Page 13 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Thirteen

“P enelope, that dress was made for you!” Mary gushed as Penelope let herself be praised beneath the light of the chandeliers. The light made her gown shimmer, and she let the full skirt sway a little in appreciation.

“I agree, but may we please acknowledge the fact that I was the one who convinced our darling Pen to buy it?” Cecilia’s voice rose above the clamor of admiration for her dress, and Penelope knew she would have to go along with the ruse of having bought it herself.

“You did, indeed.” She giggled. Oh, how she wanted to admit that the Duke had bought her the gown. “And Mary encouraged me to wear it tonight.”

“And to think we are terrible influences when our combined efforts make you look this charming.” Daphne laughed, shaking her head.

“Has my brother seen you in it?” Arabella asked, her eyes flashing with knowledge of Penelope’s situation. After all, she had been the one to catch them on the balcony—something Penelope tried not to think too hard about.

Penelope’s heart pounded. “Not that I am aware, but I am sure I do not mind greatly what His Grace thinks.”

“I am sure you do,” Arabella countered, somewhat mischievously.

Behind her, Cecilia chuckled.“As you can see, our new friend is fitting in very well with our group,” she teased. “She has you figured out already, Penelope.”

“It seems as though everybody has me figured out but me,” Penelope snorted, trying to look nonchalant. But deep down, it felt true.

It was as if she was merely sitting in the back seat of a carriage while somebody drove her to every place without her ever getting a say. Although the fact that her friends knew her, the real her, brought her endless joy.

It was more Finley’s interference that could never sit well with her.

But he was better before , she mused, before shaking herself off.

“There is plenty of time, Pen,” Daphne told her, her voice gentler.

Brightly, Penelope smiled, trying to push away her worries. They all knew there was not plenty of time, and to pretend there was… it was an exercise in futility.

“Either way,” she continued. “We must all plan something! The five of us. A tea party, perhaps?”

“I shall host,” Cecilia said quickly. “The house has felt too empty and quiet lately. Reginald has been busy, and I have been horrifically bored. I fear that I will soon ask the stable hands if I can help brush out the mane of my mare, just so I have something to do with my hands.”

“That is because you spend too much time with them on your husband, and you do not know what to do with them otherwise.” Mary sniggered.

Cecilia smirked. “Oh, Mary, I assure you that this lady knows what to do with her hands even when her husband is not around.”

Girlish laughter erupted, and Penelope laughed harder at how scandalized Daphne and Arabella looked, fighting the urge to laugh at something they clearly thought they shouldn’t find funny.

“A lady must behave!” Daphne hissed, her face pink, insistent propriety in her voice.

“Oh, do not judge us, Daph.” Cecilia sipped on her wine. “You have children—you understand the inner workings of one’s body and what it does when wracked with the pleasure a man gives.”

“Heavens, Cecilia.” Penelope laughed, trying to stifle the sound. Cecilia’s vulgarity was so different, the fresh air she craved after the suffocation of Langwaite Manor. “You do know how to speak out of turn.”

“I speak plainly and simply,” Cecilia huffed. “If you all do not like it, then it is only because you are jealous and hungry for what Reginald bestows upon me nightly. Well, I do wish it was nightly, but as of late, it has not been because he has been locked away in his study over acquiring a new bit of land further up north. I barely got him to attend tonight! Perhaps that is why I am so irritated.”

Her comment only coaxed more crowing laughter from Mary, and Penelope couldn’t help but let loose, finally. It was as if the tension from the week—the constant thinking about her kiss with Edmund, the fear of Finley finding out, the worry over the dress being discovered only for Finley to barely react at all—drained out of her.

Her friends were a balm, a shield against everybody around her. Within their circle, Penelope thought she would be able to see this Season through, no matter what it held.

A light country dance filled the ballroom, and soon Mary, Daphne, and Cecilia were approached by their husbands, and even Arabella was asked to dance. Penelope did not mind that night. Her dress was revealing enough; she did not need to be in the center of the ballroom, dancing, on top of that.

After shooing her friends away, Penelope retreated to the refreshments table, eyeing a slice of honey cake. She had barely reached out with the utensil to pick it up when a lady sidled up to her.

“Lady Penelope,” she greeted, her voice high with faux politeness.

“Lady Annabel,” Penelope greeted in return.

The other woman eyed the utensil and pressed her lips together. “I only came over here to give you friendly advice, if you do not mind, for I fear nobody else has,” she said. “A dress such as yours is rather… fitting, is it not? I would be rather delicate with the dessert you eat tonight. Such a remarkable dress should threaten to burst at the seams. It is already drawing a great deal of attention to a spinster such as yourself.”

Penelope did not know what to say, and could only stand there, feeling the weight of her humiliation crushing her. Her throat was tight, words not forcing their way out.

Heavens , why was she such a fool?

“I do not wish to be mean, of course,” Lady Annabel continued, her perfect, bouncing auburn curls making her look radiant. She had had many suitors, and her unmarried state was likely due to not knowing whom to choose. “I only wish to look out for you. It is sad that you are desperate enough to wear such a gown at your age. You do not wish to further humiliate yourself, do you? In all honesty, I am surprised Lord Langwaite approved such attire. He is such a fine man, is he not? I am certain he does not want his sister looking so…” she trailed off, giving a little hum. “There is a word for it, I am sure.”

Shame dug into Penelope, sliding into her collarbones, right between her shoulder blades, and spreading through her whole body until she trembled. Until her whole face burned unpleasantly, and she could only hear those words over and over, cringing. It was as if every eye was suddenly on her even if it wasn’t.

“He does not want his sister looking so…”

Penelope knew what Lady Annabel was insinuating because she had worried about it herself.

“It is sad that you are desperate enough… You do not wish to further humiliate yourself, do you ?”

Penelope couldn’t breathe, and the utensil slipped from her hand, both ashamed of her dress and her craving for a lovely dessert. She was never self-conscious about such things—until that moment. Embarrassed, she stepped back, trying to escape the lady’s mean smirk.

She turned on her heel, stumbling into a dancing couple as she fled the ballroom. Nobody called after her, and she was thankful. It was as if she could outrun it all: her brother, the mean whispers, the burden the ton said she was, her own shame.

Tears stung her eyes as she ran down the main hallway in the Southgates’ townhouse and pushed open a door far enough away that she would not hear the strumming orchestra to remind her that she had an obligation to remain in the ballroom.

She heaved out a breath, pressing her back to the closed door, and found herself in a library. Shelves upon shelves of books towered over her, not as grand as her own townhouse’s collection, but still bringing a sense of comfort to her.

Exhaling shakily and forcing herself to take another lungful of air, Penelope walked further into the library, trying to steel herself and shut out the voices. The laughs, the whispers, the mean comments. Was she an embarrassment? Did she humiliate herself and her brother? Was that why Finley stopped her from speaking with suitors? Not to control her but to protect her from her own shame?

She paced back and forth, her skirt trailing across the floor as she tried to calm down her racing thoughts. The heat had drained out of her body now that she was out of sight of anybody, but the shame still didn’t leave. It was a weight on her chest, and she tried to will it away to no avail.

“Penelope?”

She stopped instantly at that voice.

Edmund.

Penelope whirled around, startled. Her eyes narrowed. “Please leave me alone.”

“I saw you flee the ballroom,” he said, not taking a step closer, but keeping his distance, leaning against the door. He’d shut them into the space together. “I came to see if you were all right.”

“That is what you said last time,” she countered without meaning to snap. “And as far as I can remember, you did not check on me at all.”

“And if I remember correctly, you left that balcony feeling marginally better.” His smirk normally would have made her blush, but she was in no mood for his teasing.

Instead, more tears of shame stung her eyes as she pointed towards the wall, indicating the ballroom beyond. “Go back to the ball, Your Grace.”

Yes, yes, that’s right. I need to put that social distance back in place. Remove the comfort so I don’t further shame myself.

“I am well.”

“Oh, we are back to titles, are we?” His voice turned hard. “You cared little for titles when you were moaning my name into my ear.”

“I did not!” Penelope hissed. “Have I not endured enough shame tonight? You do not need to falsify?—”

Suddenly, he was there, right in front of her, pushing her against the bookcase behind her.

“Yes, you did,” he murmured. “Do you need me to remind you of the noise you made? Say the word, and I will touch you in a way that will jog your memory.”

His fingertip drew a line down her cheek, almost tenderly if it was not for the smoldering look in his eyes. Penelope only wished to cry.

“How can you look at me like that?” she choked out. “I am a wretch, an unattractive, humiliating, disgraceful burden of a spinster and—” she gasped out, ignoring his frown. “It is all your fault! If you had not bought me this dress and made me feel—feel beautiful and worthy of a man like you. Like I could be kissed out of desire and not some waylaid pity?—”

“ Pity ?” he growled, and she felt his hips press against hers, pinning her. “You think I kissed you on that balcony out of pity?”

“I hear the whispers,” she told him, her voice biting as much as his. “And some ladies are cruel enough to not even whisper but say what they think to my face. That I am desperate, that I am unsightly, that I should not eat too much dessert, for such a beautiful dress will be wasted on my wider figure?—”

The Duke had her chin held in his hand and a thumb pressed to her lower lip before she could finish. The pad of his thumb traced back and forth for a moment while his eyes blazed, gray turning into hard steel.

“Do not,” he all but snarled, “speak of yourself in such a manner. I will not allow it.”

She let out a hollow laugh. “I do not care for your opinion of how I speak of myself. I do not matter to you. Therefore, how I view myself shouldn’t matter to you either.”

“I cared when I bought you the gown that makes you look exquisite, but you tell yourself otherwise,” he told her. “I care because you cannot see everything that I see. I care because if I shared your views, then I would be a liar. I meant every word I said on that balcony, Penelope. I see you, and nothing else exists. I see you, and you are all I can think about. I see you, and it drives me to insanity every minute I cannot make you see everything that you are. I see you, and I fight to hold myself back from claiming you in some form?—”

“If you truly meant what you said when we kissed, then you would not hold yourself back,” she whispered, feeling daring, feeling foolish. “You would want to claim me no matter what.”

Edmund scoffed, disbelief etched on his face. “I do not hold myself back because I do not want to touch you. I hold myself back because the minute I allow myself, I will not be able to stop, and I would have you writhing against this bookcase, claiming you as my own.”

Those cool, gray eyes flicked over her face as he dragged his thumb over her lip, and she dared to kiss the tip. When that made his dark lashes flutter in desire, she suckled very gently.

“Penelope,” he warned.

“I do not want you to hold yourself back,” Penelope said. “I want to know what it means to be desired.”

He groaned, the sound low in his throat as he moved his face closer to hers. As he let his mouth hover just above her neck without making contact. “You do not know what you truly ask for.”

“If I do not, then tell me why there is a needy ache between my legs.”

The confession left her in a bold whisper, her eyes widening at her words—so daringly confident, so taunting. But she needed him. A craving was building, and she wanted to be sated.

“Tell me,” he ground out. “What you want.”

“Touch me,” she breathed. “Touch me so intimately that I forget every harsh word I have ever heard. Touch me so deeply that I might finally know that you truly desire me.”

The request had barely left her lips when his mouth was on hers, a grunt in his throat, his hand falling from her chin to grasp her waist. She gasped as he tugged her flush against him, feeling the hard length encased in his breeches that she had not noticed.

“If that is not enough to show you,” he muttered between kisses, “then I will gladly grant your request, Penelope. Only as long as you say my name as I know you did when I first kissed you. A small noise it may have been, but I heard my name.”

“You did,” she confessed.

“I will hear it again,” he told her, and then he kissed her breathless once more.

A needy noise slipped from her mouth as he rolled his hips against hers, her head spinning with the thought of that length breaching her in a way she had only ever heard her friends speak vaguely about. But it wasn’t his length that he guided between her legs.

He pulled her legs up around his waist, rucking her dress up—up to her knees, her thighs, baring her so intimately to him. Her face burned, but Edmund only pulled back from their kiss, panting raggedly as he draped his attention over the full length of her body.

He held her effortlessly. Penelope let her hands fall to his shoulders, the top of his back, to feel how his muscles tensed. She tightened her grip on him. He held her aloft with one arm still around her waist, pinning her against the bookcase, as the other one ran up the inside of her left leg.

He teased along her calf, the inside of her knee, and the soft flesh of her upper thigh. Penelope was certain she had stopped breathing altogether when his hand slipped between her legs, right at the peak of her heat.

He was gentle when he first touched her, his palm cupping right over where she had only dared touch in the dead of night, certain nobody would hear her. Still, she bit into a pillow when she did that, careful of the noises that slipped free so easily.

“May I touch you, Penelope?” Edmund asked once again.

Despite the heat simmering in her veins, Penelope softened at his tone.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Do you ache for me?” His mouth found the soft line of her jaw, pressing a kiss there.

His wordswere barely a murmur, pitched low, making her shiver. He kissed his way down her neck, his lips as soft as a butterfly’s wings.

“Do you, like I ache for you?”

“I do,” she breathed, her chest tight.

Arousal coursed through her as his fingers began to move, not inside her, not breaching yet, but simply exploring her folds. Mapping his way around the damp heat that betrayed her desperation.

“Please—please, Edmund, I need you. I have needed you for the longest time.”

“And you will have me,” he told her, his teeth pressed to the low neckline of her dress a moment before he swept his mouth over her skin, leaving a hot, wet trail.

Before she could beg again, he dipped a finger into her heat, and she bucked back against the bookcase at the intrusion. It was strange, and yet not. She had done such things to herself at her friends’ suggestion over the years, but to have a man do it…

Her breath caught as he slid his finger deeper into her, far longer than hers were, with his knuckles serving as ridges that caressed her internally. Penelope let out a shaky moan when he slipped it in far enough that he could snugly cup her with his palm, grinding against her for more friction.

“E-Edmund,” she moaned again, and she felt him shudder at the way she brokenly said his name.

He pulled out, only to slide right back into her again, slowly at first. But the more her hips searched for more of the pleasurable feeling, the faster he went.

“You are doing so excellently for me,” he told her, and the praise only made her tighten her grip on his shoulders. “See how well you take just one finger. Imagine when you take everything else I give you.”

“Oh, Heavens,” she groaned at the thought.

He pressed himself between her legs, and as he’d distracted her with his words, he slipped a second finger into her. His hand rolled over her heat, a rhythm that wasn’t agonizingly slow nor too fast. One that made her head spin and her breath catch. Her hand slid down his broad shoulder to his forearm as she clutched him.

“You are beautiful,” he told her, his fingers curling into her. “ Beautiful. I will not hear you refute it.”

“And—and if I do?” she gasped as he sped up his thrusts.

“Then you shall discover how rough I can be,” he told her. “I can deliver a hard lesson as well as a pleasurable one.”

The thought had her moaning softly again, hoping that while she couldn’t hear the music from the ballroom, nobody would hear her either.

“Eyes on me, Penelope,” he told her, and she realized she’d closed her eyes, biting her lip to keep quiet. “The music will drown you out.”

“It will not,” she panted, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure wracking her body.

And Edmund knew how to work her so thoroughly that she could scarcely breathe or care how indecent she must have looked. Cornered by him, her back pressed against the bookcase, and him standing between her parted legs, with her dress around her hips. Thinking about the position made her head spin.

Her noises spilled out beneath his knowing hand, his digits finding every spot inside her that even she did not know about. The stimulation doused her in flames, and her hips moved at their own pace, rolling and seeking more. Penelope felt so full that it was impossible to think of how big Edmund’s manhood would feel.

“You sound heavenly,” he told her, his voice low and rough.

His fingers didn’t relent, not even for a moment, and there was a pressure gently tugging on her, building with each thrust. Her breaths were no longer short and shallow, but heavier, needier. Something ragged and desperate. Edmund’s eyes fixed on her, coaxing her closer to the edge with the curl and spread of his fingers.

“There is something delectable about hearing a woman claim to be a good lady of the ton, that she is innocent, yet she comes undone so beautifully like this.”

“ Edmund .”

The way he spoke, so attractively taunting, went straight to her core, and she rocked against him, seeking more friction. It only made him smirk as he claimed her mouth with another bruising kiss.

“You come apart beneath my hands so beautifully, how could I not ruin you?”

His words, murmured against her lips, had her back arching as pleasure washed over her. His palm grazed a place just outside of her heat, a place that had her gasping, her knees buckling. But he held her tighter, caught her, and if not for that, she would have collapsed completely.

The pressure building was a thing she knew, but it had never felt so intense before, and she half feared how it might overwhelm her. But she held on to Edmund, her gaze on his, and she felt utterly safe. Ruined but safe.

“Edmund, I—” She broke off, embarrassed to confess she was nearing her peak already.

But he knew. Of course, he knew. He was always able to read her.

“Give in to it, Penelope,” he told her. He sounded desperate, perhaps as much as her, as if he craved to see her come apart as much as she wished to. “Reach your peak.”

And with several more thrusts of his fingers, and a hard, searing kiss, she reached her climax with a cry that he swallowed. His tongue swept into her mouth as if he could lick her moans, and they both shuddered.

Heat washed over Penelope as her walls rippled, and she gasped, shuddering through the pleasure he wrung from her. And Edmund continued pleasuring her through it all. His fingers didn’t let up, not until she was shivering, sensitive yet still yearning. Satisfied but greedy.

Slowly, Edmund pulled his fingers out of her and, with his other hand, reached up to stroke her cheek. “This blush of yours… it is ever so pretty.”

Penelope’s heart raced, blinking in a trance. How he could go from being vulgar to being tender was beyond her, and yet she ached for both.

“I…” she murmured, trying to recover her senses. “May I—” She cleared her throat, looking down at where Edmund’s prominent arousal was visible through his black breeches. “May I touch you?”

His eyes darkened, and a curse—something that sounded so much filthier than any of the lewd things he had said to her—escaped him as he went to unfasten his breeches as if his desire drove him to a desperate need. As if he fought that need but her question had made him snap.

How much resolve did he have, and how long had he harbored it?

But before he could reveal any of himself to her, a knock sounded at the door, making Penelope freeze. Edmund reacted in the same way, tensing beneath her hands.

For a second, all she could do was stare at him in horror. She had been so wrapped up in pleasure that she had not considered being caught, not really.

Heavens , her brother was merely down the hallway. Her friends— the entire ton.

“Edmund,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her reputation was tarnished enough; it had been reckless to completely drive it into a grave, for that would surely happen. All it took was one entitled person to open the door without waiting for a response and?—

“Edmund, are you in here?”

Edmund released a harsh breath and another curse. He drew back from Penelope, heat still simmering in his gaze. He helped her gently find her feet, and though her heart still raced, she felt calmer knowing that he recognized who knocked.

“It is my cousin,” he whispered. Then, louder, he commanded, “A minute, Benjamin.”

His hands were light, brushing over her legs to adjust her dress. Penelope blushed as she somehow felt more embarrassed by her clothing being fixed than anything else.

“But what about you?—”

Edmund cut off her question. “Another time.”

The curve of his smirk held a promise that stole her breath away as he moved towards the balcony of the library, pushing open the doors so she could easily flee.

“Besides, I have resisted enough of this over you.” He gestured downwards, laughter in his smile despite the fear of getting caught. “One more time is nothing.”

Penelope didn’t quite know what to do with that information, but she didn’t get the chance regardless, for he ushered her through the balcony doors.

“I will make sure that nothing of this comes back to you,” he promised, meeting her gaze. “I promise this will not ruin you.”

I fear I already am ruined. Not by the ton, but by how you touched me.

Penelope nodded, and Edmund jolted at another knock.

“ Edmund , Lord Langwaite is coming down the hallway. Let me in, you scoundrel.”

Penelope’s breathing was shallow as she drew back, but Edmund cupped her face once more, giving her one last, searing kiss that made her stumble back into the night.

Before she could blink, he had shut the balcony doors and let the curtains in the library sweep over them, concealing her.

The night air pushed through the dreamy fog Edmund had left in his wake, and Penelope finally burst into action, fleeing back to the ballroom from the garden.