Page 1 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter One

“L ord Fenton, I will ask you only once to avert your gaze from my sister.”

At one of her first dinner parties of the Season, Lady Penelope froze at the warning from her stepbrother, Finley Stewart, the Marquess of Langwaite.

Dread coiled in her chest.

Lord Fenton blinked twice as he registered her stepbrother’s words. “My Lord, I was merely coming to say good evening,” he said quickly, his eyes darting to Penelope.

“Then say it to her face, not… below her face. As tight as her dress is, it is not a call for attention.”

Penelope stiffened as Lord Fenton scurried away with a pink face.

Finley turned to her, his smile too wide for comfort. “There,” he said. “All better, no? I did not appreciate the way he looked at you. Forgive me for shooing him away—I could not help it.”

Penelope fought to talk back, but Finley was already striding on, the incident—like so many before it over the last several years—quickly left behind. She found herself doing what she did best: smoothing over the cracks her brother made in her life in order to keep her wits about her.

“It is good to finally gather with everyone. Do you not agree, Brother?”

Lady Penelope looked up at her brother and felt hope rise in her chest that she might still appeal to one of his better moods.

His eyes scanned the dining room, narrowing slightly. “Hmm.”

Penelope’s stomach dropped as he watched the guests. “What is it?”

“Do you see over there?” His dark, wavy hair caught the light as he nodded towards the other side of the dining room, where several men gathered, glasses of wine in hand, as their own gazes swept over the room.

Not so discreetly, they all peered in Penelope’s direction before turning back to one another.

She flushed, turning her face away in proper bashfulness.

“Lord Thurnman and Lord Gelling are in attendance. I did not realize they would be invited to such a prestigious event. They, too, will be watching you. I do not like it.”

“They are titled, Brother.” Penelope half laughed. “Surely they are entitled as we are.”

“They are barons.” His lip curled. “And I dislike how they regard you. It is as if they are questioning whether you may be served on this table, a sweet dessert for everybody to take a bite of, and they only wish for the first chance.”

“Finley!” Penelope chastised, nudging her brother with her elbow, attempting to make light of his assessment, even as the unease burrowed beneath her skin. “I am sure they think no such thing. I am not a dessert, nor even a main course, thank you very much.”

“And I should think not, indeed,” he answered, his voice tight. “For nobody in this room deserves a marquess’s sister.”

“Not even Lord Samuel?” she asked teasingly, only to be silenced by his sharp glare. “I apologize, Brother.”

“Was he the man you spoke with upon our arrival?”

“I briefly greeted him, yes.”

At his silence, Penelope only sighed, feeling that familiar weight settle in her chest. One of dread, of anticipation, of wondering what might set off his over-controlling mutterings that night.

She supposed she ought to feel grateful that he was looking out for her. Already, he had dissuaded one suitor at another ball the previous week, claiming the young man was drowning in debt only a week after becoming a viscount. Penelope had not known that but had thought the Viscount was charming.

Finley had not.

Their hosts, the Countess and Earl of Tilsbury, entered the dining room, and a hush fell over the crowd.

In the pale pink dress that Finley had bought her only the day before, Penelope felt scrutinized in a way that made warmth spread through her. It was as if a humble blush was permanently etched on her face. She rather liked the pinkness, though. It made her look friendly, some suitors had claimed. Approachable.

“Please be seated, everybody!” the Earl of Tilsbury exclaimed, gesturing to the long table set up in the center of the room.

Immediately, the guests strode towards the table.

Before Penelope could even think about claiming a seat next to a handsome lord she might get to know over dinner, her elbow was grasped. Steering her towards another seat, Finley shot her a glare.

“I shall make sure you eat well,” he muttered.

But she could only frown, not liking that he wouldn’t even let her move an inch away from him.

“Truly, do you have to be so close all night? I am five-and-twenty, Finley. I am able to make good decisions.”

“Evidently not.” His gaze flicked back to Lord Samuel, who was already tucking his napkin into his collar. “Come, Pen.”

Biting back a sigh at her brother’s usual behavior, Penelope sank into a chair next to him, mustering a smile—even though the room was suddenly stifling. Despite the fact that she sat next to an older gentleman as well as her brother, she felt as though she was not allowed to even greet him. He turned to her, his mouth opening, but was quickly diverted.

“Lord Langwaite,” he greeted Finley instead, quickly inclining his head.

“Lord Greenacre. Do ensure your hands stay in your space on the table. I shall not have my sister touched against her will.”

“Finley,” she hissed, keeping her voice low.

Finley only met her gaze and smiled that soft smile he had always given her as they grew up. The one that reminded her that every time she had faltered in her debut, and even before that as she prepared for it, he had protected her. Already, he must have saved her from dozens of terrible interactions and forced conversations with dull, boring, old lords who did nothing but talk about how many estates they had in all areas of the country.

“My apologies, Sister,” he murmured, not sounding apologetic at all. “I only wish for your evening to go well.”

Penelope sighed as their host greeted the table. She turned her attention pointedly to the Earl of Tilsbury as he explained the courses for that night.

As a lady who had always enjoyed her food, and with no mother to reprimand her for such indulgences, Penelope delighted in the courses listed.

“Haricot beans,” Finley whispered next to her, his eyes sparkling. “Your favorite.”

Penelope smiled brightly at him, but she did not need his running commentary. She bit back her retort and instead followed the feeling of eyes on her.

Across the table and further down were her friends—Mary, Cecilia, and Daphne—all seated with their husbands. The three ladies smiled at her, but she noticed how their smiles quickly faded as they glanced at Finley.

As the first course of white soup, followed by haricot beans, was served, Penelope kept her mouth shut, for she did not trust her brother to not tell her who to speak to. Still, she caught at least one of her friends giving him a dark glower.

Penelope fought back a laugh as her friend, Cecilia Davis, did not stop glowering when Finley followed Penelope’s gaze.

“I do not like the Marchioness of Wetherby,” he muttered, giving a tight, uncomfortable smile to Cecilia. “I feel as though she thinks she is better than us. Which she is not. I do hope you have told her that.”

“Her husband is a marquess,” Penelope pointed out. “She is as ‘better’ than us as your wife would be, should you take one.”

“Ah.” Finley only smirked. “Do not try to lecture me on such matters. That is not your place.”

Penelope only turned away from him and rolled her eyes as she tucked into her dinner.

* * *

After dinner was served and thoroughly enjoyed, the Countess of Tilsbury invited the ladies to go to the drawing room.

Penelope stood up, only to see her brother stand up as well.

“Finley, honestly,” she sighed, exasperated. “Do you wish to join the ladies in the drawing room, too, or may I enjoy the company of the female guests tonight?”

He scowled at her. “I was standing to greet Lord Frederick. He and I are due to discuss business that the swine has been avoiding, and I wish to cash in my part in our venture.”

Feeling slightly silly, Penelope cringed back. “Ah. I see.”

“Do not be so uptight, Pen. I know you will be safe in the drawing room from these… vultures.” He cast another judgmental glare around the room as guests began to step away from the table.

Brandy was already being served in one corner, and Penelope noticed that her friends were leaving the dining room. She ached to catch up with them, but Finley kept her back for another moment.

“Do not forget,” he whispered in her ear. “Should you need anything, I will be here. I do not trust those friends you insist on keeping around.”

“Then it is a good job they are my friends, is it not?”

Without another word to her brother, Penelope hurried out of the dining room and into the drawing room, where she promptly collapsed into an armchair.

Quickly, she was approached by her triad of friends, whom she had known since before her debutante days.

She had watched them all make excellent matches and rise in their social status, married off—and two of them already mothers—while Penelope herself had an unwanted guard who swatted away every suitor that approached her.

“Finally, you are alone!” The exclamation came from Lady Mary Pemberton, the Countess of Bathurst. She groaned as she, too, fell into a chair next to Penelope. “Honestly, Pen, I thought the Marquess of Controlwaite would never let you leave.”

Penelope sniggered. “If he ever hears you call him that, he will throw a tantrum.”

“He already does,” Cecilia huffed, sitting beside their other friend, Daphne Galpin, the Viscountess Ayersfield, on the settee opposite.

Around them, more ladies filed into the drawing room, indulging in their conversations. Some eyes flicked to Penelope, and suddenly, she felt very exposed for being the only lady in the room not being courted. Even the grim-faced Lady Priscilla, despite her terrible gossip of a mama, was being courted by a viscount who had recently come into his title.

“How has she not been sent to the countryside?” one lady across the room whispered, laughing at her, barely concealing their gossiping.

Why would they conceal it? Penelope was a laughing stock, a spectacle to be put at the mercy of the ton’s gossip mill.

“We all know why.” Another lady sniggered, not so discreetly eyeing Penelope with distaste. “The Marquess likes the influence, the way he can turn suitors away. It makes him feel important, I imagine.”

“True, but what a burden . If I did that to my guardian, I would simply banish myself to the countryside first.”

Penelope burned with humiliation before turning back to her friends, not able to stomach more.

“He is not controlling,” she said, her words strained. “He is… protective.”

Cecilia scoffed. “That is one word for it. For a moment, I half thought he would join us ladies in the drawing room. Does he wish to follow you everywhere? Even to the chamber pot, perhaps?”

“Cecilia!” Daphne chided. “Do not speak so impolitely.”

“Oh, come now. Do not pretend that you have any respect for Lord Langwaite.”

“I have respect,” Daphne countered, “and I will show it, as I was raised properly—and I must remind you that you also were raised properly, my friend.” She cast her eyes at Cecilia, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “However, it is true that I do not like him.”

“Does anybody?” Mary rolled her eyes, her expression quickly sobering. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Catching the light, it danced like fire. “He has turned away every suitor you may have had a chance of speaking with tonight, Pen. You are five-and-twenty and unmarried. In our society, it is a miracle that men give you any kind of attention.”

Cecilia let out a low, velvety chuckle. “Oh, but Mary, men do love the taste of forbidden fruit. The moment you tell them they cannot have something, they crave it all the more. And our dear Penelope—tragically labeled a spinster, though she may be—is the most tantalizing of all. For not only does she possess a beauty that could make a bishop reconsider his vows, but she is guarded by dear, overzealous Finley, who looms over her like Cerberus at the gates of Hades. Nothing excites a man more than a prize he is told he may not claim.”

She smirked and leaned in conspiratorially. “Mark my words, gentlemen love a woman they must chase. And with Finley snapping at their heels? Why, my darling Pen might just be the most sought-after morsel in the room.”

Daphne let out a sigh, pressing her lips together in a way that suggested both disapproval and reluctant amusement.

“Cecilia, must everything be reduced to temptation and scandal?” She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her gown before continuing primly, “Penelope’s marital prospects should not be likened to some—some salacious game of cat and mouse. A woman’s reputation is not a trinket for men to trifle with simply because they find the chase amusing.”

She turned to Penelope with a gentler tone. “That said, dearest, your brother’s methods are hardly helping matters. A gentleman may hesitate to court you if he believes he must first survive Finley’s wrath.” She furrowed her brow slightly before she added, “Perhaps a measured approach would serve you best—one that does not rely on either reckless pursuit or excessive protection.”

“What Daphne means to say is that you have a leech for a stepbrother,” Mary corrected.

“A leech who will never let you get married, for it keeps you beneath his thumb,” Cecilia huffed.

“He is my guardian,” Penelope countered, trying to defend her brother. She was terribly annoyed by his behavior too, but she knew he did it for good reasons. “I ought to be grateful. I do believe he has likely saved me from several terrible matches.”

“If that is what you must tell yourself to sleep at night, then by all means.”

Penelope tried to laugh it off. “Cecilia, you are quite terrible.”

“Terrible, honest. The two are synonymous, no?”

“I would much rather discuss how Daphne is glowing since having Hugo only several months?—”

“That is old news.” Mary waved off her attempt to deflect. “Cecilia, you must tell Pen what we have come up with.”

Penelope’s stomach sank. Her friends could be mischievous, especially in the name of slighting Finley.

She looked at the three of them—Mary, redheaded and already smirking; Cecilia, with her black waves of beautiful hair, already raising her eyebrows as if awaiting her moment to speak; and then Daphne, her blonde curls styled prettily back from her face, her cheeks rosy with the delight of motherhood even as her eyes showed the exhaustion of it.

“What have you come up with?” Somehow, she knew she would regret asking.

Cecilia glanced around them and then leaned in, her green eyes alight with mischief. “Well, we have been discussing amongst ourselves that you need something for yourself. You know… a night away from your stepbrother’s restrictions. All incredibly discreet, of course.”

“Whatever do you mean? What will be discreet?”

The ladies glanced between themselves, stifling giggles, before Cecilia continued, “We have arranged for you to meet with Mr. Julian Gray tonight. Consider it a gift from your friends, who only wish to see you live a little, dear Penelope.”

“Julian Gray?” Penelope said, shocked, trying her best to keep her voice down. “I am afraid I have to call for a doctor, ladies, for you all seem to suffer from insanity if this is your surprise or you think this is a good idea. You—you wish to match me for a night with the ton’s most notorious male escort?”

“It is a brilliant idea,” Mary interjected.

“No.” The refusal came sharp and quick, with Penelope shaking her head. “Absolutely not. I have done nothing of this sort before?—”

“Exactly,” Cecilia cut in. “That is precisely why it must be done!”

“Cecilia, hush.” Daphne’s voice was considerably softer, and even Mary turned quieter in Penelope’s prolonged silence as she tumbled deeper into her fear of their offer.

It was not so much the act itself that Julian Gray would provide—which Penelope was, admittedly, infinitely curious about—but more the thought of sneaking around behind her brother’s back and being caught.

Heavens.

“My brother is terrible at the thought of a proper, well-suited match, as is expected of me,” Penelope began slowly. “If he were to find out about this, I cannot fathom how he would react.”

“We understand your hesitation,” Daphne said quickly. “Goodness, when I first married the Viscount Ayersfield, I was terrified of our wedding night. But Harry was most patient and gentle with me. Very guiding and understanding of my fear.”

“Julian is trained in such acts,” Mary added. “He will guide you through any nerves and worry. Pen, this is a one-time experience, one that you deserve at your age. Even Daphne has agreed that it is for your well-being.”

Daphne flushed, lifting her shoulders in a small, helpless movement. “I did agree to it, and coming from me, I imagine that is quite alarming.”

“Indeed.” Penelope frowned, looking at the three of them in turn, slowly considering.

Did they truly think such a night of scandalous pleasure would fix her life as it was? Her terribly dull, empty life, where she was years behind everybody around her?

The label of spinster haunted her thoughts most days, heightened by her brother’s refusal of every suitor who attempted to speak with her. He had always been, and would continue to be, relentless in his drive to keep the suitors away.

Perhaps…

Perhaps, despite her fear, her friends were correct.

“We have arranged everything for you,” Cecilia told her, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “As we said, discretion is our utmost priority, for we want you to have a good night without being caught as well, for Finley will most certainly know it was us who arranged it. You shall leave through the servants’ entrance tonight, where a nondescript carriage will await you. The driver is one of my own, and highly trusted. He has been paid handsomely. He will also provide you with a cloak to cover any notable features and your fine gown.”

“I…” Penelope trailed off, still uncertain.

Was she looking at it in the wrong way?

What if they did not intend for it to be a scandalous thing, but something entirely private for her after a life of living beneath her stepbrother’s thumb?

“I do not know,” she mumbled.

“Say you will,” Mary enthused, her brow pinched but her eyes bright with hope. “It is painful to see how Finley swats away every interaction. Heavens, you cannot even greet a man tonight without him glaring or steering you away.”

That was rather true, and Penelope’s shoulders slumped in the defeating knowledge of it.

Was she depriving herself if she refused?

She would simply go back home with Finley, back to Langwaite Manor, and pretend like nothing had been suggested and refused. She would go back to being protected and kept inside those same walls, only to hope that her brother would be a little less overbearing at the next event and let her socialize as she ought to.

And the thought of that, of simply repeating the same happenstance every time, every day, with nothing to throw a wrong stitch in the carefully sewn pattern of her life, was the thing that solidified her resolve.

“All right,” she whispered, her heart constricting.

Was she really agreeing to this? Heavens, was she actually going to go through with it?

She was already nodding. “I will do it. I will meet Julian Gray.”

She did not accept out of comfort or a desire to experience such a night with the escort, but because her friends all gazed at her with hopeful expressions.

Penelope made herself consider the cost of the evening and nodded once more.

“How delightful!” Mary exclaimed, clapping happily. “Oh, I cannot wait to hear what stories you will have for us the next time we meet for afternoon tea. In fact, we ought to arrange that now. I have not seen Baby Ayersfield for a while. Perhaps we should have tea at Daphne’s townhouse.”

“Agreed,” Daphne said brightly. “I do believe Harry will be out on business meetings tomorrow, so we may discuss and hear Penelope’s stories without being disturbed.”

“Only, there is one disturbance,” Cecilia muttered under her breath a moment before a shadow fell over the doorway.

Penelope looked around to see Finley standing there, a frown on his face.

The Countess of Tilsbury saw him and declared it was time to reconvene with the gentlemen.

Penelope returned to her brother’s side, silently glancing back at her friends, still dazed and lost in her thoughts of what would happen later that night.

“What were you discussing in there? It looked riveting.”

“Nothing,” Penelope said quickly as the small crowd retreated to the dining room. “Merely Lady Ayersfield’s recent birth.”

And how I will become a changed woman tonight.