Page 23 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“P enelope, I must admit, this new behavior of yours is rather admirable,” Finley mused, having strode into her room one afternoon. “However, you are looking rather… run-down. Are you sleeping well?”

He paused in front of her vanity.

Penelope froze, her heart racing. His eyes met hers in the mirror.

“I am sleeping fine,” she lied. She had barely slept at all, not since the last time she walked out of Julian Gray’s house. “And yourself?”

“Well enough.”

It sounded true, and she forced down her panic. If he did not suspect anything, then she would only cause more problems for herself if she looked guilty.

“That is good,” she said, because she did not know what else to say.

“I have been thinking,” Finley began. “I wish to let you know that I see improvement in your behavior. I was so worried for so long that you were growing audacious with how you spoke to me. You always spoke of suitors, and I did not really like that.” He exhaled as if it was exhausting to point out such a thing about her. “And then you accused me of hindering your marriage prospects as though you do not hinder them by yourself.”

“Finley,” she gasped, appalled. “What is?—”

“I will reward you,” he announced. “I tire of these stiff dresses you keep putting yourself in.”

Her protest that it was him commanding her attire died on her lips when he moved to her wardrobe. Her wardrobe, where she had hidden every note from Edmund, tucked into the gown she never wished to look at again.

The beautiful curl of his handwriting had hurt her more than she could bear, and yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to destroy it.

“The dress you wore, the one I initially disapproved of… I want to see you wearing more dresses like that.”

There was something in the way he said it that Penelope did not like. For when he turned to her, there was something predatory in his eyes. But then he blinked and it was gone.

He went back to her wardrobe, but she was already on her feet as he began to dig.

Her voice tight with fear, she spoke up, “Finley, do not?—”

“I will take it with us to the modiste to order more. Better yet, you will wear it to demonstrate.”

She did not like how he made her sound like a doll. His hand reached for the dress.

“Finley!”

But it was too late, and she rushed towards him, grabbing his arm right as he pulled the dress out. One by one, every note from Edmund fluttered from where they were tucked among the fabric.

Finley glanced at her, frowning. “What are these?”

She lunged at him to stop him, but he was already crouching, plucking an invitation card. For a moment, he did nothing as his eyes flicked over the lines.

Penelope’s face burned, for the invitations had grown more and more salacious. Instinctively, she began to back away from her brother—bracing herself, waiting for his wrath, unable to think of any explanation.

“What is this, Penelope?”

His question was quiet and furious. He did not look at her for a moment, but when he did, when he met her fear-stricken eyes, he barely held back his anger. He crumpled one of the cards in his hand and threw it on the floor.

“Answer me.”

“Finley—”

“ Answer me! ” he roared, rushing towards her.

She tried to run for the door, but he slammed it shut before she could touch the doorknob. She whirled around, her breath coming fast.

He waved another card in her face. Penelope saw a flash of bold, black writing, and bile rose in her throat, both at the way she missed Edmund and at the thought of her brother seeing anything Edmund had written.

“Please,” she choked out. “Please do not be angry. I-I cannot explain. I?—”

“Oh no, you can explain, Penelope. You read enough books, do you not?” Spittle flew from his mouth, hitting her cheek. Fury blazed in his eyes, and Penelope realized she had not known true fear until now. “How long, Pen? I noticed your behavior has changed. Less talk about suitors, only to find out that you have been whoring yourself out?—”

“Finley, do not speak in such a way!”

He barked out a bitter laugh. “Why not? It sounds as though my very dear friend Edmund has spoken far filthier words, and you have liked it.”

Nausea rolled through her at his words.

“Do you know,” he said through gritted teeth, “how long I have bided my time? How I have kept other suitors from taking your innocence because it should be mine . Your innocence, your gratitude, your honor. It is all mine , darling sister.”

Penelope’s heart stopped, her throat closing up at the revelation. She shook her head, her hands trembling. “You do not mean such a terrible thing.”

“Do I not? I watch you, Pen. I watch you when you do not know it, and I enjoy it.”

She thought about the time he had walked in on her before she went dress shopping with Cecilia, and how he had been so nonchalant about it.

“I spread rumors about you, let the ton think you were uninterested in anybody, that you were destined for the countryside. But why would I send you there when I can keep you where you belong? Right at my side.”

“Finley,” she said, fighting the urge to gag. “Stop—stop this.”

Her head spun as she looked back at her brother, his eyes wide and his face flushed red with anger. There was a mania to his smile; it was too wide, too slack. She hated it.

She wanted to escape, but he blocked her exit, and there was something creepily horrible about the thought of him chasing her through this empty, endless house.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

“I will not stop.” He laughed, the sound spiraling wildly. “Heavens, it feels good to confess my feelings. I desire you, Penelope. And now that you know, nothing will stop me from taking what is mine . I will have you cleansed first of my friend’s touch,” he snarled, backing away from her as if he suddenly thought she was dirty. “I protected you from unworthy men, and this is how you repay me? By spreading your legs for my friend? Offering yourself so freely?”

“You are wrong,” she whispered. “You are wrong for having these feelings, Finley. We—we are siblings. You have all but raised me. You are my brother . Please, please stop this insanity. Please, let us simply part and never speak of it again.”

“Do not tell me what to do!” he shouted, slamming his palm into the wall next to her head. She gasped. “I will not stop.”

She panted in fear, tears welling up in her eyes.

“We are not even related by blood, you foolish wh—” He broke off, gritting his teeth.

Penelope felt ill. The room behind Finley spun, and she almost swooned.

“Cousins marry, you silly girl. We are not true siblings—not that I care.”

“ I care,” she said, trying to keep the terror from her voice. She held his gaze, nodding, smiling, trying to encourage him to a calmer place. “I care, Finley, and I do not… I do not feel the same. I am sorry, but?—”

“Is it because of Edmund?”

“It is because I see you as my brother,” she whispered, dread creeping down her spine.

She wanted to weep, wanted to scream, wanted to claw free.

“When we get to America, we will not be. We will… Yes, yes , that’s it, Penelope. We will adopt new aliases, and we do not have to worry about frivolous things such as siblingship. Our parents married when you were a child, for Heaven’s sake! We can be a real couple and leave all of this ton nonsense behind us. We can be free, physically and emotionally. You will not be a spinster and—well, you said it yourself that I have taken care of you all your life, have I not?”

His eyes shone with something far, far away, a thing that she could not reach.

Penelope could only stare at her brother for a moment, replaced by this manic man she did not understand. America? A couple? New names?

Physically.

She thought she would empty her stomach right there as she cringed back against the wall when he came closer.

“Finley, you are wrong,” she told him. “Sick, even. You are sick, and you are not right at this moment. You are scaring me, Brother?—”

“ Stop calling me that .” His scream tore from his throat, angry and hateful. “I am not your brother. I am your—we were meant to be together, Pen, do you not see it? You would have been married otherwise. A man would have wanted you, but nobody did. I do. Oh Heavens, I do. I have heard you at night when you were thinking you were quiet, but you are not. Not always. You make the very sweetest sounds, Pen?—”

She lurched, bile rushing up into her mouth, and she gagged, gasping, but Finley only snarled at her as he snagged her wrist. He yanked her arm up, rendering her helpless. He pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall next to the door.

“Finley!” she screamed, trying to kick at him. “Finley, let go of me!”

“I have waited long enough,” he spat.

His other hand moved down her side, and she began to cry, kicking and kicking.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please, Finley, stop. Do not do this?—”

“Shut up,” he hissed. “You did this so easily for Edmund, did you not?”

She choked on another sob as he fisted his hand in her skirt. But before he could pull the fabric high enough to make her truly ill, the door slammed open.

“ Get your hands off her! ” a voice growled, one that Penelope had told herself she would be fine if she never heard again. But as soon as she did, her legs gave out, and she crumpled, right as Finley was knocked off her.

A fist swung for Finley’s face, and when she blinked, Edmund towered over her brother on the floor. His face was so contorted into anger, disgust, and hatred as his lips pulled back into a snarl.

“How could you?” he barked, his fist clenching and unclenching as Finley scrabbled to his feet.

Finley spat blood at Edmund, but the Duke only slammed him against the wall. Finley’s head bounced off it sickeningly.

Edmund’s piercing gaze flicked to Penelope. “Did he hurt you?”

She could only stare up at him.

“I said , did he hurt you ?” he growled.

Penelope shook her head. Finley had not hurt her—not yet. But he…

Her stomach churned again. He would have.

Oh, Heavens, she had been moments away from?—

She could not even think of it.

Edmund looked back at her, long enough for Finley to hiss, “So the ton’s darkest secret comes to save his favorite harlot, is that it? Do you enjoy being mysterious, Edmund?”

Edmund shifted his gaze back to Finley. “How could you betray me, Finley? How could you do that?”

Penelope didn’t know what they were talking about, but she was trembling too violently to pay attention. She wrapped her arms around her knees and drew them to her chest. Distantly, she was aware of their voices. She pieced things together slowly and uncertainly.

The man Edmund had been hunting for was Finley.

Which meant that Finley had arranged Edmund’s kidnapping. But why ?

“You will spend every last waking second behind bars, Langwaite,” Edmund hissed. “Cyrus Reed has agreed to testify against you, and I will see you put away for everything you did. The years of pain—do you know what I endured? Do you think you could do even a tenth of what I was forced to do out there? The lives I took, all because you whispered in Logan’s ear that he could hire hitmen. I was not a man you could toy with and test your ambitions on.”

“Oh, but I did, did I not? You were there for years, right where I wanted you. Far, far away from my business here.”

“You endangered my sister,” Edmund snarled, his fingers wrapped around Finley’s throat as he slammed him against the wall once more. Finley coughed around a mouthful of blood that he spat. “You almost had me killed. You—you had me put through hell so I would not tell your secret.”

“Do not act honorable when you have ruined Penelope,” Finley hissed. “Do not accuse me when you are hardly the golden boy your father said you were. He would be ashamed if he knew you had ruined a young woman’s reputation.”

Edmund flinched, but he held his ground. Penelope watched him, feeling as though she was barely in the room, feeling so weightless and light-headed.

“Tell me,” Finley drawled, “how is she, for she sounded beautiful when I overheard?—”

He shouted in pain as Edmund punched him in the face, catching his jaw.

Snarling, Edmund dragged Finley higher up the wall. “You deserve to rot, Langwaite.”

“No, I deserve her ,” Finley sneered, but Penelope’s ears were ringing. “And you will join me for dishonoring her.”

“I love her. What we did was not dishonorable. Secretive, perhaps, but two people consenting to be with one another. Which is far more than what you—than what I walked in on.”

I love her.

I love her.

I love her.

The room was very, very silent, and Penelope could only stare at the Duke, at the way he froze, not looking at her. She wanted him to. Her stomach clenched, and her heart raced, but he did not look at her.

In the pause, Finley struggled free and snatched the letter opener Penelope had kept on her bedside table for when Edmund’s letters arrived, eager to slice them open and greedily read each word. But now…

I love her.

I love her.

I love her.

“Edmund!” she screamed.

The letter opener flashed as Finley swung it, aiming it at an angle that would slide right into Edmund’s neck.

Edmund ducked and pinned Finley’s arm to the wall, twisting his wrist so he dropped the opener immediately. Finley cried out, struggling to wrench his hand free, but Edmund pinned him in place.

“You will never, ever touch her,” Edmund snarled. “You will never lay eyes on her, nor speak her name, and I will make sure that any right you have to her guardianship will be immediately revoked.”

Suddenly, there were shouts and pounding footsteps, and then constables poured into Penelope’s room. She huddled against the wall as three men thundered past to grab her brother.

She gasped as her brother was hauled away, spitting obscenities, his eyes glaring into her. He struggled, trying to kick free, yelling for her to save him. But she didn’t. She only watched him be led away, fearful and scared, and strangely upset.

As soon as the room fell quiet, she couldn’t bear it.

She scrambled to her feet and bolted for the parlor downstairs, away from Edmund, away from the reminder of what had almost happened in her chamber.

“Penelope!” Edmund shouted, hurrying after her.

She flew into the parlor, closing the door, but he was there moments after, stumbling into her. She drew back, putting distance between them.

“You… you should leave,” she whispered, hating that she looked at him, hating that she couldn’t look away. “You should before you say anything else you do not mean.”

“I have spoken only truths today, Penelope,” he told her, his eyebrows knitting together in anguish.

He didn’t move towards her, but he held out a hand to her, letting her choose.

“But I did not the last time you confronted me, when I should have. I am terrified, Penelope. You know a mere fragment of what I did all those years ago. To think of you balking at the full scale of every dark, terrible thing I have done? I cannot bear it.”

“And who says I would? I did not flinch in the face of your nightmare, or what you told me afterward.”

“You did not,” he whispered.

“You left me.” Her voice wobbled. “You left me without an answer, Edmund. After everything we had done together, what we had shared… you let me walk away.”

His voice was faint when he said, “I never should have. Ever since the moment you walked out of that house, I have hated myself for letting you do it. I should have chased you the second you turned your back on me. No—no. I should have never pushed you to even think of leaving.”

Taking a step closer to him, Penelope watched him carefully.

He drew closer to her as if her step had snapped his restraint. He gathered her close, his hands cupping her face, and after Finley’s rough, painful handling, she tried not to melt into his touch. Her eyes closed as she pulled away.

“Do not… do not touch me so softly when those touches do not come with true affection,” she whispered hoarsely. “You have made yourself clear?—”

“Penelope,” he interrupted, laughing incredulously. “Do you not hear me? I am telling you that I never should have spoken such foul lies. They were the words of a scared man, but I am tired of being scared. My past had controlled me, a vengeful compass over my head, and I grew fearful when you were the only thing that could help me sleep at night, the only thing that could help me think straight and yet confuse me at the same time. You have encompassed me, and I meant it when I first told you that. You are beautiful, Penelope, and you were right. These nights… they have not been only two bodies tangling between the sheets. For without realizing it, I not only gave you pleasure but I have also given you my heart. I love you, Penelope, and I should have told you that the night you walked out. I am a fool, but I am a fool who will go down to his knees in a moment to beg for your forgiveness.”

And just as he’d said, he knelt before her.

“I thought dukes did not kneel to many,” she murmured, overwhelmed and distressed and anguished and so terribly aching with longing for this man—this man, who had hurt her with walls and pretenses and masks. And yet there he was, kneeling before her.

“This duke will kneel to his lady any day or night. This duke will kneel to his duchess.”

The word sang through her, freezing her completely. “Duchess?”

“Marry me, Penelope.” His voice was a whisper, breathless, a request she could refuse.

“You do not want to be a husband.”

“You often told me to drop my mask,” he argued. “I am dropping it now, for you always know when I wear it. I trust you with my body, with my scars, with my past. I trust you with my heart. I cannot expect the same when I have given you no reason?—”

“I do not trust you.” Her words were shaky as she reached out to cup his face. “But I trust that you are scared, and that fear is complicated. I do not trust that you will don that mask when you need to, but I do trust that you will tell me when it is on, and when you struggle to remove it. I trust that you will listen to me when I plead with you. I trust you with my body, Edmund. With my pain, and my heartache, and my dreams. My own fear has driven me, and I understand it well. But I will not marry a man who will not let me in.”

“I am ready to let you in,” he swore. “I am kneeling to you, Penelope. Heed that, and know it is because you will make the best duchess Blackstone has ever seen. Know it is because I love you, and have loved you ever since you lied to me about your identity outside of Julian’s house.”

Despite herself, despite the tremor wracking her body, Penelope laughed through tears that she didn’t realize had fallen.

“I trust that you will tell me when anything is too much,” he told her. “And I trust myself to tell you when my defenses are too high for even me to begin deconstructing them.”

Slowly, she nodded, her throat tight. “Do you truly mean it? You want me as your wife?”

“My wife—my Duchess, my lover, my match. I want you in every sense of the word. If you will take me. I have always believed I should not touch you, that my hands were too stained and scarred to ever be able to touch someone as perfect as you. Yet you placed my hands on you even after you knew what they had done, and you did not flinch. Let me find peace with you, Penelope. Hold me through every nightmare as I will hold you through any you have. Hold me through it all, as I will hold you.”

“I will,” she told him. “I will hold you, but…” she trailed off, looking into those gray eyes that had her rooted to the spot. “But I will do so again in your home or Julian’s. I do not wish to be here a moment longer.”

“It will be arranged,” he said immediately, smiling at her as he slowly rose to his feet.

Penelope quickly put her hands on his shoulders, keeping him down there. She could not bear to be touched, her body still shaking after what Finley had intended to do, but she knelt in front of Edmund and let him cup her face again as he drew her in for another kiss.