Page 10 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Ten

“K nock, knock.”

Penelope whirled at her brother’s voice, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as she rushed to cover herself.

“Finley!”

She was practically ready, her lady’s maid finishing with the straps of her dress and the laces at the back. Her arms crossed over her chest. She was covered by her gown, but being caught not quite ready made her heart jump with nerves.

Finley stood in the doorway, looking her over in a way that made her feel as though she was not dressed at all. She tightened her arms around herself, her shoulders curling inwards.

She cleared her throat. “F-Finley, you ought to let a woman dress privately.”

“You are covered, are you not?” He gestured to her body, and she wished to shrink away.

Shyly, she nodded. “Yes, but still.”

“We are siblings,” he scoffed, waving her off. “If you must be shy around a man you have known almost all your life, then I believe we have some issues to discuss.” He flashed her a smile that he likely thought was teasing, but Penelope felt unnerved by it. “Where are you going? We do not have any calls today.”

“I am sure I can do something without it being us , Finley,” Penelope said, her voice smarting but trying to be bolder.

Her brother’s eyes narrowed. “Do not tell me you are meeting a suitor. Nobody has approached me to ask?—”

“I am going shopping with Cecilia!” she countered, slightly exasperated. “No suitors, nothing . Just two women shopping.”

Will you give me your permission for that, Brother ?

She held back her smart remark, biting her tongue.

Finley’s eyes narrowed at her tone as he looked her up and down once again. “Fine. Just… do wear a less revealing dress. Why, you look improper. Is this Lady Wetherby’s influence? It has her name all over it. Perhaps this is so you can attract some attention in public. I assure you that just because I will not be there, does not mean you can converse?—”

“Finley!” Penelope cried. “Do not accuse my friend of such things. It is not for any reason except for liking this dress. It is a lovely dress, one that you bought.”

The reminder seemed to slightly placate him, and he huffed. “You really ought to preserve your honor in public, Pen, and this dress does not help with that. I do not want anybody gossiping about you or our family simply because your neckline is rather low.”

You ought to not be looking at my neckline, Penelope wanted to snap.

“I am sure it is fine,” she muttered instead.

“Please, Pen. Do it for a worried older brother who knows how the scoundrels of the ton act. If I am not with you, I cannot protect you from them.”

He looked so helpless for a moment that she felt her resolve crumbling, as it always did.

Slowly, her shoulders slumped, and she sighed, beckoning over her lady’s maid, who had retreated to the corner of her room.

“I will wear the dark purple gown instead,” Penelope told her, mourning the soft lavender fabric she had to take off.

Her eyes landed on her brother, who stayed rooted to the spot.

“Brother?”

Leave. Please leave .

He lingered for another moment before turning around, but he did not leave.

Penelope motioned for her lady’s maid to be quick, silently redressing while her heart hammered. Every part of her moved stiffly, and her eyes did not leave her brother’s back, afraid of him turning around. But she asked herself anyway—why would he? He only wanted to ensure she was protected from leering men.

As her maid laced her into the new dress that covered her up to her neck, Penelope met her eyes and then quickly averted her gaze. Her maid knew plenty about Finley’s behavior, even though she would never dare to speak her thoughts aloud.

Penelope felt shame bloom in her chest.

“I am ready,” she announced.

Finley turned back, his face brightening. “Excellent. See? That is much more appropriate. Nobody will see your…” He raised his eyebrows as if embarrassed. “Well, I am sure you are aware of what I mean. Do not let those friends of yours get to your head, Pen. They are married and able to do as they please. They clearly care little for how an unmarried lady must present herself in public. Lady Wetherby is wanton, and I shall not have her influence your very honorable ways, as I have noticed her trying to do. You are well-behaved—do not let her sway you from that.”

Penelope wanted to fight back and protest, but it drained her to even have such conversations with her brother, so she only smiled as she needed to—as he would want her to—and nodded.

“Lovely.” Finley nodded as if she was doing well, and retreated from her room. “Enjoy your shopping trip!” he called over his shoulder, careless and uninterested.

Until Cecilia arrived, Penelope waited in her room, not wanting to endure her brother’s scrutiny again, but soon she heard the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels.

Peeking out of her bedroom window, her mood brightened at the sight of Cecilia being helped out of the carriage.

Hurriedly, she donned her gloves and hurried downstairs in a rather unladylike way, eager to be free of the house for a while—to be free of her brother’s attention.

Cecilia was halfway up the walkway to the house when Penelope opened the door, eagerly stepping outside and closing it behind herself.

Cecilia immediately took in her dress with a frown. “Oh, dear Penelope, that is not what you are wearing, is it?”

Penelope stepped back, frowning. “Yes. What is wrong with it?”

She hated that she had to act offended, as if she had chosen such a gown.

Cecilia hummed for a moment. “It is too warm for the weather, and I am sure you can afford to show a little more décolletage, no? If I was a spinster, I would be as daring as I could get away with—a walking enticement for the suitors.” Her eyes sparkled with glee.

Penelope huffed, stepping past her friend to climb into the carriage. “Yes, well, I am not you, and I am not a walking enticement.”

“Oh, but you could be,” her friend all but purred, climbing in after her and calling for them to set off for the dressmaker’s.

* * *

“I am thinking the beautiful red gown. What do you think?” Cecilia asked, holding the gown up to her figure.

Anything would look beautiful and elegant on her.

Penelope nodded eagerly. “I agree,” she said, her eyebrows raised. “A walking enticement.”

The two giggled for a moment before Cecilia nodded to herself, disappearing into a partitioned area to change into her dress. An assistant was on hand, ready to help.

Penelope waited outside, listening to her friend chatter.

“Will you truly not try anything on?” Cecilia asked. “You are a grown woman, Penelope. If this has anything to do with your brother?—”

“It has not!” Penelope insisted, keeping her voice hushed, but there was nobody else in the shop, thankfully. They had arrived early enough in the day.

She shifted in her high-collared dress, finding it stiff and too hot. Hooking a finger into the neckline, she tried to let her skin breathe.

“I just… chose unwisely today.”

Cecilia let out a huff of laughter. “Indeed, you did. Do you not wish to claim your boldness, Pen? Your beauty? You could have several suitors with their tongues hanging out if you only dared a little more! How do you think I ensnared my Reginald? My husband chose me because I knew how to present myself. I was nothing but a Persephone, waiting for my dark, daring Hades.”

She pulled back the curtain, striking a dramatic pose, her hair loose and tossed over one shoulder.

Penelope’s breath caught, awed by her friend’s confidence. Jealous of it.

Cecilia’s dress was nothing short of daring—a rich emerald green velvet gown that clung to her figure like a second skin, its low-cut bodice trimmed with delicate lace and a touch of sparkling crystals that caught the light with every movement.

The skirt billowed out in soft layers, but it was the daring slit that ran up the side, just high enough to reveal a flash of satin-clad leg, that truly set the ensemble apart. A ribbon of gold cinched her waist, drawing attention to her hourglass figure.

She looked every bit the woman who made her own rules—a vision of opulence and rebellion in one.

“Reginald is hardly a Hades,” Penelope pointed out. “Or daring.”

“Oh, you would love to know.” Her friend grinned secretively before she posed again. “What do you think of my gown?”

“It is most beautiful,” Penelope said, looking at it appraisingly.

Her neck and cheeks flushed, the stifling gown growing more uncomfortable by the second.

“I do not want beautiful,” Cecilia sighed. “I want daring . Dangerous. Enticing. Lest the ton think I am nothing but an old hag who has become a matron simply due to marriage.”

“Cecilia, you could not be a matron even when you are older and gray.”

Her friend sighed again dramatically, pressing a hand to her bare collarbones. “The marriage mart was my eternal spring, the Demeter holding me back from my full potential. Now, I reign in winter with my husband, and I will have the ton know that marriage is not the end of a woman’s life. It could only be the beginning of a hot, fiery story to be told.”

Penelope laughed at her friend’s bold speech, glad they were alone in the dressmaker’s, lest anybody begin to gossip about the scandalous way her friend spoke.

“I fear my Demeter is Finley,” she muttered.

“So you admit Controlwaite is holding you back,” Cecilia said. “You protect him too much, darling Penelope, when he does not deserve it.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Wait—oh, Penelope .” In her dress and all, she flung herself at the stool where Penelope perched, much to the assistant’s horror. “Do not tell me he chose your dress!”

“He—” The lie died on Penelope’s tongue. She bit her lip, not wanting to admit that he had, but not wanting to lie either.

But Cecilia looked at her as if she knew nonetheless. Her mouth opened, likely to issue more accusations, but movement caught Penelope’s eye and she turned, grateful for the distraction.

The dressmaker stood in the arched doorway of the changing area, a dress draped over her arms. It was the color of the richest wine, bold and darker than what Penelope often wore. The skirt, too, was fuller than her usual style, but it caught her eye immediately.

Cecilia turned and let out a gasp of excitement. “ Yes! ” she cried, rushing to her feet. “Penelope, this is perfect.”

“No,” Penelope answered quickly. “Absolutely not. It—it will be too revealing.”

“Exactly.” Cecilia raised her eyebrows in a way that dared her—that told her to take more risks. That told her she had taken too few already, and that was likely why her life had not changed at all. She took the dress and tugged Penelope to her feet. “Go, go! I want you twirling in this gown immediately—a glorious Aphrodite emerging from her clam.”

Penelope scoffed, not believing the comparison.

“Come on, Pen. Your brother is nowhere to be seen, and this is not the services of Mr. Gray. It is hardly a challenge. Just try it on, that is all. Let me admire you.” Cecilia rolled her shoulders back sensually. “Show a little décolletage, and for Heaven’s sake, air out your skin—it is as flushed as a summer beetroot.”

Penelope hesitated a moment longer, making both Cecilia and the assistant wait for her.

Minutes ticked by until she finally sighed and relented, snatching the dress from Cecilia’s hands. She disappeared behind the partition but poked her head out once, playfully scowling at her friend.

“I am only trying it on.”

Cecilia blew her a kiss. “Of course.”

Penelope refused the help of the assistant and pulled the dress on herself, adjusting it so it fell right.

She caught her own gaze in the mirror, about to dismiss the dress, but then she stopped, giving herself another look.

The beautiful fabric felt like water pouring over her skin, hugging every curve, and not in a way that made her feel stuffed into the gown, but as if it was made to fit a lady with her figure.

Her breasts were cupped securely, and the skirt fluttered around her legs and ankles prettily. The lacing on the sleeves was stunning, with beautiful threads cutting through the bodice, drawing the eye to the low neckline. It was far lower cut than any gown she already had, and her face flushed at the thought of being seen in it.

If Finley disapproved of her usual gowns, he would simply collapse at this one.

Perhaps he does not have to know about it , she thought, and then berated herself, for she would not buy it.

What use did she have for a daring, sensual gown?

“Make haste, Penelope. Let me see,” Cecilia’s eager voice rang out.

Gingerly, Penelope stepped out, facing her friend… right as the bell chimed above the dressmaker’s door.

Her gaze was drawn to the two people who had walked in.

Her heart stopped dead in her chest as she faced the Duke of Blackstone.

Her chest flushed for far different reasons than a high collar, for it was now practically spilling out of her dress. She had nothing to quickly cover up with, but she saw the Duke’s eyes land on hers.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and she swore she saw him miss his step and stumble, but he so quickly composed himself that she thought she had made it up.

“Speaking of Hades,” Cecilia muttered under her breath, smirking at her as the Duke, alongside Lady Arabella, approached.

“Cecilia,” Penelope hissed, about to disappear back into the changing area, but her friend kept her there, anchored, as if she wished for Penelope to be looked at.

Lady Arabella drew forward quickly, a gasp falling from her full lips. “Lady Penelope! What a stunning gown! Heavens, it is made for you.”

“Does she not look positively poured into it?” Cecilia said, smug on Penelope’s behalf.

Penelope fought not to meet the Duke’s gaze, even as she ached to hear his thoughts. But he remained silent, only staring at her with an expression she did not let herself look at long enough to understand.

“Indeed,” Lady Arabella said. “You are buying it, yes?”

“No,” Penelope said, right as Cecilia said, “ Yes .”

Penelope shot her a glare before speaking again. “No. For what need would a spinster like me have for a dress so beautiful?”

For a man who had been so full of offers the night they had met, the Duke really had clammed up now. When Penelope perhaps craved a compliment from a man.

But the thought only made more guilt spread through her when she thought of Finley asking if she wore low necklines to attract attention.

Her heart sank, and she mustered a smile.

“I was only trying it on,” she finished.

“I think you should buy it,” Lady Arabella murmured, gazing at the dress in envy. “And you are not a spinster!”

Penelope scoffed. “I am, for certain. It is a wonder my brother has not sent me off to the countryside to fester in isolation and to not be an embarrassment to him, as the ton says.”

“Ignore the ton.”

The Duke’s first words to her that day cut through the air, a firm command that drew her attention. His eyes were fixed on her fiercely, dropping lower, perhaps to her mouth, and then—Heavens, and then even lower, before his gaze snapped right back to her face.

“They are hard to ignore, Your Grace,” she said politely. “And I would be nothing but a fool to wear a dress so revealing to the next ball like an attention-hungry—” She broke off, so as not to call herself a nasty name.

Cecilia scoffed. “You are not a fool,” she said. “But you will be if you do not buy such an exquisite dress. You are indeed the forbidden fruit I told you that you should be, no?”

Penelope’s face burned, wondering what the Duke thought of such a description. “I will change out of it.”

“And we all know why your brother does not send you to the countryside, Pen,” Cecilia added as Penelope disappeared into the changing area to slip out of the dress, trying not to burn from humiliation.

Who was she, really, to try on such a beautiful piece?

She heard Cecilia speak again, but not to her. “Do you have a taste for fruit, Your Grace? Pomegranates, perhaps?”

Penelope put the bold gown back on its holding and dressed in her own, modest dress, stifling a groan at how tightly it constricted her curves. This dress was one she felt squeezed into, suffocated and overheated.

When she emerged, she found fewer eyes on her. Lady Arabella and Cecilia were discussing an upcoming ball, but the Duke immediately sought her. He raised an eyebrow at her gown as if the difference was startling, and he quickly gave her a nod before turning back to his sister.

“My brother insisted I be equipped with a new wardrobe, as I believe there are some themed balls coming up, and I worried I did not have anything appropriate to wear,” Lady Arabella was saying. “If it is not too bold to ask you both, I would love it if you stayed for my fittings. My brother may purchase the dresses, but he will simply tell me they all look nice—and I do not want to look nice . I want to look?—”

“Stunning,” Cecilia cut in. “Daring, a vixen seeking her prey?—”

“Less of that in my presence, at least, Lady Wetherby,” the Duke said, clearing his throat and looking uncomfortable. “In fact, perhaps I should visit the nearby gentlemen’s club while you try on your gowns, Arabella.”

“Oh, do not be shy, Your Grace,” Cecilia crooned. “Join us ladies—or are you afraid of so much feminine energy?”

The Duke looked painfully out of place as he tugged on his high collar, but his expression remained impassive. “Of course not. I shall stay.”

“I really ought to get back home,” Penelope piped up, her nerves gnawing through her the longer she remained in his presence, feeling off-kilter every time his attention landed on her.

“Oh, you shall stay, too,” Cecilia ordered, her eyes gleaming as if she was orchestrating the whole thing. “In fact, Your Grace, you must fascinate us with tales of your life. I am sure there have been many of late?”

Lady Arabella sighed. “He does not speak about of late ,” she said. “Do not try to get it out of him.”

“I do have my ways of getting any man to do as I wish,” Cecilia all but purred, winking at Penelope as if she was in on the whole thing.

Eventually, she pulled Penelope to sit alongside her, with the Duke between them. He was stiff as Lady Arabella was taken into the changing room, the fabric bunched in the assistant’s arms.

“It is very admirable of you, Your Grace, to accompany Lady Arabella to her fittings,” Cecilia said, starting up the conversation. “Do you not think it is admirable, Lady Penelope?” She leaned around the Duke, shooting Penelope a look.

Penelope shot her own back as if silently asking her friend to behave.

“Indeed,” she answered. “Most admirable.”

She shot Cecilia another warning look, but her friend merely smirked.

“Thank you,” the Duke answered tightly. “What sort of guardian would I be if I did not accompany my sister to such things?”

“It seems that some brothers are better staying at home, though.” Cecilia frowned. “Not you, Your Grace. In fact, Lady Arabella was speaking most highly of you to Lady Penelope during the ball the other night. At the Townsend ball?”

“She was?” The Duke glanced at Cecilia, who nodded so innocently before gesturing to Penelope. He turned to her then, and Penelope all but grew warm beneath his gaze. “What was she saying?”

“That you are… highly regarded,” she said lamely.

Penelope had never been a brilliant liar.

The Duke looked at her, the corners of his lips twitching, as though he was trying not to laugh.

“I see,” he answered. “And this high regard you speak of, was there anything in particular?”

“Nothing—nothing in particular.”

Heavens, why was her throat so dry?

Penelope shifted uncomfortably, silently cursing her friend for putting her in such a position.

“I am sure there was something.” Mirth danced in his eyes. “Shall I ask Lady Arabella?”

“No!” Penelope said, her voice tight. “No. Do not bother her while she changes. I… I believe we were speaking about… your perception.”

“Ah, my perception?”

Penelope nodded, still feeling shaky from being caught in her dress. “Your perception on the night we first met. You… you were perceptive.”

Oh, she could have cursed herself.

Cecilia blinked at Penelope’s terrible attempts at carrying out a conversation.

Penelope felt watched, vulnerable, not knowing why her tongue was running away with her so. She gave a nervous, uncomfortable laugh.

The Duke merely gazed back at her for a long moment. “Your gown looks very stifling, Lady Penelope. Are you sure you have the right seasonal wardrobe?”

“It is so considerate of you to inquire about such things, Your Grace.” Cecilia giggled, leaning in. “I asked Lady Penelope a similar question. Her taste in fashion is often rather exquisite, but I cannot help feeling as though there is something amiss today. Regardless, she looks beautiful in anything, do you not think? A tempting offering one must simply… taste.”

Penelope flashed her final warning, her breath short—she blamed it on the horrid dress.

She straightened up. “My gown is fine, Your Grace. It was much colder when I dressed than when I left my home.”

“Perhaps next time you should choose a more suitable gown,” he noted. “Something more… airy.”

“Airy,” she whispered, thinking of his eyes falling to her chest in the previous dress.

“More revealing,” Cecilia added, a suggestive chuckle escaping her lips. “She has a lovely figure. Do you not agree, Your Grace?”

“I am sure ,” Penelope interjected quickly before the Duke could speak, “that His Grace has far greater concerns on his mind.”

“Such as?” he challenged, as if he had wanted to give his opinion on her figure.

Suddenly, Penelope was lost in thoughts of what he might have admitted.

Heat rushed down her sternum, and she found herself at a loss for words. However, the snap of a curtain being pulled back to reveal Lady Arabella in her first gown saved her.

“Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed with more enthusiasm than necessary, jumping up to break the tension, to get away from the Duke’s all-seeing gaze that threaded lust through her.

Lust she could not allow herself to feel. Lust she could not help but feel all the same.

“Do you think so?” In a shimmering gown of silver, Lady Arabella twirled, the sleek skirt rippling down her legs.

Cecilia brushed past Penelope, approaching the young lady. “Darling, we know so!” she cooed. “You are dazzling. Utterly radiant in this gown.”

Trying to be bolder than she had been moments before, Penelope turned to face the Duke, finding his eyes not on his sister, but on her.

As soon as he was caught, his gaze quickly flicked to Lady Arabella, and he rose to his feet.

“Well?” Lady Arabella asked, hopeful. “What do you think?”

Behind the women, the Duke paused, his mouth pinched. It was not the sneer that Finley often sported when Penelope wore something beautiful, knowing that the beauty was an attempt to feel stunning while attracting suitors, but the consideration of a truly protective older brother.

“The important thing is what you think,” Cecilia countered, appraising Lady Arabella again. “You are a divine woman—empower yourself!”

Lady Arabella giggled, clearly high on Cecilia’s encouragement. “I must empower the man with the coins to buy the dress.”

“I would buy you whatever pleases you,” the Duke told her, sending a rippling silence through the three women.

Penelope shivered at his firm tone, the power in his words, the simple ease of purchasing as though it was not a large issue.

“This pleases me,” Lady Arabella told him, smiling gently.

Penelope stole a glance at the Duke, whose stern assessment had softened as he nodded. “Then it is yours, along with any others you desire.”

“How I wish I had such a man guarding me when I was a debutante,” Cecilia sighed, placing a hand on her forehead.

But in her teasing, she looked slyly between Penelope and the Duke, wiggling her eyebrows. Penelope pretended not to see.

Finley always bemoaned her expensive tastes, complaining that she was far too high-maintenance for a woman who had nowhere to be, no engagements to speak of, and no courtship to entertain. He often told her that the fancier gowns could be saved for such situations, but each day took Penelope further and further away from that hope.

Seeing the Duke regard his sister, so eager to make her happy, gave her pause. She had thought him cold and reserved, and yet that soft smile had still to disappear from his face. But as soon as his gaze caught hers, it vanished.

Penelope turned away quickly.

“I am buying my dress,” Cecilia announced, stalking into the partition alongside Lady Arabella’s, leaving Penelope alone with the Duke for a moment.

Side by side, they stood closely, waiting for both ladies.

“And your dress, Lady Penelope?” His voice was so low, as if he was shielding them from the eavesdropper that had disappeared behind the curtain.

“I do not think it is for me,” she said quickly, turning away.

A brush of fingers on her wrist made her pause, as if he made to ask her to stay there. But when she looked down, his hands were hanging at his sides, and she convinced herself that she had imagined him reaching for her.

“It is… The dress implies attending a certain house that offers certain services. Some ladies do not align with such things.”

“But when a lady strips back the specifics, she might,” he murmured. “Take away the house and find out why the lady was there, and perhaps she has a right to belong—to seek .”

The suggestion of her seeking desire at the escort’s house flared through Penelope, and she was sure her heated skin was not helped by her stifling dress.

She gave a tight smile as she drew away. Finley’s anger flashed through her mind, and she swallowed, nodding politely at the Duke to excuse herself.

By the time Cecilia had emerged, the Duke had moved to the counter at the other end of the shop to settle Lady Arabella’s bill, counting up the numerous dresses she had already chosen and continued to try on, even after assuring Cecilia and Penelope they were free to go about their day.

Cecilia settled her account in Reginald’s name and then turned to Penelope. “All we need to do is mention that the Marquess of Langwaite will settle your bill, and that gorgeous dress is yours, Penelope.”

She raised an eyebrow, both judging Penelope’s reluctance and suggestive of the daring woman she could be if only she wasn’t afraid of her brother’s temper and control.

Quickly, Penelope shook her head. “No. No, I cannot.”

“You could ,” Cecilia insisted.

But Penelope was already moving towards the exit, her body overwhelmed by both the Duke’s presence, the pressure, and her shattered nerves from Finley entering her bedroom earlier.

She was ready to wrap up her outing.

Cecilia took a long look at her, finally relenting. “Very well.”

Once they were in Cecilia’s carriage, Penelope practically counted down the seconds in her head until?—

“I overheard you speaking with His Grace while I changed.”

Penelope bit back a sigh. “I was being polite.”

“I could not hear your words specifically, but a man only speaks in such a tone when he is either angry and trying to remain composed, or his intentions are far darker and he does not wish to sully a lady’s name, even if he wants to with his hands and tongue.”

“Cecilia!” Penelope admonished, nervous laughter rising to her lips. “You are utterly shameless.”

Her friend scoffed. “Shame is the root of the ton, and if we all thought a little more freely, then it would be a far greater society, no?”

“It would be lawless,” Penelope countered.

“It would free beautiful women such as yourself from being labeled as spinsters,” Cecilia insisted. “My darling Penelope, you are a vivacious lady, and while the ton may deem you past your prime, you most certainly are not. We are the same age, and I can assure you I am still in my prime. Simply ask Reginald.”

“I will definitely not.”

“It is not only me who thinks such things,” Cecilia continued, her tone teasing. “I saw how His Grace looked at you. A man who, indeed, wishes to sully you. Not only with his tongue, I imagine.”

Heavens .

Penelope fanned herself as Cecilia cackled.

“You ought to know better than to push us together in the dressmaker’s,” Penelope scolded, trying to drag her thoughts away from just how the Duke might use parts of his body to sully her. How he may have shown her the very things he’d offered outside of the escort’s house.

“You know that Finley would?—”

“Oh, I am tired of that man,” Cecilia groaned. “Finley is a self-centered, arrogant fool who would not know the best for his sister even if it walloped him over the head. One day, I hope a suitor yearning for you will give back as good as Finley gives. I hope he fights for you, dear Pen, for you deserve somebody to speak up in your favor. Namely, a suitor as handsome as the Duke of Blackstone.”

“He is…” Penelope paused. “He is fine-looking enough. Let us not forget the rumors about him.”

“No, let us not forget,” Cecilia agreed. “For it only makes the man more tempting.”

Penelope laughed under her breath, dismissing her friend’s teasing. But perhaps there was truth to Cecilia’s claim.

The Duke of Blackstone did seem enticingly out of reach, swathed in dark rumors and stories, and that only made her more interested.

Yet, as the carriage returned her to Langwaite Manor, she forced all temptation out of her mind, for she could not afford one slip-up around her brother.

* * *

Once dinner was called, Penelope was in her room, trying to decide what to wear for the opera that she and Finley were due to attend in several days.

A knock on the door caught her attention.

“Enter,” she called, knowing that Finley rarely knocked without already announcing himself or striding in.

“Lady Penelope, I have a package for you.”

She turned to find a footman holding a wrapped package in his hands. Her heart rate spiked as she rushed towards him.

“Did Lord Langwaite see you carrying this to me?”

“No, My Lady. It was delivered with a very urgent request to be seen only by yourself. I thought it imperative to act on the orders, considering who they were from.”

“Who?” she pressed, eyeing the gift.

“I am not at liberty to say, My Lady. You are to find out when you open the gift.”

The footman bowed after setting down the strange package, leaving Penelope to close her door quietly and quickly go to her bed.

Her brother was downstairs in his study, but it seemed he always heard her secrets, from daring to try on a more revealing dress to writing down her exasperated thoughts.

She winced at every crinkle of the package as she slowly opened it. No doubt it was Cecilia, stubbornly gifting her something. Perhaps it was one of the other ladies playing a prank on her, daring her to be braver than her brother’s control allowed.

Yet, when she painstakingly peeled back every layer of gift wrap, she found the gown she had tried on earlier that day.

Her breath caught, and she reached out, afraid to touch it, lest it be a dream. Lest it be a curse , even.

She looked towards the door, her heart jackrabbiting against her ribcage. She felt as though her brother would already know her secret—that he would sense a forbidden, sensual dress being brought into the townhouse.

But she pushed away those worries and returned to the dress, plucking a cream-colored note.

Had Cecilia ignored her protests, after all?

Penelope’s breathing quickened.

It was not her friend’s familiar script, but the bold lines of penmanship not yet familiar to her. But the name signed at the end was.

Lady Penelope,

A lady must seek what she desires, and you do belong in this gown. Enjoy it, it is yours. Do not allow anybody to take that from you.

Sincerely,

The Duke of Blackstone.

A thrill shuddered through her, and, for a moment, she traced her fingertip over the curves of his hand, following the rounded o in his title, the solid dot that signed off the note.

She fingered the gown, feeling the beautiful silk.

She had never received a gift from a suitor—or, if she had, they had likely been turned away at the door before she even knew about them.

The Duke of Blackstone was hardly a suitor, but the gift rang with consideration, reminding her of his stumble in the dressmaker’s shop and how he had regarded her in the dress.

Her stomach fluttered at the thought of him continuing to think of her wearing it, even after she had left, and having it delivered so discreetly.

Yet her time indulging in the offering was cut short when she heard voices coming up the stairs—Finley and one of the footmen. She could already hear him barking orders, and she was instantly on her feet.

She shoved the new dress into the bottom of one of her armoires and spun around to face Finley as he strode into her room, hailing her down for dinner.