Page 12 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Twelve

“I do not suppose Controlwaite will beat Stephen at Pall Mall in our own home, will he?” Mary asked Penelope.

The two of them squinted into the low afternoon sun as Finley and Mary’s husband, Stephen, played Pall Mall on the green in the distance.

“Surely he cannot need power that great,” Mary added.

Penelope sniggered. “You all must stop calling him that.”

“We will when he stops earning the name,” Mary replied cheekily. She was not as outspoken as Cecilia, but not quite as reserved as Daphne either. “But honestly, look at him. He is practically coaching Stephen on how to play, when he has long been proficient. It is quite condescending.”

Penelope did agree, but she kept her mouth shut.

Mary glanced at her. “You can agree vocally, you know,” she urged. “Finley cannot hear you. He should not control which words leave your lips.”

He certainly did not last week at the opera , Penelope thought to herself, and from the intrigued look on Mary’s face, she did not hide the accompanying blush very well.

“Penelope,” Mary began, her voice rising in question. “What is that look for?”

“What look?”

“That very one you are fighting to scrub from your face, but it is being ever so stubborn. It is like it is saying, Mary, do continue asking Penelope what she is clearly keeping from you. I do so love some gossip.”

“My life is not gossip,” Penelope countered, giving a dismissive laugh.

But there was a part of her that longed to recount the events of last week, to share the way the Duke had touched her, the way he had lit a flame inside her that hadn’t gone out—not for several nights—and she had chased that fire with her fingers but never felt sated afterward.

“At least not until I decide to make it such amongst us ladies.”

“Oh, Pen, you tease .” Mary giggled. “You must tell me at once while the men are busy.”

They sat on a bench at the edge of the Bathurst Gardens, watching the two men play while Emily and Amelia ran around them, giggling.

Penelope could see how they got on Finley’s nerves—more children to mess up his very tidy, ordered life—but he had insisted on joining her for a social outing, so he could endure this.

When, for a moment, only silence filled the space, Mary cocked her head. “Do you ever think about how we could easily beat the two of them?” She nodded towards Stephen and Finley, a smug grin on her face. “I would love to see your brother’s face when you knock every single one of his shots aside. He would get rather competitive.”

“He would throw a tantrum,” Penelope corrected, laughing. “But, oh, the satisfaction I would get.”

“And I would get satisfaction knowing what is the matter with you.” Mary lowered her voice, both of their eyes fixed on the men ahead as they strolled further away to other arches in the ground.

Amelia and Emily skipped along with them, Emily trying to slip a crown of daisies onto Amelia’s head.

“I have kissed a man,” Penelope whispered.

It felt ludicrous to keep such a thing so hushed when Mary had conspired to send her to an escort, but this was her secret, and she had tucked it away in her heart for days. She did not want to risk shattering it with a voice loud enough to be overheard.

“The… the Duke of Blackstone.”

“Pen!” Mary cried, drawing the attention of the men.

Finley put a hand over his brow as if squinting to look closer, but Penelope only waved, her smile tight, and he continued.

“You must be quiet,” she hissed, but her smile was loosening as she thought of the kiss, even as her stomach knotted with nerves. “He found me on a balcony at the opera last week. I was merely getting some fresh air and asked him to leave me alone, but he persisted, saying I did not seem well. In truth, I was not, not really. You see, Finley has had me wearing these awful, stifling dresses and—” She broke off with a heaving breath, finding herself rambling.

“And then he kissed me,” she continued in a whisper. “He said I am no spinster but a lady he desires. To be truthful, Mary, I have not stopped thinking about it ever since. It comes to me in flashes… very, ah, hot flashes.”

“Penelope,” Mary admonished, even though her eyes sparkled with excitement. “It is not like you to get so flustered over a man.”

“With Finley being so overbearing, I have scarcely had the chance,” Penelope sighed.

“How was it?” Mary whispered, her voice cracking with eagerness. “Do the others know?”

Penelope shook her head quickly. “Not yet. Daphne likely still sees the Duke as dangerous, and in truth, I do not know if he is not. And Cecilia would ask me why I have not woken up in his bed.”

Mary sniggered. “Of course, she would. But what was it like?”

“It was…” Penelope caught her breath, flushing as she recalled the feel of his hot lips on hers, dragging down her neck in a tangled moment of passion, each of them as caught off-guard as the other.

The feel of his fingers pulling at her gown, the tear in the collar that she had excused as rough handling of her own to Finley, stating she had been too careless when loosening the dress.

“It was dizzying. It was… well, I felt as though I was floating yet stood on two feet all at once. As if I was in my body, though I could not feel it, and yet I felt every touch. It was searing, Mary, and I… I have found myself… craving in certain ways.”

“What is stopping you?” Mary asked, taking her hands in her own. Penelope cast a glance at the men before looking back at her friend. “I know we warned you against the Duke, but that is a case of not knowing him. If you get to know him, and your judgment is good, then we can trust that.”

“But that is the thing. He excites me in ways I did not think possible, but… well…” Penelope sighed, looking towards Finley. Her friend squeezed her hands. “If Finley discovers the truth, if he were to ever catch us… We were caught by Lady Arabella on the balcony, too lost in one another to hear her approach, but what if that had been Finley? I would be locked up forever.”

“And Daphne, Cecilia, and I would break you free,” Mary said decisively. “Pen, you must consider your own happiness! You are so capable and strong. You are still in London, at the height of social events. The countryside has not claimed you yet, not that it ever should. Make decisions based on your desires. I saw how hesitant you were regarding the evening with Mr. Gray, but I think that is more fear of Finley than your reservations. But you cannot live your life according to his whims. Whatever you desire, dear, it is yours. It should be yours.”

Penelope could not help but hold back an answer as she considered her friend’s advice. If she did indeed act on her desire, Finley’s reaction did not even bear thinking about. He had flown into a rage just at the sight of them dancing together.

If he found out that Edmund had kissed her breathless until the place between her legs ached for something to fill it…

And the public scandal. Did she truly wish for more gossip to follow her? To follow him?

“Your mind is ticking harder than a grandfather clock,” Mary noted. “It is very simple. You do not have to choose between your desires and your family, for you have already proven yourself a devoted sister and a devoted daughter before that to the late Marquess of Langwaite. You lost your mother at a young age, so let your friends guide you. As a woman, you must make your choices—assert what autonomy you can. But you must secure a man who also honors that.

“They are few and far between in this society, and that irks me to no end, but the Duke… well, what Cecilia mentioned at the dressmaker’s has already begun to change my mind about him. He sounds as though he respects women’s autonomy. Defy expectations, Penelope, for it only means that you are making choices for yourself. That is the most powerful thing of all.”

Penelope basked in the encouragement even as the anxiety of knowing she would struggle to make that powerful choice crawled through her.

Before she could answer, Stephen and Finley returned, along with Emily and Amelia, who both presented flower crowns to her and Mary.

“Oh, this is absolutely stunning,” Penelope praised, taking her crown from Emily. “Shall I make you one now?”

Emily shook her head, pouting. “No. Mama taught me to make my own and not to wait for another person.”

At that, Stephen and Penelope burst out laughing.

“Oh, she is you, Mary.” Penelope giggled, giving Emily a soft hug before releasing the little girl to skip away and join Amelia further down the garden.

As she watched them, her gaze settled on Finley, who narrowed his eyes at her.

“So, what were you ladies discussing?” he asked, looking between them.

“The Southgate ball,” Mary said quickly. “I was asking Penelope what color I ought to wear, and she gave me the most wonderful advice, given her recent… attire.”

She tugged the two men into a sneaky discussion about which men would be in attendance, clearly trying to look out for Arabella.

Penelope allowed herself to consider the worst that could happen if she let herself be courted by Edmund.

Days passed, and she was occupied with mulling over what to wear for the Southgate ball. Would she keep her brother happy and wear something modest, or would she?—

With the question once again in mind, she let her gaze wander to her wardrobe, where the gown from Edmund was secretly stored away.

Her lady’s maid entered. “Are you ready to prepare for tonight’s ball, My Lady?”

Penelope nodded, standing up and approaching her vanity as her maid went to her wardrobe, searching for the dress she would wear at Finley’s request. But as soon as she saw the jade-colored monstrosity that would surely suffocate her beneath the warm air, her stomach clenched with anxiety.

No, no, she could not wear it. While Penelope wasn’t as vain as other women, she knew how self-conscious she would be in such an unflattering gown, knowing everybody would think the same.

“Actually,” she spoke up, her voice firm despite her nerves. “Not that one. I would like to wear the darker one.”

Her maid frowned, searching, for her brother opted to buy her dresses in pale shades, so a dark one was easily noticeable.

Penelope rushed over, pulling the secret dress from its hiding place. “It is new,” she explained.

Her maid gave her a small, knowing smile. “I think it will look lovely on you, My Lady.”

Her lady’s maid had seen her wither beneath Finley’s orders to change out of every dress she chose for herself. So, knowing that she was supported, knowing that Mary’s encouragement was the reason she was daring to even consider the dress at all, emboldened her.

Nerves ate through Penelope as she was dressed and primped, and by the end of it, her blonde hair was curled with a twine of braids pulling two sections back from her face, letting the rest loosely fall to brush the low, scooped back of her dress.

In her full-length mirror, she noticed how the corset pushed up her breasts, but the dress only further did so. It fit in a way that made the gown seem like it was made for her. She trailed her fingers over the lacing, as she had in the dressmaker’s, and thought of Edmund’s face as he had looked at her.

His words on the opera house’s balcony echoed in her mind, making her shiver.

“I would tear this suffocating gown off you with my teeth if I could . I thought of you wearing the gown I bought. I do not think you realize how much you—how much you made me desire you.”

As the maid finished styling more delicate waves to frame Penelope’s face, Penelope recalled how the Duke had snarled his words against her neck. She let herself imagine what it would be like to unravel beneath his hands, pulled apart by his teeth.

Let him shred through every dress I own , she thought, her face heating. If it means I get to be bared before him.

The thought made heat flare in her stomach, but it was quickly doused when she saw movement in the mirror. Gasping sharply, she whirled to face Finley, who stood in the doorway. His eyes were not as angry as she thought. No. They were…

She did not want to think about how he looked at her. As if she was an apple held above him, just out of reach, dangling from a branch.

No . No, that cannot be .

But then he coughed. “Where did you get this gown?”

Nerves replaced the desire from a moment ago as Penelope struggled to stay composed, to think of a convincing lie. “It is one of my older dresses that I have not worn in some time.”

Finley looked at her, his face tight with contemplation. “I see.”

That is all ?

She held back her question, but she had expected a far harsher reaction from him.

“I like it,” she told him, as if she expected him to tell her to change.

But he didn’t. He nodded, his hands folded behind his back as he walked away. “The carriage is waiting, Pen.”

It was the first time he had not spoken to her with barbed words, and she was glad for it. Heaving a sigh, she readied herself to leave as her lady’s maid made her swift exit.

Finley was good, and she did not know the strength it took for a man to uphold his place as an aristocrat. It was hard enough for women, but for the men to carry all the financial burdens, to pay for dresses, and to oversee failed courtships…

Perhaps she had not been kind or considerate enough to her brother, who had needed to take sole guardianship of her—a parent and a brother all in one. Perhaps he was not the controlling brother everybody thought him to be, but a man simply doing his best.

Trying to keep convincing herself of that, Penelope went downstairs to join Finley in the foyer and was met with his warm smile once more as he then helped her into their carriage.

* * *

“I think I see Lady Ayersfield,” Arabella said to Edmund, knocking him out of his thoughts in the center of the ballroom at the Southgates’ residence.

He was still caught between the events of last week—from Thatcher to Cyrus Reed—all the while thinking of the print of Penelope’s lips on him. It all swirled in his head, a tangled mess that even a sleepless night could not make sense of.

“You may go socialize if that is what you are hoping for,” Edmund told Arabella.

“It was.” She laughed. “Ever since I caught you on the balcony, Brother, you have been far more amenable. Are you worried I will tell somebody?”

Edmund looked around them sharply before he scowled at her. “Do not speak so loudly. But no, that is not it. I know you will not tell, but I have listened to your pleas. I want to be a brother you can speak to and approach about things, not a brother you hide things from in fear.”

Like Penelope .

“I promise that when I find myself caught in a man’s embrace on a balcony, sharing a secret, passionate kiss, you will be the first to know.”

Edmund nodded, only to realize what his sister had said. Before he could call after her, Arabella had darted towards the group Penelope had invited her into. He was glad for it. From what he had heard, the ladies were well-to-do and would help Arabella in ways he could not.

His gaze followed Arabella to ensure she was not accosted by an unwanted suitor on her way over to her friends, only for it to land on Penelope. Suddenly, the ballroom melted away, spinning out in a dizzying rush of heat that he couldn’t tamp down.

For she was wearing the dress he had bought her.

The fabric that he had picked up and handed to the dressmaker now fell over Penelope’s skin, her curves encased in the gown in a way that did not look as suffocating as her other gowns. Instead, it was Edmund who felt short of breath.

His eyes trailed her as she greeted Arabella. From the fall of her hair in perfect, pretty waves, to her bright eyes that caught the light of the chandeliers, rendering her an almost angelic beauty. The candlelight behind her cast a halo around her, and Edmund swallowed a mouthful of his wine, finishing the glass to chase away the heat.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

Not when the dress brushed her skin in a way that left very little to the imagination. Her chest was full and heavy, cupped by the delicate neckline.

Heavens …

Edmund tried desperately to tamp down the need that built within him. He could not let himself grow aroused here, but he couldn’t help the effect Penelope had on him.

His thoughts raced with the fantasy of unraveling her with his mouth right there on the dance floor, to show everybody how desirable she was—not a spinster, as they claimed her to be. No, Penelope was alluring, a woman who bewitched him in every possible way.

The noise she had made beneath his mercy on the balcony resounded in his head, and he knew he’d do terrible, terrible things to ensure that he heard it again.

He wanted her. He ached fiercely , only to be interrupted by her brother.

If anything could douse his desire, it was the sight of the man who turned his anger on the men who wanted Penelope.

“Blackstone,” Finley greeted. “You look parched.”

I am.

Edmund then wondered when he had become such a desperate man, reduced to distraction and need over one woman.

Before Edmund could answer properly, Finley reached for two glasses as a server passed by with a tray, offering more wine. The feel of cold glass pressed into his palm jolted Edmund back into reality, well and truly. He had to resist his need for Penelope—he couldn’t let himself forget the warnings that the ton was abuzz with. Finley would have his head for even looking too hard at Penelope if Edmund wasn’t careful enough to hide his attraction.

No, he couldn’t cause a rift between himself and an old friend. He respected the Marquess, even if he didn’t respect how the man treated his sister, but he hoped that Finley would learn from some stern remarks and witnessing how Edmund was with Arabella.

“Thank you,” he said belatedly.

“I see Lady Arabella is fitting in well,” Finley noted, nodding towards where the five ladies stood together across the ballroom, near the open terrace doors. “Although, a word of advice. Some of those ladies are not the best influence if you are trying to keep your sister on a good path to being the perfect lady.”

Edmund bit back a scoff. “I do not need her to be good or perfect,” he told him. “I am simply glad to be around her. It is her choice what sort of lady she becomes. She knows the risks and dangers. I have taught her, as did my cousin.”

“Yes, but?—”

Edmund shook his head. “No buts. Not for me, Langwaite. I am content to let Arabella choose her friends and companions, within reason.”

Finley’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Edmund beat him to it.

“Besides, if those friends are good enough for Lady Penelope, then they are good enough for my sister, too.” He set his unfinished wine on another passing tray and nodded to Finley. “Excuse me.”

He didn’t want to turn his back on an old friend, but he also refused to be lectured on how to be his sister’s guardian. Finley shouldn’t control his sister’s friendship group, and Edmund had no interest in doing the same with his sister.

“Your Grace,” a man called out.

Edmund immediately recognized him as Lord Graham. He bit back an exasperated sigh. He truly did loathe these events, for nobody ever left him alone.

“Forgive me for approaching you, but I wished to speak with you. I did not make a good impression during our introduction, but I would like to make you aware that I intend to call on Lady Arabella. That is if you approve of a visit.”

Edmund’s refusal was already on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back for another moment. Instead, he stopped and considered Arabella’s upset over how he had behaved with this suitor last time. He thought of Finley and how he wanted Arabella to be guided but ultimately make her own choice.

“You did not make a good impression, no,” Edmund acknowledged. “However, you seem to be persistent, and if I did not scare you off last time, then you have more mettle than I thought. When do you intend to call on her?”

“As soon as you allow it, Your Grace.”

Edmund had work to do, and he had to prioritize that, but there was something he could offer his sister.

“If she agrees, then you may call on her one morning this week. A chaperoned visit, of course. I will send word to you.”

“I am honored, Your Grace.” Lord Graham bowed and made his leave, surprising Edmund.

Many eager lords did not know when to leave his presence. He paused, finding his time had not been wasted, and thought about this man making his sister happy.

He walked on through the ballroom, finding a corner from which to keep an eye on Arabella without overcrowding her or making her feel too watched. However, he also found himself keeping an eye on Finley, who circled the ballroom like a hungry wolf, his attention on his own sister.

Edmund put it aside; he didn’t need to involve himself in their family politics more than he already had. Not unless Penelope was in danger.