Page 15 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Fifteen

“I trust you implicitly,” Edmund said the following day, towering over one of his trusted servants. “Do not make me regret that trust. Your loyalty will be rewarded, and your protection will be ensured.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Gregory answered.

“I need you to ensure that nothing goes into or out of that warehouse without you noticing. Report everything back to me.”

Gregory nodded sharply.

He had been in Edmund’s employ since before he was captured, and had been one of the leads in the search groups. Even after many had stopped looking, Gregory had continued. The fierce show of loyalty, reported by both himself and Benjamin upon Edmund’s return, was rewarded and would continue to be.

“Is there anything else, Your Grace?”

Edmund shook his head. “I do not think so. Cyrus Reed likely has the Poseidon warehouse under constant surveillance. As long as you know exactly how many men are surrounding it, I can continue to make plans of my own. Reed is clever—I cannot afford any mistakes.”

He’d spent the morning briefing Gregory on Reed, making sure he knew everything he would need to know. Everything he had learned about the shady dealer occupied his mind. He tried to balance the ton’s demands to be present at balls, as well as chaperoning duties, on top of the investigation. But as Gregory left, nodding his final assent, Edmund tried to smooth out his thoughts.

He exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair, tucked beneath his desk. Too much was going on, and he was still strung tight from the evening before. He was physically trying to investigate what he needed, but mentally, Penelope was stealing his focus. That was partially the reason he had sent Gregory. He had barely been able to get through his breakfast without thinking about her, and that made him feel weak.

Yet, despite it all, he looked around his study, finding peace in the moment alone. When he had been under Logan’s command, he’d had long, long nights of solitude, lost in his thoughts and grief over being taken from his life. He’d had time to feel shame and anger and then tried to find peace in them, only for his anger to flare again the next time he was forced to act as Logan commanded.

Edmund had craved the silence on those nights, a private moment for himself without being watched or watching others.

Now, he was restless. He felt that familiar need thrum through his limbs, forcing him out of his chair, stirring the need to chase that agitated charge. As he did, he pictured Penelope—how breathtaking she had looked in her gown, how her lips had parted in ecstasy as he pleasured her, as she had followed his order— eyes on me. Her eyes had met his, as deep and as blue as the ocean, captivating. He had drowned in them, and could only think of seeing her again.

No . Get your mind back on the investigation .

But the fire within him that usually burned for vengeance only burned for Penelope now.

He pushed it aside, a side effect of letting himself give in to that need.

Instead, he opened the door, knowing that fresh air would let him focus on what he needed. But as he reached the foyer, he paused, hearing a scuff of shoes on the staircase behind him. He turned, finding his sister hesitating, holding the handrail.

“Yes?” he asked, that itch crawling beneath his skin.

Leave, leave, leave . Get out, use your hands, fight away the itch like you did for seven years.

“I do not want to disturb you if you are busy, but I was coming to ask if you wanted to play chess. You know, like we used to do before…” she trailed off.

“You can say it,” he urged.

“Before your kidnapping.” Her voice wavered.

He’d found that she had these moments where she could either be bold with her words or she felt the weight of how much she had missed him and it made her more vulnerable.

And although everything inside him itched to leave, to run, to ride—to just do anything other than sit still and think—he knew he was not the man he’d been for those seven years. He was not a captive, forced to fight and do Logan’s bidding. He was a duke, a brother once again. Those titles had been stripped away from him for too long. All those nights he had spent wishing for the simplicity of being a brother again would have been for nothing if he turned his sister down now.

So although his body ached for movement, he nodded. “Let us play in the library.”

Arabella still seemed worried about bothering him, so he led her to the library himself and began setting up the game. The chess table was over by the window, where it had always been. The library had always been his favorite room in the house, second to his father’s study when he was a young boy.

“It has been some time since we did this,” he noted, not wanting only Arabella to be the one acknowledging their time apart.

“It has,” she agreed. “Did you miss it?”

“All the time.”

He could feel her focus on him, but he continued setting up their pieces. Pawns, knights, bishops. Their kings and queens.

“The queen has always been my favorite piece,” Arabella said, running her finger over the curved point of the queen’s crown. “She is powerful.”

“Indeed. My favorite is the bishop. He is powerful, too, but in a much quieter way.” Arabella nodded as Edmund swept his hand towards her. “You may start.”

Arabella’s mind was fiercely sharp, and Edmund had taught her from a young age how to play chess. It seemed that time had only made her sharper. She moved cunningly, her eyes always assessing the board. She took her time but played intelligently.

“You play to distract yourself,” she noted.

He smirked. “And you play to win. To prove a point.”

“I do not,” she insisted, but then knocked one of his pawns down, claiming it for her own.

“You do, for it is how I used to play with our father.”

That had her hand stilling over the board, a smile on her face. “Then perhaps I play to impress you.”

“You already impress me,” he told her. “The years have not been kind to you while I have been away, yet you have still emerged intelligent and lovely and fair. That is the most a brother can hope for.”

“And a sister will hope to still beat her brother,” she said, dancing around the years of loneliness she had gone through.

She rarely spoke of it, but he had seen the red, leather-bound journal that she hastily tucked into her vanity drawer when he entered her room too quickly. He wondered what thoughts she wrote down in it.

“Let us raise the stakes,” he suggested. “If you win, I will allow Lord Graham to pay you a morning call, as he expressed a desire to at last night’s ball.”

His sister’s eyes lit up. “And if you win?”

He thought about it for a moment, but Arabella thought faster.

“If I win,” she continued, “I will have my visit but also insist that you finally approach Lady Penelope for a promenade or a rendezvous. And if you win, I will stop asking you about your feelings for her.”

“I have not said I have feelings for her.”

“Which is precisely why I keep asking.”

She grinned at him as she claimed yet another piece, and Edmund winced.

“I cannot ask her for any of those things,” he muttered. “You have heard and seen Lord Langwaite’s behavior.”

“So you do admit you would like to ask her.”

He was silent for a moment, pretending to study the board. She had already taken six of his pawns, plus one of his knights, and he had yet to even take half of her pawns. He could imagine her practicing chess over and over, besting Benjamin.

“No,” he answered. “Focus on the game rather than?—”

“It seems to be you who is not focusing,” Arabella shot back before knocking over his other knight. “You placed that piece terribly as I spoke about Lady Penelope.”

“I did not,” he argued, but she fixed him with a smirk—one he recognized from seeing it in the looking glass.

Ah , my own sister learning my tricks.

Laughing, he answered, “Arabella, you are going to be a force to be reckoned with regarding your suitors.”

“Not that I have many at all—they are all afraid of you.”

“Lord Graham is persistent,” he pointed out.

Her face flushed. “We—we are not talking about me right now.”

He took her flustered state as a chance to swoop in and claim another pawn of hers.

“I noticed how you both disappeared from the ballroom. My friends and I returned to the refreshments table to find her gone, as were you. You would not know anything about that, would you, Brother?”

Her voice was entirely too innocent. She knew the answer, but that did not mean he would admit it.

“I do not know what you mean,” he said. “Lady Penelope has been nice to you, has she not? Inviting you in with her friends and such. I see how you get on with them.”

“They are refreshing, to say the least.” She laughed. “They are all rather different from one another, yet their circle is very tight. I was worried I would not fit in at first, but I do not feel out of place anymore. Lady Penelope has helped with that. Did you know that she plays the pianoforte excellently? She mentioned it to me some evenings ago. I also find her to be polite and kind. Well-read and well-mannered. Her patience is endless, as it must be to endure her brother. But she is gentle, and I believe she thinks far more deeply than anybody has ever allowed her to speak, and?—”

“Arabella,” Edmund interrupted. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” She feigned innocence once more.

“Telling me about Lady Penelope’s notable qualities.”

After a moment, Arabella dropped her hands to her lap, pausing the game. Sneakily, Edmund snatched one of her knights, and she scowled at him before her face smoothened again.

“I just want you to be happy, Edmund. As your sister, that would be nice for me to see. You deserve happiness, and there is something that tells me you think you do not. Whatever horrors you faced over these last seven years do not make you less worthy of contentment.”

How does she know ? How does she know that I believe I cannot hold Lady Penelope as tenderly as I want to because it would be with the hands that did the bidding of a monstrous man ?

But he could not let himself talk about that, not to Arabella, whose innocence he still wished to protect.

He cleared his throat. “Continue playing, or I will take advantage of your distraction.” She did, looking disappointed, but Edmund was already speaking again. “I am happy.”

His sister frowned at him. “Do not lie to me.”

Her words were sharp, even though her voice was gentle.

Edmund swallowed thickly, looking away from her. He had missed this—those cunning eyes of hers knowing as much about him as he did about her. They had always done that, even when they were younger. Known one another better than anybody else, despite their age difference.

They were close, and the years they had spent apart had created a small tear. One that could be easily fixed. He saw it—the way they mirrored one another at times, contrasting in other ways, as he did with Benjamin. For a moment, he could see how his cousin had raised Arabella. How she was equal parts Benjamin and Edmund, both influenced by Edmund’s father.

The image of Penelope flashed in his mind. How she had looked so ethereal in her gown the night before, right there on the ballroom floor in her halo. She had been the most illuminated thing there, catching every light, and she had not even seen it. He thought of the words she had uttered about herself, the terrible accusations she had heard, shaping her opinion of herself.

He had despised it, wanted to bite those words from her tongue, lick them from her until there was nothing left but an empty canvas for him to fill with his praise and compliments.

“Brother?” Arabella asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” he said in a rush. “Sorry. I… I really am happy, Arabella. How could I not be, having returned home where I belong?”

“That is not all there is to happiness,” she pushed. “You could have a true home, true belonging, and share that.”

His thoughts were still ensnared on Penelope, on the way her chest had heaved when he had slid his fingers into her, on how her gasps had been sharp when he added further friction against the outside of her heat. On how she had moaned his name.

“Let us simply play,” he said, looking down at the chess board.

Even though Arabella continued playing and steered their conversation in another direction—specifically whether Edmund and Benjamin were friends, because she could not figure out if they loathed or liked one another—Edmund could not focus.

He was distracted, his mind torn apart. Finley’s warnings and control, Penelope’s soft pleasured noises and self-deprecation, the ton’s views. It all spun in his mind, until, finally, the game ended and he lost.

Arabella smirked at him again, standing up with a flourish. “And that, Brother, is how I best you at every game from now on—with the tricks you taught me many years ago. I shall await Lord Graham’s visit.”

She smiled, giving a little happy hum as she perused the stacks of books behind them, leaving him in disbelief.

* * *

Across London, in the Ayersfield townhouse, Penelope sat with Daphne in the parlor. They had a basket of fabric between them, and their embroidery needles clicked away.

“Out of my daughters, do you think any of them will grow up to be like Cecilia?” Daphne wondered aloud, making Penelope chortle.

“Do you hope for that, or very desperately hope against it?”

“On the one hand, Cecilia was the second of us to be wed, and I hope my daughters will have easy, successful Seasons. Preferably their first. But if it does not happen, I will always make sure that they know it is not their fault. So, as a woman, I hope they will be like her, but as a mother… Heavens, no, I do not hope so.”

Penelope laughed at Daphne’s confession, and her friend grinned back. “How about most similar to Mary, then? At least you will know that Catherine and Elizabeth will likely grow up around Emily and Amelia, and they are already so very much like her. They are almost the same age and can look out for one another.”

Daphne nodded. “That is true.” She paused. “Do you think Cecilia will give Reginald children?”

“I believe so,” Penelope said. “But right now, it seems she is enjoying not being a mother.”

“Very loudly enjoying it.” Daphne giggled.

She made comments like that more frequently when they were alone, and it always made Penelope laugh.

Daphne wasn’t pressuring her, did not push her to go too far out of her comfort zone, but still gently encouraged her to be bolder.

“And you?” she asked as she worked another thread for the cardigan she was knitting for her baby boy, Jeremy. Penelope herself was knitting some boots for him. “Will you have children?”

“That would require me to have a husband first,” Penelope answered. “Although, on the topic of men… Daphne, may I tell you something that, for now, must remain a secret between us?”

Daphne glanced at the doorway before leaning in. “You may tell me anything, Pen. I am your confidante.”

“I know you all warned me about the Duke of Blackstone, except for Cecilia’s very bold encouragement, but I could not stay away. I told Mary that we kissed at the opera house?—”

Daphne gasped. “You did not!” She was scandalized, but her lips curled into a smile. “ Penelope !”

“I know, I know.” Penelope winced. “It simply… happened. Whenever we bicker, we somehow end up…”

“Kissing?”

“And more,” she whispered, covering her face. “At the ball last night, there was more. He—” She cleared her throat, aware of her burning cheeks. “His Grace made himself familiar with my intimate place.” Her eyes darted to her lap and then back up. “If you understand me.”

“Heavens, Penelope! At a public ball?”

“I know!” she cried again. “I know. But as I said, it simply happens , and I cannot control the urge I feel whenever he is near. I do not know what comes over me. When we are in the same room, I cannot help but feel so attuned to him. I am always aware of his presence, and it is like my body aches to be nearer to him. So when he touched me last night, I felt as though a long-slumbering part of me woke up. A part that has never cracked an eye open in the first place.”

Perhaps there was something in her voice, something cracking and vulnerable, for Daphne’s expression turned from stunned to more sympathetic as she set down her embroidery. Penelope did the same, sighing.

“How do you feel?” Daphne asked. “Both after… waking up and about liking somebody your brother undoubtedly would not approve of. Then again, we both know that your brother could meet a suitor who is excellently behaved with no secrets and acres of land and wealth, and he still would not think him good enough.”

“I feel…” Penelope trailed off, gazing down at the patterned rug beneath the rocking chairs Daphne had requested to be brought into the parlor. “I do not know. All that I know is that my body aches for him. I barely sleep because my thoughts are preoccupied with how he might look above me in my bed, and then I continue thinking of all the very indecent ways he might touch me again. Daph, is that terrible?”

“It is not terrible,” Daphne murmured, taking her hand. “You are in lust, and that is very normal. Cecilia speaks of intimacy like it is of little significance, but when one has not experienced it before, it is greatly significant. When Harry and I were intimate for the first time, I all but hid from him out of shame. But he helped me overcome that. He helped me realize there was no shame in physical love and?—”

“But mine is not physical love,” Penelope whispered. “Mine is scandalously hidden away in a library, gasping for touches that I do not know if I will experience again, and yet I crave them more than anything.”

“Love does not have to be present to chase what the body wants,” Daphne told her gently, even though her face still showed a flicker of concern. “Mine was, and perhaps yours… could be. Your position is delicate, Penelope, so it is all right to be scared and nervous and wanting. But before you go further, you must know His Grace’s intentions. If you are caught, you will both be ruined.”

“Daph, is it bad that I enjoyed how scandalous it was? I enjoyed that we were not tucked away in a bedroom, that the risky nature of it only made all the more thrilling.”

“Now you are speaking like Cecilia,” Daphne snorted. “But between you and I, I know Mary has experimented in places that were not very private either. I swore to her that I would not say where, but just know that you are not alone.”

“Thank you,” Penelope sighed.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before Daphne raised her eyebrows. “On the topic of intimacy, surely you wish to spare a few details.”

“Daphne Galpin!” Penelope teased. “How scandalous of you to wish for details while you warn me about the Duke.”

Daphne only wiggled her eyebrows, and Penelope launched into her tale of how the Duke had touched her so searingly, and how, ever since, he had left an imprint between her legs that she never wished to rid herself of.

* * *

After his chess game, Edmund bolted from his townhouse, leaping onto Altair, and finally getting the restlessness out of his veins. Escaping the streets of London was far more difficult than riding out in the countryside around Blackstone Hall, but he made the best of what he had. He took the trail he and Benjamin had taken towards Thatcher’s house but didn’t go as far.

Just enough to douse the flames a little, until the hoofbeats drowned out Penelope’s face and her voice and her hands and the delicate way she had asked to touch him and?—

Edmund let out a foul curse as he yanked Altair to a stop about an hour outside of London, turning back to thunder right back home. He couldn’t trust himself alone with his thoughts, and trying to adjust to city life after being trapped with Logan in the expanse of the Caribbean wasn’t helping. Everything felt wrong, a picture painted on a canvas and slightly lopsided. At a quick glance, it looked fine enough, even as something niggled about it. It was as if the shoes he had always worn were suddenly too small. Everything around him was recognizable, but it was no longer familiar.

Only when Altair started to pant from how hard Edmund pushed him after years of not being ridden frequently enough did Edmund slow down. He trotted his way back not to his townhouse, but to Julian’s house.

In the midst of a ton who did not understand, Edmund craved the company of the only man who could comprehend his inner turmoil.

Tethering his horse, Edmund made his way to Julian’s door and rapped on it.

It opened in a moment, his friend striking a pose in the doorway, bare-chested, his breeches hanging low on his waist.

“You know, you do not have to look so surprised and disappointed when it is me on your doorstep instead of a client,” Edmund told him, raising an eyebrow at the way his friend’s face fell.

Julian recovered quickly and smirked. “Perhaps the disappointment is because you are not a client.”

Edmund let out a hard laugh. “I am not your type, Gray. Can I come in?”

“Always.” Julian waved his hand, beckoning him into the hall. He started for the stairs. “Excuse me for a moment while I get a shirt. I did know it was you, though. I saw you from my window before I answered. I know you do not like to be kept waiting, so I saved dressing myself for after I let you in.”

“I was about to ask if you often answered your door half naked.”

“If I did, I do not think I would hear any complaints. Do make yourself at home.”

Julian’s laughter disappeared upstairs while Edmund saw himself into the drawing room and poured two glasses of brandy. He was sitting down and holding his glass by the time Julian returned, much more presentable. His curls were brushed into shape once more, and a dark green shirt covered him.

“Busy evening?” Edmund asked, lifting the glass he’d poured for him.

His friend nodded. “Somewhat, although this lady was more of a caller than a client.”

“I see.” Edmund smirked knowingly.

Julian sat down, and Edmund casually raised his glass in a toast. Together, they drank.

Julian looked tired but happy enough. “So, what brings you to my house if it’s not my renowned talents in the bedroom?”

“Cyrus Reed.”

Edmund spoke the name without thought, knowing the more unexpected it was the more of a genuine reaction he would get from his friend. And he did.

Julian stiffened.

Edmund arched an eyebrow. “You know him,” he noted.

Julian nodded. “Know of him. He is a very powerful man. It is hard not to know him when one works in London’s underground. He runs in other circles, of course. I have had clients who have had their brushes with Reed.”

Edmund perked up. “What else do you know about him?”

Julian’s eyes turned shadowed, cautious. “Edmund?—”

“No, do not clam up now,” Edmund said quickly. “Please, Julian. I am not a man who begs, but I need information, and if you have it, then I need it.”

“Am I the first person to ever make you say please ?” Julian laughed, clearly trying to distract him.

Edmund glared at him. “No. James Logan did, and it was for the worst reasons—namely, begging for my life if I did not obey his orders.”

The drawing room was quiet for a moment as Julian grimaced.

“You see why I am growing desperate. I cannot simply move on, Julian. The things that man had me to do to others… it was terrible. I have nightmares, and I get sick just thinking about it sometimes. I did what he told me to, and I became a monster, like him. Trying to return to this life is disconcerting, and I have entertained joining a boxing club just… just to feel steady again. I will not, for I cannot look back and be the man who spoke with his fists instead of his words unless necessary. I will not give in to the monster Logan created out there, but I will insist that you help me.”

“I think this is the most vulnerable you have ever been with me, Edmund.” Julian looked stunned, as if he did not realize just how close to darkness Edmund toed.

A dark rage simmered beneath Edmund, bred over years of giving in to that cloud of shadow to survive. He fought to keep it at bay night after night, and had found that the only times it was chased away was when he laid eyes on Penelope.

He dragged his thoughts away from her quickly, lest his friend see anything else on his face. He already felt too exposed.

Julian exhaled when Edmund only answered with silence. “Very well. Reed is not only a crime overlord but he is also rumored to be connected to the ton. I do not know entirely in what way. Perhaps he is a lord himself and acts under a well-crafted disguise in the underground. Either way, he knows how to infiltrate spaces and blend in exceptionally well.”

Suddenly, every face of every suitor Arabella had spoken to, may have locked eyes with, flashed through Edmund’s mind. “Do you know the name he uses in the ton?”

Julian shook his head. “Why do you ask about him?”

“I believe that he could be connected to the man who had me kidnapped for Logan.”

Edmund knew he was on the right path when Julian frowned, his delicate, boyish features that every lady swooned over pulled together in a troublesome, thoughtful expression.

“Edmund, if that is indeed the case, then you are in deeper waters than ever. I warned you last time?—”

“And as I said, I will not stop. You gave me Thatcher’s name, and he’s given me Cyrus Reed and the Poseidon warehouse.”

Julian’s face paled, but he nodded. “I cannot stop you, I know that. You think that because you were taken once, you will not face danger, but it still lurks. The ton is far darker than you know—than even I know, and I deal in dirty money at times. Mostly high-end clients, yes, but it has not always been that way. I have learned a thing or two about my own safety.”

“As have I,” Edmund promised. “I will be safe.”

“You will be reckless and chase these leads like a hound who has caught a scent.”

Edmund laughed, for between Arabella and Julian, he was being read as well as he read others. “The scent has long since overwhelmed me, Julian. It has sunk into every pore, commands my every movement, and I could not shake it off even if I wanted to.”

Julian’s voice was low when he said, “And that is why you survived James Logan. Because you fought your way out to survive, and you will not rest until you have your vengeance.”

“Exactly.”

“Just… do what you need to, but please exercise caution. These men do not care for lords who think that a title protects them. You can fight beyond your words and back yourself up, but they will not know that at first.”

Edmund’s eyes flashed. “That makes it all the more thrilling.”

Julian snorted, and the tension of mentioning their darker pasts eased a little. “Now that you are here in my abode, I must use the opportunity to ask you about Lady Penelope, and to further ask why you have withheld some gossip from me.”

A surprised laugh slipped from Edmund. “ Gossip . Where on earth did you hear anything regarding Lady Penelope and I, you gossipmonger?”

“Oh, do not be coy and deny it—it is out of character for you,” Julian snorted, eyeing him knowingly over his glass of brandy.

Oddly enough, it was quite nice to be around someone who did know him, and who expected little of him other than to simply be himself. No mask, no pretenses, no forced smiles. Just two men trying to make peace with their pasts in different ways.

“And of course, I am a gossipmonger. It comes with my profession.”

Edmund rolled his eyes, polishing off his drink. “Is that so?”

“You are dancing around my question, Edmund.”

“And you are dancing around mine,” he countered.

Julian waved his glass in a touché sort of way. He stood up, swiping Edmund’s glass to get refills. As he did, Edmund looked around the elegant drawing room. It was heavily luxurious in a way one might expect of an escort with funds to burn. Dark, heavy curtains brushed the burgundy floor, and velvet, navy settees were pressed to adjacent walls. Dark wooden doors ensured that certain rooms remained off-limits to clients and allowed Julian to have privacy while still showing off his wealth.

It was elegant and expensive in a dark, sultry way.

“I always learn about my clients,” Julian finally explained, finishing preparing their drinks with a twist of the decanter cap. He grinned at Edmund. “Even the ones that do not turn up. That is one of my ways of staying safe.”

“You knew it was her that night she was supposed to arrive,” Edmund said.

Julian nodded as he handed him his drink. “Indeed. It was surprising enough to see her name, so I looked further into the ton’s current favorite spinster.”

“She is not a spinster,” Edmund bit out hotly, but his reaction only made Julian grin more.

“To the man who clearly likes her, no. But to the ton? You know what they are like. A woman turns one-and-twenty and she is practically an old maid. It is silly, really, for they praise men for getting older and bolder with their inheritances and social reach.”

Edmund lifted his glass in agreement and sipped.

“Besides,” Julian continued, “I saw the two of you from my window.”

“I am starting to think you are running some sort of peeping business here, with how much you peer out of that window.”

Julian laughed darkly. “Only when it pays well enough and all parties consent.” He threw Edmund a wink. “You most certainly had her fleeing down the street, did you not? And then you came to me, pretending to be unaware of who my client was.” He tutted.

But Edmund found himself unable to listen properly. His thoughts were caught on Penelope that night, wincing at how easily she had wormed her way into his mind without trying to.

He stared down at his hands, one resting on the arm of the settee and the other clenching his glass. How could he allow himself to touch her again? She was a pink rose in the middle of a thorny garden, and he could not come to her with bleeding, torn hands. Hands that knew how it felt to drain a life beneath them. How could he dare let himself think of being happy, when for too long all he had known was survival and misery? How could that be any sort of life for Penelope to come into?

He was aware of Julian’s silence, and he eventually looked up. Clearing his throat, he tried to smile as though all was well, but Julian cocked his head.

“Yes?” Edmund asked defensively.

“I know you, Edmund. I know what you worry about.”

There was a pause where Julian waited to see if Edmund would stop him from voicing his guess and Edmund waited to see if Julian would be right.

“You think that you do not deserve her. That she is untouchable by a man with hands that have known the things yours have.”

Edmund said nothing, only stared coolly at his friend.

“Let me tell you something, Edmund. Something that I learned through my own pain and darkness—through endless beds and sheets of my own, through bags of coins and lovers who did not stay until morning. Men like us, men who have known so much darkness, do deserve respite and happiness. I thought the same as you until I met the lady I was with tonight. She’s made me realize that happiness isn’t bought, and it is not always hard-won either.

“Sometimes, it can be as natural as a woman stumbling into the walkway of your friend’s house. A woman you never expected to meet, but you did. I do not believe in fate, not exactly, but I believe that perhaps something was delivering you a gift for all your years of fighting. Lady Penelope is perhaps a personification of the happiness you do deserve.”

Edmund’s chest was foolishly tight, his throat closing as he answered, “And how do I let myself believe that? How do I make her happy when I cannot even make myself happy?”

“You stop overthinking it,” Julian told him. “You simply do what makes you happy. If that is speaking with her, visiting her, holding her… then you do that. Life is not just shadows and haunted pasts, Edmund. You can find a reason for everything if that is what you need, but remember this: you broke away from that place physically. Let yourself do the same mentally.”

“But my?—”

“I know,” Julian interrupted, and for once Edmund didn’t argue. “But if you can find peace along the way, let it be in the hands of a woman who might want you as much as you want her.”

Edmund nodded, his thoughts heavy but also feeling a lot lighter than before he’d visited his friend. He did not realize there was so much wisdom to be found or vulnerability to be seen in Julian. He hid so much behind the veneer of an expensive escort, both falling into that role out of desire and because he was good at it and earned good money. But underneath it all, Edmund could see the shadows Julian kept hidden. And if he had a lady warming his bed beyond paying for a service, then who was Edmund to hold himself back?

Why was he stopping himself from pursuing something with Penelope? He did not have to approach her brother. He could merely give her what she had sought the night they met: pleasure without any strings or cost.

“Oh, and Edmund?”

“Hmm?” he returned, aware he still hadn’t properly answered Julian. But his friend would know he had listened to every word.

“I am making a house call tomorrow to service Lord—somebody, so I’m leaving this place empty.” A devilish smirk appeared on Julian’s face. Edmund noticed the slip-up he’d almost made and was again reminded of Julian’s secrets. “It would be a shame if a certain duke and lady did not make full use of it.”

“Are you offering?”

“I am merely suggesting the means for you to explore while you have privacy. Uninterrupted hours, nobody to overhear you, staff dismissed—although I only keep a skeletal group. But they will not be here. Make the most of it, and if you find you like Lady Penelope’s company alone, then I will let you know when I make more house calls.”

Edmund’s mind was already racing with possibilities. In this lavish, fine place, where nobody knew either of them, far enough away from both of their townhouses… they could very well find their way around one another. No more hiding or hurried, hushed moments. Countless hours of isolation, alone with Penelope.

There were no nerves or worries. Finally.