue, Lady Gwendoline. I’ll give you that,” the duke murmured suddenly, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Somehow, his deep voice slid over her skin like a caress. Startled by that strange sensation, Gwendoline could not help but gaze back at him.

“This isn’t an elaborate plan to entrap you,” he continued, his lips curling into a maddening half-smile. “I have far better things to do, and you’ll quickly learn that.”

Yes, a man like him would be more calculating. He wouldn’t give in to his impulses. However, he also didn’t seem like a man who would barge into another man’s parlor simply to invite his cousin to leave with him.

Or would he?

Gwendoline imagined a moment when his eyes had lingered on her. It could be her heightened senses, her active imagination. Whether or not his attention had been on her, she had noticed the intensity in his eyes.

What had his eyes seen?

What things did they want? Liked?

Still, she bristled at his words. She dug her fingernails into her palms as she tried to keep her temper in check. For someone who had been silenced for too long and thrown into a situation that she hadn’t asked for, it was a challenge.

“Far better things to do? Is that supposed to reassure me? Pardon me, Your Grace, if your self-sacrificing hero act seemed more like a power-hungry man showing others that he would do things simply because he could!”

The duke remained unperturbed by her sudden outburst. He raised an aristocratic eyebrow, further irritating her. He remained calm, and even that slight arch of his eyebrow sent a shiver of irritation—or something else—through her.

“Pardon me then, Lady Gwendoline, for finding your suspicion tiresome. You seem hellbent on arguing with the man who has just offered you your only chance for freedom,” he murmured, leaning closer for a moment, inhaling sharply as if he was breathing her in.

Gwendoline had to swallow a gasp.

While what the duke had said made sense, she was too far gone in her anger. She was also furious at him and herself for what happened.

Freedom. The word hung over her, then dove to stab at her. It mocked and grated, like the rusty bars of a cell.

“My only chance for freedom?” she snapped. “It seems to me that you have taken me out of one cage and are about to put me in another.”

The accusation hung in the air. Gwendoline almost regretted it. She had lost her temper, and it was not something she wanted to do in front of the duke. In front of anybody.

She swallowed hard, as he didn’t even seem bothered by her outburst. He said nothing, keeping his gaze steady on her. His calm intensity unnerved her. Disarmed her.

“All right then,” he said as if he understood her point. His voice remained firm, though. “If you truly believe that, think about it this way. This cage comes with a key. You control it. You can use it whenever you wish to come out.”

Though her heart and dignity had been bruised so many times, Gwendoline’s anger fizzled out as she realized what he was saying. Nobody had offered her a key before. Yes, she could potentially leave a house without shackles, but it was all an illusion.

Nobody had offered her the illusion of freedom before, let alone the real thing. It dangled before her like a feast just out of reach from a starving man.

“A marriage of convenience, you say, Your Grace,” she replied bitterly. “Convenient, indeed. I am already dressed for your plans.”

Gwendoline hated that she found herself relenting. With any other man, she would have been out of the carriage a long time ago.

Surprisingly, the duke’s lip twitched, as if he was trying to stop his amusement from cracking his mask of stoicism. Then, he took a slow, deliberate breath as his gaze swept over her with a heat that made her stomach tighten.

What was he doing?

What was he doing to her ?

“Nonsense,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, as though the words had escaped without permission.

“What?” she asked, startled by the sudden change in his tone. “What do you mean?

“You will take that dress off,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Pardon me, Your Grace?” Gwendoline squeaked, her eyes widening.

Heat rose to her cheeks and spread over her décolletage, pooling low in her belly. But the man didn’t seem affected. Tension crackled in the air between them, and she wondered if she was the only one who felt it.

His eyes seemed to tell a different tale. They bored into hers as his jaw tightened. Those gray orbs looked hungry, almost predatorial. Strangely enough, she didn’t mind being the prey this time. She tried to shake off the feeling.

“Because I will burn it and acquire a new one—a better one—for you,” he replied in the same even tone, but his eyes were burning with anger and something else she couldn’t quite name.

What she could be sure of was that the gravel in his voice sent shivers up and down her spine.

Gwendoline blinked. Once. Twice. The duke was still watching her with the same intensity.

The carriage began to slow down, announcing that their destination was near. Even when the rattling decreased, Gwendoline barely noticed. She had been ensnared by the thrilling pull between her and the duke. His eyes told her that he wasn’t wholly unaffected as she had initially thought. They followed her every move as if trying to see what she thought of Greyvale.

For the first time in a while, Gwendoline felt like she might have found safety.