Page 19 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Nineteen

“P enelope,” Edmund growled, crumpling the paper in his hand.

Her name had been on his lips for the past hour in annoyed grumblings, for he could not focus. The woman was not even in the room and she still stole his focus, as she had done ever since the night they’d met.

He began his plan again, trying to work out his next moves against Cyrus Reed. Gregory, the trusted servant who had been scouting the Poseidon warehouse, had not reported anything worthwhile yet, and Edmund knew he needed more avenues to work with. Julian had given him no other information, and he had barely thought to continue scouring the gambling hells and taverns.

Penelope drifted through his thoughts once more, and he knew that his need to have her was clouding anything else. He could not complain, for when he did not chase her, he craved her with his whole being, but when he did not have her, he couldn’t push thoughts of her away.

Since they had coupled on Julian’s chaise in the hallway, he had met with her twice more, and each time he had kissed her through every declaration that they would not do it again, and she had done the same.

They really couldn’t continue it. She had her brother to worry about, and Edmund himself needed to worry about the Marquess’s reaction if he found out. Not to mention he was sidelining his investigation to chase his physical needs.

Tomorrow night, he would attend the dinner hosted by Lord Frederick, one of the ambitious sons of the Earl and Countess of Dalebury. In truth, the young lord was too ambitious, and Edmund did not intend to back whatever he was planning with the Marquess of Langwaite, but he had been invited, and he hoped that being around other nobles would help him get his focus back to where he needed it to be.

A night with like-minded gentlemen, reminded of his duty to his old acquaintance, with no distractions around. Yes, that was exactly what he needed.

* * *

Edmund’s stomach dropped as he entered the drawing room in Dalebury House and laid eyes on Penelope. In the corner, Finley lounged in a deep armchair, holding a tumbler of brandy as he spoke with another man Edmund recognized.

Lucien Fitzgerald, the Duke of Stormhold, stood with his wife, Edwina Fitzgerald, the lady who had become his Duchess during Edmund’s time in captivity, according to Benjamin. His gossipmonger of a cousin was notably absent from the room, and Edmund realized he had little choice other than to approach the two men he knew.

Unfortunately, that meant approaching the very distraction he had intended to avoid.

“Good evening,” he spoke up, smiling at the Duke, Duchess, and Marquess. His eyes flicked overPenelope.

“Blackstone! We thought you were not coming after all,” Finley greeted, standing up. “You must remember the Duke of Stormhold. This is his Duchess.”

Edmund had a hard time tearing his gaze away from Penelope, who was stuffed in another stifling dress. He thought back to his promise to her after they had tangled between silken sheets.

I will buy you a thousand dresses if it will get you to believe me .

She was not meant to be there—or at least Edmund had assumed she wouldn’t be. But as he looked around, he noticed that several of the lords in attendance had brought their wives. It was strange that Finley had chosen to bring Penelope, but Edmund kept his mouth shut about it.

He nodded to Lucien and Edwina, noting how the Duchess stood proudly at her husband’s side, her chin lifted. She appeared regal, even though her smile was soft.

“Duke. Duchess.”

“Blackstone,” Lucien greeted, shaking his hand. “I have heard much about you.”

Edmund nodded politely. “I apologize for not being more involved in your dukedom or congratulating you on your marriage. I have been…” He hesitated, looking at Penelope for a moment. “I have been away for some time and only recently returned to London.”

“Do not worry about such matters,” Lucien said, waving his hand dismissively. “We are here now, and I believe that it is going to be a truly prosperous night. Although, if the Marquess of Langwaite spends one more second speaking of business before we actually begin a group discussion, I might just have to leave.”

He laughed, and Edmund nodded his acknowledgment of the joke.

“Lucien does not like repeating himself,” the Duchess of Stormhold whispered as if it were a secret.

“You both sound very similar.”

Edmund stiffened at Penelope’s voice. Heavens, the last time he had heard it was in the throes of pleasure. He ached to touch her even now. His eyes met hers, and he felt that wave of desire pulse through him. Her face reflected the same, but he could only hope that it wasn’t as noticeable as he felt it was.

“Are they now?” It was Edwina who spoke again, looking between Penelope and the two Dukes curiously, as if…

As if she could sense Penelope’s longing.

“Interesting,” she mused, smiling. “Lady Penelope, you have yet to introduce me to your friends. Come, walk with me.”

Finley’s eyes narrowed, but he would never dare argue with a duchess.

Edmund watched Penelope slip away with Edwina, the two of them already bent in their feminine whispers and ways he would never understand.

He turned back to the other gentlemen as more of them gathered. “Shall we start our meeting, then?”

Throughout the blasted thing, Edmund could not focus. In the one place he had planned to put himself back on track—to focus on his dukedom, his estates, and making advantageous connections—he found his attention straying to the doors of the drawing room, beyond which the ladies gathered while the men spoke of business. And then, throughout dinner, he could not look away from her.

Her attention scorched him, and he regretted every second of declaring it was their last time. How could he ever walk away from her? He would handle the danger. He would fight anybody if it came to that. He would bloody his hands, add more scars to his already full canvas, and argue with a thousand men so that he could have her beneath him again.

In the end, he could barely recall what the men discussed, only that he vaguely agreed to invest alongside the Duke of Stormhold. He didn’t hear the questions anybody asked about his absence or his return to London; all he knew was Penelope.

Penelope, Penelope, Penelope.

She encompassed him, and he was attuned to her, unable to help looking for her no matter where he was. But when the ladies returned to the drawing room after dinner for drinks, Lucien strolled over to him and pulled him aside, away from Finley.

“Edmund,” Lucien said quietly. “My wife is a bit of a meddler, and she seems to have noticed something between you and Lady Penelope. You do not have to confirm anything with me. Your personal life is your own, and I am not one for gossip, but she says that the air grows heavy with the weight of longing.”

The protest was hanging on the tip of Edmund’s tongue, ready to deny anything, when Lucien held a finger to his lips. Dukes held one another’s secrets.

“From one duke to another who had a secret admiration for a lady he could not have for a long time, I advise you to give in to my wife’s meddling and find yourself in the spare study, where your lady awaits you.”

“Lord Langwaite?—”

Lucien cut him off. “Again, from one duke to another, brothers are difficult to deal with but easily distracted by others.”

He nodded to where the Marquess of Wetherby had drawn Finley into another conversation, while the Earl of Bathurst was offering him a drink.

Edmund blinked, surprised by the show of support. Penelope claimed she was a spinster, but it was clear everybody wished to help her seek what she wanted.

Perhaps they think you are deserving of one another’s affection.

“Go and meet with her,” Lucien urged, clapping him on the shoulder, “and allow us to take care of everything else.”

With that, he walked away.

Edmund did not waste another moment as he left the drawing room, covered by the flurry of conversations around Finley. He stalked down the corridor, finding a door slightly ajar.

Once inside, he let the door close softly behind him as his eyes fell on the source of his torment. Penelope looked breathless already, her eyes widening.

“Her Grace set?—”

“Put your back to the far wall, Penelope.” His command was low, soft but laced with demand.

Her lips parted on an exhale, that look of surprise on her face that she always had, as if, even after all the times they had coupled, the intimacy of it all still surprised her.

She did as he asked, and he walked up to her, his eyes tracing the wretched gown that made her flush with more heat than arousal. He could not tear it off her as he wished, but he could free her of it.

With deft fingers, he loosened the fastenings of her dress. He pushed her skirt up, his fingers already slipping between her legs.

“Can you keep quiet for me?” he asked, his lips grazing her neck.

He breathed in her scent—vanilla and rose, the same he had scented every time he took her in Julian’s house—and knew that every moment of trying to restrain himself brought him back to her. As if they were two ends of a thread, invisibly connected, always tugged towards one another.

He shook the thought off. He did not need anything of that notion distracting him.

Instead, he focused on how she felt in his arms.

He focused on the muffled noises she made behind her palm when he slid his fingers inside her heat.

He focused on making sure nobody interrupted them—and when he finally entered her, filling her with his length, the aching need made him shudder against her.

Edmund focused on every part of him, of their coupling, of Penelope , except for how wildly his heart pounded for more reasons than just the exertion. It terrified him, and his walls needed to be even higher, but how could he do that when she already knew that was his way of protecting himself?

He thrust into her in that study, while her brother was down the hall—while notable members of the ton were down the hall, either helping them or oblivious to the full extent of their meetings. And when he was close, he pulled out of her, spilling on a handkerchief—which he’d swiftly toss into the fireplace later—as they’d promised to be careful.

Then, he let out a long breath.

For a minute, he held her close. He stayed there, his breath fanning her collar, and he thought of how he had no right to hold her with gentleness when his hands had been long stained with blood.

Perhaps that was why he had a penchant for rough intimacy like she had proposed while pleasuring him earlier in the week. It thrilled him. It made him feel closer to the man he had left on the shores of the Caribbean. But he did not like that thought. It made him question whether that was truly who he was now.

“We must return,” he whispered.

“We must,” she agreed, an echo of his words.

He knew it was because she didn’t want to voice that neither of them wanted to part. It was easier than admitting that.

“This cannot happen again.”

“And especially so publicly.”

“We have risked so much.”

He pulled back, looking at her.

And, as always, after they’d promised it would be the last time, he kissed her like he had every intention of doing it again several days later.

* * *

And he did do it several days later. Because, of course, the last time was never really their last time at all. Not when it came to Penelope and his craving for her.

He forced himself to focus on his investigation, to get his head back where it needed to be rather than buried between Penelope’s thighs, but he could not part from her. Soon, their meetings grew more frequent, and they still promised never to do it again. He couldn’t recall when, but they had started to smirk as they said it, knowing it would not be the last time.

“Edmund,” Penelope moaned above him.

He had tied her with his cravat to the headboard of Julian’s bed, and perhaps he should not have done such a thing, but there was just something wickedly alluring about taking her where he was not supposed to.

His tongue delved into her, tasting her very essence. As always, it only made him stiffen more in his breeches, but this time, he had fully undressed. There was nothing to stop him from sinking into her once he brought her to another climax on his tongue.

Edmund crawled up her body, kissing the full curves of her hips and stomach, nosing along the lines of her waist, before he finally pressed his lips to her breasts. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, relishing the taste of her skin and the gasps she gave. Even when she was quiet, her body betrayed her. She was constantly soaked between her legs, her nipples hardened at his attention, and her breath hitched in a way that let him know she would fly over that edge of pleasure almost as soon as he entered her.

And she did. Penelope cried out in pleasure after a few slow, hard thrusts that had him grunting against her mouth. He licked into her mouth as if he could taste her moans—they were the most delicious things ever, aside from her taste, and he had heard them in his dreams ever since their secret meetings began.

He made to pull out so she was not overstimulated, but she clamped her legs around his hips. Her eyes met his, so wide that only a small ring of that sparkling blue remained.

“Keep going,” she begged. Sweat dampened her hairline, and her cheeks were beautifully flushed.

Edmund stilled inside her. “It will be a lot to endure,” he told her, his fingertips toying with her nipples, gently keeping her grounded through the rougher play and stimulation.

She looked there with him, focused, even as she smiled loosely from the lust.

“I know,” she whispered and lifted her head for another kiss.

Edmund was utterly too weak for the woman—he would do anything she asked.

“Take me until I cry, until I beg to be released from the bonds around my hands if only to claw at the sheets in ecstasy. Take me until the whole street hears our coupling—until I cannot think of anything but you .”

Edmund let out a filthy curse as he pulled out and rutted into her once. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, a gasp falling free. He was letting her know that he would not go easy on her. If roughness was what she wanted, he was well-equipped to give it.

“You will tell me immediately if it is too much,” he told her.

“I will,” Penelope promised.

And with one last long, careful look at her splayed form over the pillows, her blonde hair spilling over angelically even as she requested things that were far from innocent, Edmund let himself loose. He unleashed every pent-up promise of parting from her. He unleashed every moment of need when they were apart. He rained pleasure upon her body and basked in the sounds she made.

Penelope mewled, whined, moaned—begged for more and more and more, and Edmund gave.

Thrust after thrust, he lost himself in her and watched as she lost herself to him.

It is just physical , he thought as he panted above her. Just physical, he repeated silently as he leaned down to kiss her, desperate.

He took her, chasing that desperation, and he told himself again and again that this was the last time . When he made Penelope climax a second time, and then a third, filling the room with her sweet cries and wanton shouts, he almost believed himself.

* * *

Penelope didn’t remember falling asleep there, wrapped up in the sheets, having moved from Julian’s bed to the one they had claimed during their first night together.

All she recalled throughout her blissful haze was Edmund’s arms around her, not even pulling out of her as he picked her up from that bed to take her to another. She had smiled, she remembered that, and she remembered being cleaned, an apology muttered for not being able to draw her a bath, and that a warmth had embraced her afterward.

A warmth she now realized was Edmund’s arms.

She turned to look up at him and ignored the pang in her chest at how jolting it felt to wake up in his arms, to see his face slack, vulnerable in sleep when he held himself so rigidly around others.

Penelope reached out to brush his dark hair back, exposing dark lashes that covered his gray eyes. She had never noticed the freckle on the line of his jaw. Without thinking, she kissed it.

Edmund tensed in his sleep, his mouth moving ever so slightly. She paused, wondering why she had felt the need to make such a tender gesture when he was not awake to see or feel it.

Turn back around , she told herself. Fall back asleep. Even better, leave. He will bear no consequences for staying here. You will.

It was the right thing to do—to perhaps leave a note and sneak out before dawn—but her body was still boneless from the multiple times they had coupled, and his arms were so, so warm.

It was an embrace Penelope had been waiting her whole life for and had never known she needed until it was there.

But that was an absurd thought, one that didn’t align with a temporary agreement. So she ignored the comforting embrace, turned her back to him, put more distance between them even though she craved the press of his skin on hers, and told herself she would get up in a moment. Just one more moment…

She was awoken by harsh breaths on her bare shoulder. Not the sort that Edmund had loosed in pleasure. No. These sounded… panicked, the ones that Penelope often let out when Finley was close to catching her doing something he didn’t approve of, or when she could not stop herself from looking at her bedchamber door when she dressed, hoping it did not open.

“Edmund,” she whispered, slowly turning to face him.

His face was no longer slack but tight, pinched. His mouth moved more now, and there was a furrow between his eyebrows that hinted at distress.

“ Leave .” The word came out as a snarl that got choked off as he jerked, his hand curling into a fist on the sheets.

Again, he said the word, but this time it sounded like a plea.

Penelope froze, realizing he was still in the throes of sleep. He let out a cry, his shoulders curled inward, and a strangled groan tore from his throat. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening his hair and making it look black.

She did not think about the late hour or the fear of having fallen asleep again. Her focus zeroed in on the man caught in a nightmare. Was this was happened when he trapped everything inside him? It crept up on him through dreams and broken recollections?

“Edmund,” she said again, harder, but he did not stir.

His face was contorted—utter pain etched on it. He let out a ragged breath, more panic ebbing in. Finally, she moved to touch him. Her hand covered his shoulder, as much as she could encompass, and she pushed hard .

His eyes flew open, and he had that clenched fist lifted in a second. Despite her fear, Penelope didn’t flinch back. Wide eyes stared back at her, unseeing, as storms gathered in them, as Edmund dragged himself from the throes of a nightmare and looked around himself.

He let out a long breath that sounded thoroughly winded, as though he had been struck, and he immediately dropped his fist, cursing.

“You should leave,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse. From sleep or the nightmare’s chokehold, she didn’t know. “In fact, I would like?—”

“Do not tell me what to do.” Her response startled her, and him, for his eyes snapped back to her as he pulled himself up. “Not right now. You must know I will not leave you like this.”

“Like what?” His laugh was cold, containing nothing of the man who had held her as she trembled through her releases hours ago. “A broken man reliving everything he deserves to be burdened with? Penelope, you are too good to endure being around such a thing.”

“This is why we have taken measures to never fall asleep here,” she guessed, and a tinge of guilt flashed across his face. “Drop your mask, Edmund. I am right here, and I will not leave.”

His face was strained, the cold anger that she knew had only been a front to push her away, and he looked back at her defeatedly.

“I… I cannot begin to voice it. The things that plague me when I close my eyes. I endured them for seven years, and yet I must still endure them. I cannot express how I made it out alive, but some nights my mind drags me right back there and it takes too long to piece myself back together as a man who escaped.”

“Try,” she encouraged. “I will listen as long as it takes.”

His eyes immediately went to the curtained windows, but she drew him back with a brush against his shoulder. He flinched, but she kept her hand there, a steady presence.

Slowly, she let her hand slide over his broad chest to feel his heartbeat. For a man so steady on the outside, what wars did he face internally and endure so quietly?

“I will not turn my back on anything you admit. Do not think of dawn or anybody out there. This is us . I am Penelope, and you are safe in this room with me.”

He was silent for a long time, so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer her. But then he did, and his voice was tight. “It is not my safety I worry for but others who might witness me in this state. Sometimes it happens when I am awake, too.”

“You will not hurt me.”

It was a comforting reminder rather than an order, a gentle way to remind him that in this room, he didn’t fight what haunted his mind.

He shook his head. “I… It is not a kind tale.”

“If I wanted a kind tale, I would have gone to a library. I am asking for what it is you wish to share.”

He nodded, and she shifted to get comfortable, keeping her hand on his bare chest while he steadied his breathing. Shadows still haunted his gaze, but he was composed, a testament to how quickly and often he must have needed to do this.

“For seven years, I was in the Caribbean, having been kidnapped by a man named James Logan.”

Penelope tried to keep her reactions quiet, her expression neutral, even as the information surprised her. Everybody said he had vanished of his own accord, leaving Arabella defenseless.

To know that he had not chosen that, that he’d given up his entire life for the safety of his sister… it made her heart ache for him even more.

“I was ambushed one night in London, and when I came to, I was aboard a ship, thrown right into the dregs of the underground Logan had set up there. He had a reach everywhere, but that island is notoriously the most dangerous simply because more things can be done over there in secret, less regulated dealings. I was their… glorified messenger, let us say, but the messages I delivered were not notes written with good ink on good paper.”

“He killed a man.”

“I heard he murdered several.”

Penelope had dismissed her friends’ words as gossip, the ton working its nasty magic with rumors.

“Yes,” he sighed, turning to look at her with heavy eyes. “If you are wondering, my messages were Logan’s, and they came drenched in blood rather than ink. They were delivered by fists rather than words. On my first night in captivity, I was prodded awake with a knife to my throat and Logan’s face close enough that I knew true fear for the first time in my life. He turned the blade’s handle towards me, and he told me I could either kill a man who had wronged him or be the new target. I had left behind my father, my sister, my cousin. It was my survival, and I had no choice.

“I took the knife. The minute I did, I knew I would never be the same, that there was no coming back from what I had to do. I was right, of course. I took the directions and hunted the target for hours, still aching from being smuggled out of London. I found an older man, gray-haired and trembling, in the corner. He pleaded for his life, and I cut his words short with a terrible strike that did not kill him as quickly as I had thought it would. I had never raised my hand to a man before that night. As that man bled out slowly and painfully, I could only watch, horrified.”

His voice broke, and tears welled up in his eyes, making them shimmer. He stared down at his hands.

“I have committed a thousand sins,” he whispered, curling his fingers into fists. “So much blood, Penelope. My own, Logan’s enemies, Logan’s men who betrayed him. I fought and killed for my life out there, because every time I bit back, snapped like a feral hound that refused to be tamed, Logan told me he would have Arabella punished. He would tell me every way he would have my sister broken down, ruined both physically and mentally. And, every time, I knew that I would be broken before she was ever harmed. So I stood alongside Logan the whole time and did his bidding.”

He spoke quickly now, as if he knew that if he stopped, he might never speak of it again—and perhaps some part of him needed to.

“It was not all death. Sometimes I stole, and sometimes I lied to save myself. I harmed men and made them leave the island. But my hands have been too coated in blood to ever think I was worthy of having a peaceful life when I returned. You see now why I am reluctant to enter Society the way the ton expects me to. What good is a husband who has one foot in reality and the other trapped in a nightmare that never ended even when he fought to be free?”

Penelope swallowed at that. She had never approached Edmund with the intent of looking for a husband, but hearing the hard rejection in his voice made something strange crack inside her. She did not want that, and she had her own reasons for not making this arrangement permanent, but…

Heavens, why do I feel emotional about this ?

Edmund was still staring down at his hands and shook his head. “I promised myself to exact revenge on Logan after everything I went through and did. His own men turned on him some time ago, and I took my chance. Julian’s, too.”

“Julian’s?”

He nodded, meeting her eyes again. He smiled slightly. “That is how we met.”

“You two are truly friends?”

“Did you think I merely borrowed his house without being close enough to be given privileges?”

She stayed silent, but after a moment, she admitted, “I did not think you allowed anybody close enough to call them a friend.”

“Julian is the closest,” he told her. “We bonded over the need to survive. I ensured that he got out of his hellish contracts safely. That is his story to tell, but for now, that is what you may know. Ever since I returned to London, I have been searching for the man who paid Logan to kidnap me. I cannot let it rest.”

“That is the business you cannot focus on, then,” she guessed.

Edmund nodded. “You are a terribly beautiful distraction, Penelope.”

Something curled inside her. Their arrangement could not, and should not, take him away from what was important. He had gone through hell and come out alive. How could she ever thwart what was rightly his to hunt down?

“Then let me in,” she said. “Instead of pushing me away, let me get involved if it means not side-tracking you.”

He let out a low laugh that wasn’t humorous but not quite condescending either. “I would happily be side-tracked?—”

“Edmund.” Her tone was berating, her eyebrows knitted together now that she knew. “You have been so secretive about your business, yet you have opened up to me now. What can I do for you to let me in?”

He leaned into her, and for a moment, she let herself be distracted by his mouth on hers, kissing away her questions. He grasped her chin, and she was once again reminded of how they had not bothered to clothe themselves. His hand slid down the side of her body, cupping the top of her thigh to draw it over his.

“Nothing,” he told her finally, pulling away but barely letting their mouths part more than an inch. “I would not have you involved in such danger.”

“I am sure you can still speak to?—”

He kissed her protests away—and he kept kissing her until his fingers slipped further inward, until they slipped inside her. She knew she was falling for his distraction, and she let herself. He had told her enough tonight.

She had to know that was enough. She had to be content with everything he had given her and knew it could not be more. Not in a permanent arrangement, and not when it came to his nightmares.