Page 3 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Three

“W ell, have you nothing to say?” the same voice asked from behind her.

Horror swept through her in a dizzying wave as she turned around, her eyes wide.

There, right on the edge of the pavement, was a stranger who stood tall and imposing, his head tilted slightly as if he was assessing her.

His face was visible in the light from Mr. Gray’s house, and she could not help but notice his strong, handsome features.

Eyes of cold, gray steel watched her, and his hair, only slightly disheveled, was so dark she could not tell if it was black or a deep brown. He was bearded, the hair well-groomed, and she could not place his age for a moment, but his presence exuded intimidation.

She took a step back, only to be cornered against the door.

“I am no lady, Sir,” she lied. “I am a maid of Mr. Gray’s. I was—I was sent on an errand.”

If she had not already been so nervous, she might have spoken more confidently. But she was unmoored, stuck, and trapped.

Her first thoughts were that Finley had found out and sent a friend to spy on her, to trip her into her own excuses and find out why she was on the doorstep of a notorious male escort.

“Gray has sent you on an errand when it is nearing midnight? It must be a rather important errand.”

“Indeed, My Lord,” she said.

At the quirk of his mouth, she wondered if she had used the wrong title.

That all-seeing gaze swept over her body, as if he could make out her fine dress beneath her cloak.

“I see,” he answered. “Although, it is rather odd for a maid to arrive in a nondescript carriage.”

Think, Penelope .

“Yes, well, Mr. Gray treats his staff very well. Most exceptionally, in fact.”

“Clearly.” He only smiled, amused, as if he did not believe a word out of her mouth, but her pride would not let her give up her ploy.

She would not be caught out. She couldn’t.

“And your role in his household would be… what, exactly?” he pressed.

She hesitated, caught off-guard, trying to think of the staff in Langwaite Manor whom her brother all but pretended did not exist.

“I… manage certain affairs.”

He nodded slowly. “Ah. Certain affairs, yes, I see.” She knew he did not believe her. “And these certain affairs include you hurrying to the back entrance like a thief in the dead of night?”

Quickly, she tried to think harder. “I am no thief! I—Of course, I did not wish to disturb the master. This will be the best way to enter quietly and efficiently.”

To her horror, the stranger did not nod and leave, nor did he enter the house the proper way, from the other side. No. He stepped closer to her, his broad chest coming close to hers. So close that she had to tilt her head back to keep eye contact.

“And I suppose Mr. Gray does not mind his staff meeting the eyes of nobility so boldly?” He cocked his head, his lips pressed together in thought. “And you must be so finely treated, for you do not look like a maid at all. This dress, which is not well hidden by your cloak, these silk gloves, and the perfume you wear… Not at all how a maid often presents herself. One might not be convinced you are a maid at all.”

“I am telling the truth,” Penelope insisted, clenching her fingers into fists at her sides, trying to release some of her nerves.

The stranger’s voice was low, soothing even, as if his tone alone might make her unravel her lies before him.

“I-I was sent out to dispatch… a letter. Yes, a very urgent letter. It is to be mailed first thing in the morning, and?—”

“Do not attempt to fool me further, Lady Penelope. You will only waste my time and embarrass yourself.”

Penelope tried to keep her face neutral and not let it show that her blood had run cold at the sound of her name. She had worn her mask well enough around Finley before, averting her gaze from a suitor before he could intervene, hiding her exhaustion from his endless, hindering protection and her grief—lest he thought himself not enough of a family for her.

“You do not know who I am, do you?” the stranger asked, smirking. “I am Edmund Hawke, the Duke of Blackstone. And I know Lord Langwaite.”

Although his name was not familiar, she knew he mentioned her brother’s title for a reason.

Her heart stuttered in panic. He had to be an acquaintance, perhaps even a friend. So, was her earlier fear true?

Heavens, she was doomed.

Her eyes cast around the shadows behind him.

A duke , she reminded herself.

She had lied, bare-faced, to a duke. She had insulted his intelligence.

Was there a way she could escape? She needed to be far away before he told Finley. Perhaps her driver could take her back to Cecilia’s residence. A diversion. She needed to get his mind away from the woman he thought she was.

“I am afraid you are mistaken, Your Grace,” she said, bowing her head. “I truly am a m?—”

“Lady Penelope Clarkin.” He spoke her full name slowly, deliberately, and the way he looked at her, as though he was insulted by her persistence, as if she was an annoyance to deal with, only made her panic further.

Even though she knew he had likely heard the driver say her name, she did not stop denying her identity.

Shaking her head, she insisted, “I do not know that name. My name is… is Poppy.”

Her claim was only met with a raised, unimpressed eyebrow.

“Truly, you must have misheard, or perhaps this Lady Penelope Clarkin was a client,” she continued. “Yes, that must be it. I am sure Julian Gray will confirm such a thing, but that is not me.”

He let out a short, breathy laugh. “Is that so? Do you call all your employers by their full name, so improperly?”

He moved closer, so close that her breath hitched, and she knew there was nowhere to go.

She was trapped.

He stood directly in her path to the gate. Her carriage was mere yards away and would have her taken away in a second if she could only get to it.

Penelope gave him a nervous smile, trying to look as though she was politely excusing herself, as a maid would.

Attempting to sidestep the Duke, she found herself blocked once more.

She tried the other side, but he was faster, meeting her gaze with a bemused smile.

Frowning, she said, “Let me pass.” She injected some demand into her voice, knowing that her pretense was futile.

“No,” the Duke told her.

“Why are you doing this?”

He gave her a short hmm of a laugh. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“That is none of your concern. You, however, are cornering a young lady against a building.”

“Ah, so you admit you are a lady.” That maddening smirk graced his lips again, and Penelope only glared at him. “And you are a lady who is sneaking into Julian Gray’s house in the dark hours. I would say that is my concern, seeing as I know both the Marquess of Langwaite and Gray.”

Her pulse raced, her face flushing with anxiety. “Are you going to tell Finley?”

Heavens, she wished her voice was not so quiet, so scared.

“Should I?”

“No,” she said, her voice firmer. She was not used to making decisions, and having one presented to her confused her. “No, you should not.”

For a moment, the Duke studied her in a silence that set her on edge. She swallowed, her fingertips toying with the cuffs of her silk gloves.

“Convince me,” he said, his voice hushed.

Penelope’s eyes widened, a small gasp falling from her lips. “Convince you?”

“Yes.” Those gray eyes assessed her. “Give me one good reason why I should stay quiet about your presence here. I am sure the Marquess would not take kindly to knowing that his younger stepsister is at the back door of an escort’s house.”

She could pretend that she did not know Julian Gray’s occupation, but she knew she would only be called out on her lie a moment later. But she did not want to let this Duke of Blackstone intimidate her either. He had already thwarted her plans.

A thought came to her mind, different and enticing. The thought of kissing him—of pressing her mouth to his to kiss away those arrogant, amused words and accusations, to stop her own awkward attempts to speak her way out of this.

To be the sort of woman who could convince a man to do her bidding not with words but with a kiss that would leave him as breathless as it might leave her.

Her eyes dropped to his full lips, and she shivered at how easy it would be to tilt her head, to curl her fingers into his dark hair, part her lips beneath his, and?—

Heavens, Penelope , she chided herself inwardly.

Lifting her chin, she steeled her voice. “Because this is a personal matter, and I do not know you. Who are you to shove your nose in my business?”

Again, he only gave her that crooked, bemused smile—something not quite cruel, but perhaps sarcastic. A man who had power and knew how to use it to get the answers he wanted from someone.

“Tell me, My Lady, did you come to Gray’s doorstep for a night of passion? Perhaps I can give you that, and you may keep your illicit secret.”

Penelope gasped again, her mouth falling open slightly in pure scandal.

Pressing a hand to her chest, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You are a scoundrel, Your Grace.”

“And yet you are still here.” His laugh was dark and almost melodic, roughly so, sending a shiver down her spine that she was sure was of fear.

And she knew—she was still there. Perhaps… perhaps a small part of her did not want to part from the man’s gaze.

Her accusation only seemed to amuse him further, for he looked at her expectantly. Yet the thought of such a scoundrel offering a night of passion…

Why did it not make her flinch away as much as it should have?

Once again, her gaze swept over him—every handsome feature, the shadows dancing over his face, emphasizing his jaw and sharp cheekbones. He truly was good-looking, and the way he spoke to her made her stomach curl ever so differently from when other men had approached her at social gatherings.

Gulping, she knew she had to leave once and for all. She could not let him continue this behavior. She would already be in enough trouble.

Attempting to move around him one last time, Penelope was again blocked.

“For all your taunting of me still being here, there seems to be one reason for that—you will not get out of my way,” she bit out, only to be met with silence.

Penelope stared right back at him, refusing to back down.

The Duke’s eyes lit up, perhaps at the venom in her voice, perhaps seeing it as a challenge.

“I could show you what it is you are seeking.” He slowly tilted his head, eyeing her. “And I could teach you a far more enticing way to mind your tongue with a duke.”

Leave , she begged herself. Push him aside. Fight your way out .

She tried to listen to that instinctual voice, but she was frozen in place, mesmerized by the stranger with the growl in his voice and the flash of steel in his eyes. She would not apologize for her bold speech, not when he was the one who had her cornered.

At her silence, he stepped back. “This is no place for you, My Lady.”

“And how do you know that?” There was a hiss in her voice, frustrated at being read so easily.

“For one, you are almost as pink as the gown beneath your cloak,” he noted. “And two, a confident lady does not fidget as terribly as you do. Your body trembles as if it were cold, but it is not. Not really. Is it, My Lady?”

She bit her tongue, fighting the urge to counter that she was cold despite him being right. She shivered from…

Her thoughts screeched to a halt when realization dawned on her. A pleasant warmth spread through her. Yet she did tremble, her body set on edge in a heated way by the Duke’s imposing presence.

He continued, “My guess is that somebody arranged this for you. Somebody who likely thought it would be good for you, but you are not so convinced. I would wager you felt obliged to see their plan through.”

Grinding her teeth, Penelope only stared back at him coolly, not willing to deny or confirm his very accurate guess. But he didn’t need her answer, for he eased her anxiety a moment later.

“I will not tell Finley Stewart anything.”

The tightness in her chest loosened for a moment… until his words snaked out into the dark night once more.

“Run along, little dove. You are a good girl, I can see that.” Her breath caught as he suddenly drew close again, leaning into her. “But good girls are always the most wicked when no one is watching.”

Her mind went blank for a moment, and she could only stare at him as he cocked his head in the direction of the street.

Blushing harder, Penelope ducked her head and hurried back down the pathway of Julian Gray’s house, her so-called gift abandoned, her heart racing.

She fled back to her carriage, ignoring her driver’s friendly inquiry about her night.

“Please, just take me back to Langwaite Manor,” she ordered, sinking onto the bench.

Only then did she let her mask drop and let her breaths come out short in her true panic—and exhilaration.

When she craned her neck to look out the back window at the escort’s house, the space beneath the lantern over the back door was empty.