Page 16 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Sixteen

A note arrived for Penelope the day after her afternoon with Daphne, written on thick, creamy paper that she recognized instantly.

It was the same card that had been attached to her dress. Once again, the footman had delivered it to her personally in her room during one of Finley’s outings with a potential business partner. Edmund could not know Finley’s schedule, and he seemed to be getting fortunate with his timing.

Penelope recognized the faint, ivory pattern on the card, and she broke the seal, finding Edmund’s elegant script.

Penelope,

Forgive the short notice, but I wish to invite you to Julian Gray’s house tonight—and no, not in a similar way to the night we met. Just you and me, alone. I would like to spend time with you that does not involve being chased off balconies. If it pleases you, I have put in place measures to ensure the utmost secrecy. We shall meet after midnight when Lord Langwaite is surely asleep. I have enquired about the driver who brought you to Julian’s house that night, and I will have you returned home long before dawn. However, not before I indulge in your company to the fullest extent.

The carriage will be waiting for you just around the corner from your townhouse, ready to take you to the back entrance of Julian’s house. I will be there. I do hope you will join me.

Fondly,

Edmund.

It struck her that the note was signed so differently from his first one, and that alone made her smile. That was until Edmund’s offer hit her jarringly. He wished for them to spend time alone together. Unchaperoned, unhurried. Private, secluded time in a house that was no stranger to pleasure.

Penelope flushed thinking about it.

The footman cleared his throat, startling her.

She looked at him. “Yes?” she asked.

“I do not wish to rush you, but I have to send back a response,” he told her. “While some arrangements will be in place regardless, there are others that require you to respond promptly.”

Penelope blinked. “Oh. Oh, I see.”

Terror climbed up her throat. What if she got caught? They had been caught twice before, but this was different. This was sneaking to see Edmund, not sneaking away during another event where people would notice both of their absences. Finley would be asleep, none the wiser—and he was an impressively heavy sleeper.

Would he notice if she crept out to meet Edmund?

Would he know something was amiss the moment the door closed behind her?

Her hands trembled just thinking about it, too aware of the footman’s presence.

She opened her mouth to say no , that she could hardly risk something so dangerous, only to pause. It was not Cecilia’s advice that came to her mind, though the woman was bold and encouraging enough. No, it was Mary’s. Penelope recalled her words.

“Defy expectations, Penelope, for it only means that you are making choices for yourself. That is the most powerful thing of all.”

Mary was right, and it was about time Penelope made a choice for herself. Not Finley, not even her friends, but herself.

And she’d found that the last several nights since their kiss on the balcony and then in the library, she had been a new type of restless. Her mind raced with every possibility of how the night might go, and she shivered, for she liked it.

“Yes.” Her agreement was barely a whisper as she looked up at the footman. He would not know the circumstances, but he would see her anxiety. And he would see her excitement. “Yes, I agree to the invitation.”

“Then I shall see to it that the response is sent out promptly,” the footman assured her, bowing out of the room. But before he was gone, he turned again. “And Lady Penelope? I am also sworn to secrecy regarding anything I see in this household between you and your note-sender.”

He gave her a warm smile, and it made her wonder, as it had with her lady’s maid, just how much of her brother’s control they saw and if they somehow supported her small rebellions.

She pushed the thoughts aside after he made his leave and looked around herself.

Now, she had to choose what to wear.

* * *

She was less panicked than the last she had been at Julian Gray’s house, and now that she was there, she could appreciate the small rose bushes that lined the back-garden path and the lantern that hung above the back door.

Penelope did not know if it was polite to knock, but the door opened as she lifted her hand anyway.

Just beyond the door was Edmund, and the sight of him weakened her. He was dressed in all black, from his waistcoat with gray trim to the black cravat that shone beneath the light to his dark shirt and breeches. He was not wearing a tailcoat, yet there was still something so composed about him that sent heat through her.

“Are you going to observe me all night, or would you like to come in?” he asked in a voice that shivered right down her spine.

“Of course.” She laughed, her voice cracking. “Of course, I am coming in. I?—”

Penelope took one more moment to steel herself before stepping into the house where, weeks ago, she should have lost her virtue but had been stopped by the very man who might take it?—

She halted that train of thought quickly. She did not want to jump to such conclusions.

“You knew I was here,” she noted as Edmund took her cloak, surprising her with how he carefullyfolded it into a closet in the hallway.

His hand twitched, as if he wanted to hold hers, but he did not, and she did not offer.

“It turns out that Julian has an excellent spot for spying on the back door. He told me it is to ensure that his clients do leave. He says he knows how the front gate sounds, so he feels comforted by that, but he has to keep an eye on the back entrance.”

“I see.”

“It is how he knows you were there that night.”

Penelope inhaled sharply, and he turned to her when he realized she wasn’t keeping pace behind him. “What? I-I thought he…”

“You thought that simply because you did not show your face to him, he would not recognize you? Oh, no, Penelope. You are far too well-known for that.”

Her face flushed, but Edmund smirked at her.

“Do not worry. Julian has secrets of his own; he is the last man to go gossiping about who wishes to experience his exquisite talents in the bedroom. His words, not my opinion.”

There was a tinge of humor in his voice, and the normalcy of their conversation put Penelope surprisingly at ease.

He cocked his head as if he knew she was surprised.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Did you invite me here to discuss your friend’s business?”

“You must know I did not,” he said. “But what did you expect when you first entered?”

For a moment, Penelope could only think of the desperate way they had stumbled into the bookcase in the library. Maybe a part of her had expected that same clutching desperation after spending a couple of days apart, after the nights she had lain awake thinking of him, hoping he was doing the same.

Edmund’s eyes slowly traced her face. “I invited you here for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

He nodded, his eyes flickering over her face. “You are surprised.”

She nodded, flushing. “I thought perhaps we would drink some wine, sit together in the drawing room…” she trailed off, not wanting to admit her lustful thoughts, but he looked at her as though he knew them.

“Well then, depending on how dinner goes, you may just be dessert.”

With that, he walked into a room that branched off the darkened hallway, and although Penelope’s anxiety increased at the thought of both dinner and dessert, at the sheer reality of having snuck out, she followed him.

There is no turning back now .

She found she liked it. What she’d walked into wasn’t some dangerous den, as she had imagined when thinking of the escort’s house. A bed that he would bind her to, or scandalous artwork everywhere. No, what awaited her was candles.

A whole array of them had been placed around a lavish dining room that looked as normal as her own back home, if a bit smaller. And Edmund was already waiting for her, with a chair pulled out.

“Am I surprising you?” He laughed.

The sound was so unexpected that she laughed too, nervous and caught off-guard.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I… I did not expect this. Dinner and candles and… normalcy.”

“Did you expect the dark Duke that everybody whispers about?” The smirk on his face was utterly devastating, and Penelope could not help but be drawn to him, her heart pounding. “The one who would pin you to this very table and ask what you wanted him to do to you?”

She blushed again, knowing he had guessed correctly.

“No,” she lied, and he huffed like he didn’t believe her.

Penelope sank into the chair, and Edmund took the one opposite her, but he was back on his feet in a moment, his gaze flickering around the table. It was as though he was unsure in some aspects, too, but that could not be possible.

Could it?

He picked up a bottle of wine and uncorked it, offering it to her.

“You must not try to impress me with some vintage, far-off produced wine, for it will simply not matter to me. I like good taste, and that is all I care about,” she told him, preening when he smiled again.

It was a tight smile, as if he quite didn’t know what to do with it on his face.

“Then it is a good job I know nothing about this wine beyond pilfering it from Julian’s wine cellar and knowing it is red.”

“Red is perfect.”

“Most certainly, when it is the color of your gown.”

He arched a knowing eyebrow and began to pour her a glass of the rich wine. A note of berries filled the air, and she sighed, inhaling the smell. As she did, she caught a scent coming from the Duke—something masculine, heady, as if he had dabbed scented oil somewhere, or bathed in something before arriving.

Exactly as I did .

Edmund quickly poured himself a glass before he gestured to the covered dishes before them.

“There are no servants,” he told her. “I did not want you to worry about being caught or whispered about. It is simply us, good wine, and even better food.”

“And dessert,” she added.

His gaze seared her. “And dessert.”

He lifted the lid of one dish, and her mouth immediately watered at the rich pie, still steaming, surrounded by vegetables. The pastry was thick and crumbling, the filling already bubbling out of the top in small holes that had formed likely during baking.

“I have been told it is a favorite of yours,” Edmund said. “It is possibly unconventional, but I did not wish to imitate an upscale dinner, but something less grand while no less delicious.”

“I am touched,” she said. “And surprised once more. You have put a lot of thought into this.”

He gave her a small laugh, nodding as he cut a generous slice for her and then himself.

A small part of Penelope was thrilled to notice how he served them the same-sized slices. Finley always served her less of anything he had, stating it was customary for a lady to eat less than a man. Yet Edmund simply looked at her interestedly as she eyed their slices.

“It was a favorite of my mother’s,” she told him as he served up what appeared to be Parisian potatoes. “It is something I recall from my childhood. She would occasionally ask our cook for pie at dinner time, forgoing the roasted joints of meat that we would usually have. She was a countess—a poorer one, at that. She led a humble lifestyle, and having the occasional pie was a way for her to honor that. She had taught me to do the same.”

“Your mother taught you well,” Edmund commended, holding a slice of pie up to her in a humorous toast.

Giggling, Penelope touched her slice to his, and they ate. Rich meat burst in herby flavors on her tongue, and she bit back a moan.

Edmund tucked in straight away. “So your father was an earl?”

Penelope nodded. “I did not know him, though. He passed away when I was a toddler, no more than three years old. When my mother remarried, it was a quick arrangement, more out of necessity due to my age than anything.”

“To the former Marquess of Langwaite?”

Penelope nodded. “I grew up with him as my only father, really. After being a countess, becoming a marchioness likely made my mother feel richer, but the truth is that our family does not have a great deal of wealth. We are not poor by any means, but we are not overly rich.”

“Some would say it is indecent to broach such topics over dinner,” he teased.

Penelope raised an eyebrow, sipping her wine. “I think you and I are a little past decency, no?”

She noticed the effect it had on him, and she took it as a small victory that she had managed to surprise him.

“Indeed,” he agreed, raising his wine glass to her before he drank. “Tell me more about your childhood.”

“My mother died several years after marrying the former Marquess, so although I do recall her, my memories are hazier. It has been fifteen years now, but I remember her hair, and how it shone in the light of the library window when she read. She was the one who introduced me to reading. After her death, it made me feel closer to her.”

Edmund nodded, his gaze fixed on her, interested. “You and… your brother, then. Did you get along as children?”

She nodded. “Despite our age gap, I believe he took well to suddenly having a younger sister to look after. He has always done that—looked after me. Even more so following the death of our father—well, his father, really, but the former Marquess was the only father I knew. Finley has always been there for me.”

She continued eating so she did not speak more about Finley. There was something about inviting his name into their space that she didn’t like. This place, tucked away from his knowledge, was the first thing she could keep to herself.

“What about you?” she asked. “Tell me your favorite things. Mine are books, horses, and other animals.”

“Animals?”

“Bunnies,” she clarified. “Although I have not seen any of late.”

Edmund let out a short laugh. “Well, in that case, I also enjoy reading, although I have not done a great deal of it for leisure recently. I have a horse named Altair who rides incredibly fast, but he has been a little stubborn lately due to a lack of being ridden. For obvious reasons, of course.”

Penelope bit back the urge to ask about those reasons—about his seven-year disappearance—and nodded. “Of course.”

“And I have a rather annoying cousin who I care for deeply—not that I will ever admit it to his face. But he terrifies me to death with his bravado that never quite matches his actions.”

Penelope let loose a burst of laughter as she nodded. “As is the case with many men.”

“Ah,” Edmund said, looking amused. “You are familiar with many men, then? How very scandalous, Penelope.”

The way he teased her went straight to her core, and she tamped it down. “You know full well I am not.”

His eyes flashed. “Very intimately so, I do know.”

She tried not to mull over what that meant, how he insinuated her inexperience, yet she found herself not embarrassed but hotly aware that he had taken even more care with her because of it.

“Another thing about me,” she continued, “is that although I wish to believe in love, I no longer do.”

“No?”

“You seem surprised.”

“All women love love, do they not?”

“No,” she said. “It is a lovely idea, I imagine, but not to me. I have rather resigned myself to a loveless life.”

Heavens, why did I bring up love ?

She forced a smile, but Edmund was only looking more interested than put off.

“And what do you believe in, then?”

“Passion,” she answered, finishing her main course, pleased to find that he had, too. “Pleasure. They are things I have not experienced properly, but I wish to. They are tangible, are they not? They can be short-term or long-term, depending on the people. For example, Julian Gray’s currency is passion. He deals in pleasure for however long a client wishes. He seems happy.”

“He is most happy.” Edmund chuckled.

“And that is my point. A woman seems happier in lust than in love.”

He eyed her with an amused smile, and the way he did not take his eyes off her as he drank his wine sent tingles down her spine. She fought back a shiver.

“And you, Penelope. Are you in lust?”

“I…” she trailed off, suddenly panicked at the question.

She knew what she was, had discussed it with Daphne only days ago, but the way those gray eyes met hers made her breathless, thoughtless.

“I promised you dessert,” Edmund said, sparing her from answering, as he tugged off the lid of another dish, revealing a glistening honey cake.

The sheen of the icing made her mouth water, but it also made her envision how it might look smeared over the Duke’s mouth. He looked at her as though he was envisioning the same.

Suddenly, the room seemed smaller, and Penelope’s breath caught.

“Dessert,” she whispered.

He smirked at her. “The offer still stands—for it to be you.”

Penelope’s pulse sped up as he stood up. She expected him to come around to her, but he only cut another slice of the cake and plated it up, bringing it over to her. With a spoon, he speared a bite off the end and held it up to her mouth. Honey dripped onto her lips, onto her waiting tongue as she swept it over the icing.

Edmund’s eyes darkened. “Perhaps I can have both,” he murmured, his eyes flickering over her face.

He leaned in closer, his hand cupping her cheek. His mouth lowered to hers until they were an inch apart, and Penelope fought the urge to close the distance immediately—only to pull back entirely.

Her chest clenched in panic as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin, whirling away from the Duke and his kisses and his teasing and promises.

“Penelope?” he asked.

“We—we cannot,” she whispered, turning back to him. “It is too dangerous, and I-I cannot let my brother find out. If… if he does, oh, Heavens, it will be the end of me.”

“Penelope,” he said again, reaching for her. “Did I move too fast? I apologize if I did, but please, return to dinner with me. What we have here is perfectly safe. We are away from prying eyes and?—”

“It is easy for you to reassure me,” she snapped, her panic making her defensive and sharp. “If we were caught, you would remain unscathed. You keep on kissing me and touching me, and yet you can walk away as though nothing ever happened. But me—I am adjusting my dresses with the tears in them, climbing out of balcony windows, and trying not to panic over being caught. How can you be so calm when you were almost found with me? I cannot help thinking it is because you truly do not care.”

Edmund scowled at her, insulted and frustrated.

“That is really what you think? That I do not care? That I walk away for that? Penelope, I walk away because you inhabit every thought of mine. Because what I said in the library was true—that I have walked away for you , because if I let myself have you, I will never stop, never satisfy the craving I feel for you. It will not be a one-time thing, so I have put off having even the smallest taste of you, but I no longer can. Heavens, I cannot eat, I cannot sleep. You are always there, no matter how much I chase you from my mind. Do you know how insane that can drive a man? Against every good reason, Penelope, I want you . I want all of you, and I will be greedy in what I take if I have your consent.”

Penelope could only stare at him for a moment.

“It is true, then,” she whispered. “What you said about being… affected by me?”

“It is very true,” he ground out. “I have suffered greatly, and nothing has satisfied me because it is not you .”

Heavens, the image of him trying to satisfy his need alone had her trembling as if he might snap at her.

Perhaps she wanted him to.

“Penelope, I will not be merciful if I claim you,” he uttered, pulling her to him.

He pressed his lips to her jaw as if he was already chasing that need as he tugged her against him. Already, her body was coming alive, answering his need.

“I did not say anything about wanting you to be merciful,” she whispered. “I wish to deal in pleasure and passion tonight, Edmund.”

He pulled back, his eyes gleaming. “With a dangerous man like me?”

He was slightly too breathless for the full teasing, but she smiled anyway. “That makes it all the more intriguing.”

And then his mouth was on hers, and her backside was pressed against the table’s edge, the dishes clattering to the floor.