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

Chapter Six

E dmund’s study was silent except for the scribble of his quill on paper.

He had not had this sort of complete, quiet peace in a very long time. Between the meetings he conducted to reconnect his businesses, the taverns he was invited to for drinks where he endured nobility wanting to get in close with the new Duke of Blackstone, and the hunt for information, he had barely sat down.

Now, the silence was almost deafening, and it pleased him.

Black ink filled the paper he wrote on, planning his visit to the Four-Fingered Hand, the gambling den Julian had told him about. It wasn’t far from his townhouse at all, perhaps a short fifteen-minute carriage ride. If he went on foot, it wouldn’t take much longer and would allow him to investigate more discreetly.

The manager of the seedy place was Mr. Martin, a man Edmund had not yet learned a great deal about. But he would soon.

He was writing down a schedule for his investigation when the door creaked.

For a moment, he mourned his peace, only to look up and see his younger sister poking her face around the door. His heart clenched, guilt flooding him as it often did when he saw Arabella.

I was not enough for you , he thought as she stepped into the study, looking unsure of herself.

“May I come in?” she asked, her voice light and gentle.

He only gestured as if to say, you have already entered.

Her eyes, a lighter shade than his own, so pale they were almost ice-blue, looked him over, and he merely gazed back at her.

Arabella shifted, and he lowered his eyes, disliking that he made her nervous. Yet they had not seen one another for seven years, and Arabella had gone through several terrible years without him. He had failed her, even as he had fought for her every day.

He blinked—blood splattered over his knuckles, and he blinked again, watching his skin become clear.

That part of his life was over; his duty was here, in the halls of his townhouse.

His duty was to be the older brother Arabella had been deprived of.

“Brother, you have been doing this for hours,” she noted. “Are you sure you are not exhausting yourself? Hours in your study throughout the day, and endless nightly excursions. I am uncertain when you actually lie down in your bed.”

He gave a tight smile at his parchment. “My bed and I will be acquainted soon. I will rest once I know who is responsible for everything that happened to our family.”

Usually, his curt responses would have Arabella nodding awkwardly before she skittered out of the room. Yet, today, she crossed his study on light feet and sat in the chair opposite him, his desk separating them.

“Brother.”

He continued writing, trying to think of places he could dig up information on the gambling den’s manager before he arrived and?—

“Edmund.”

He looked up at once at his sister’s sharp tone. Her face was strained with concern.

“You have been obsessed with this search ever since you returned. I understand why, but you deserve—no, you need —a break, a moment to breathe. A moment to simply be back, to be with family. Friends.”

Friends.

He almost scoffed at the notion. Well, aside from Julian, really. He sighed and continued writing.

“You may ignore me, but you know I am right.”

His quill paused, but he still did not look up at her.

Arabella sighed. “I have missed you.” Her voice was so level, her words careful. “I thought that when you returned, we would have been able to spend most moments of our days together once again, but you have focused on this every waking second.”

Can you blame me ?

He kept his question trapped beneath his tongue, careful with his harsher retorts around his sister.

Arabella pushed on, reaching for his hand, but he discreetly shifted it out of reach. He could not bear a touch he was not prepared for. He could not bear his sister’s soft hands to come into contact with his own—not after everything he had done with them.

He flexed his fingers.

“I just want you to be here, Edmund. Right here with me, now, as my brother. Can you do that?”

Finally, Edmund met her gaze, a pain deep in his chest as he took in her pleading expression.

It was not the young face he recalled the day he had been kidnapped; Arabella was only twelve years old at the time. It was a young woman, already entered into Society, all while he had been absent. It was the helpless look of a sister struggling to reach her brother.

She was right to ask this of him, but he was no longer the brother she recalled, the brother she would have grieved night after night for seven years. He had left England one way and returned different, torn apart from the inside and re-forged.

By Logan. By Logan’s enemies, his own men, and Edmund himself.

How could she ever like the man he had become? He was a stranger to her, linked only by their titles as brother and sister. The face and name of her brother, but not the true meaning of it.

Shame burned through him, and he looked away from her, swallowing thickly.

Edmund sighed, weary. He truly did wish to rest, but he could not. His mind would not let him.

“Arabella, there is no peace for me until I figure all of this out.”

“I am not asking you to abandon it completely. I only wish to help. If our time together should be spent doing this, then I would be quite content. Share your burden, Brother. I am not a little girl anymore. I have grown up, I am smart—I am sure I can help.”

“I will not have you involved in any of this.” His words came out sharper than he intended.

Arabella winced but nodded a moment later.

“Fine, then,” she said, smiling. “Then spend time with me doing something else. Chaperone me to a ball tonight. Will you do that for me?”

Without hesitation, Edmund answered, “No.” He shook his head. “I must finish my work here. I am sorry, I cannot. Ask Benjamin.”

Without him realizing it, she had put his hand on his. He flinched, but for once, he forced himself not to pull back.

The feel of her trusting hand on his, her lack of knowledge of what he had done, choked him for a moment, and he looked back at her.

“I am asking my brother,” Arabella told him.

He was utterly cornered. It gave him pause, and he thought over the possibility. He had, so far, managed to avoid a ball. But it might be a chance to discreetly ask about some lighter topics that could lead him to more information.

Eventually, he nodded. “Fine. But we do not have time to equip you with a new dress.”

His sister’s face softened, her grin pretty as she clapped happily. “Do not fret about that—I have plenty of dresses I have not yet worn. Thank you, thank you!”

She swept up and out of the chair, retreating to the door. But before she left, she turned back to him.

“Edmund, I want you to know that you are back home. You do know that, yes?”

Wordlessly, Edmund nodded.

Arabella slipped out, happily squealing to herself as he heard her footsteps retreat.

As soon as he was alone again, he rubbed his hands over his face, groaning.

He ached. His body, his mind, his heart.

Sighing, he set his supplies aside, locked his plans away in a desk drawer, and stood up to leave for his own preparations.

Walking through the townhouse, he felt as though he was in unfamiliar territory, nothing sparking any comfort or familiarity. Even the portrait of the late Duke in the study looking down upon him did not spark anything inside him.

There was one truth he could not tell Arabella.

There was no home for him anywhere, anymore.

* * *

Penelope held back a sigh of annoyance. Once again, she tried to discreetly escape her brother’s iron grip on her elbow. Not one of silent warning but one of anchoring.

Around them, ladies daintily stepped into practiced dancing across the floor of the Townsends’ ballroom, and her stomach twisted with envy.

“Finley, I spent many years having dance lessons,” she said, “and yet I am not allowed to have a single dance tonight. What did your father hire my tutor for?”

“Do not be smart, Pen.” He laughed. “You dance plenty. I am sure I saw you dance with Lord Beltham before.”

“For a mere second while you greeted a friend, only for you to pull me off the dance floor.”

“I have heard he is a terrible dancer,” Finley said dismissively. “I imagine I saved you from an awful experience.”

“That is what you always say,” Penelope muttered under her breath.

In her beautiful gown, which was the color of honey, she wanted to feel as lovely as it felt. Instead, she felt rather foolish, as though she was all dressed up with nowhere to go. Except she was where she needed—and wanted—to be, and her brother would not loosen his grip on her for a moment.

“I do like this color on you,” Finley murmured, touching the hem of her sleeve and gazing at her.

Penelope stiffened before mustering a smile. “Thank you.” Her words were quiet, forced out, his compliments growing and growing in intensity lately. “You chose well for me.”

She hated that he had. It made her feel like a child, unable to make her own decisions.

“Next time, I think I will go for a deeper color,” she suggested. “Something more mature, perhaps?”

“Nonsense. You look stunning in lighter colors.”

“Yes, but?—”

“Ah, there he is.” Finley’s cheerful announcement cut her off. He looked directly over her head.

“Who?”

She turned around, trying to spot someone familiar in the sea of faces, but between the distraction of the stunning melody being played and the whirl of dancers, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Until a group of men moved to the refreshments table, giving Penelope, at her shorter height, a clear, direct view.

The Duke of Blackstone.

Penelope froze—and went cold even further when Finley called out to him.

“Blackstone!” His smile was ever so wide, so charming, as he beckoned the Duke over. “Come over here, you must meet my sister.”

For a moment, time stood still as the Duke’s eyes flicked to Penelope, running up and down the length of her, taking in her gown and her hair, and she felt very exposed.

The moment broke, and he was striding towards her, perfectly casual, a steady look on his face. Nothing remained of that smirk from the other night.

“Langwaite,” he greeted, nodding at Finley.

“Blackstone,” Finley said, shaking his hand. “It is good to see you again. It has been quite a while, has it not? Where have you been hiding?”

There was laughter in his voice, and Penelope’s thoughts drifted to her friend’s warning the day before.

“The ton says that he vanished into thin air one night and did not return for seven years… I heard that while he was gone, he killed a man…”

She suppressed a shiver as she lifted her gaze to him.

“Hiding?” the Duke said. He didn’t look impressed by Finley’s teasing. “Nowhere. I have been here all along. What have you heard?”

For a moment, Finley blinked, not understanding the dry humor.

“I am teasing you, Langwaite,” the Duke quickly added, as though he smiled, it seemed forced. He did not seem comfortable at the ball at all. “I have recently returned to my proper place as the Duke of Blackstone. It seems I still have to properly settle in.”

“Indeed, and yet here you are, taking to it very well. While I have you here, may I introduce my stepsister, Lady Penelope Clarkin.”

And there it was, the very confirmation she had never given the Duke outside Julian Gray’s house, but the thing he had known all along regardless. Her palms sweated in panic at the thought of him saying something.

“Yes, we have met,” she imagined him saying. “In quite peculiar circumstances, in fact. Did you ever see that escort, Lady Penelope?”

He would taunt her before her brother, surely. He had no duty to her, and he did not owe her anything. If he was as ruthless as her friends claimed him to be, then he wouldn’t think twice about betraying her.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Penelope.” The Duke held out his hand to her.

Confused, she slid her gloved hand into his, and fought back a shiver as it met his skin. He kissed her knuckles, right through the silk glove, much like the ones she had worn the night they had met in the shadows.

“Penelope, this is Edmund Hawke, the Duke of Blackstone. He has been quite absent from the ton. You were away on… business, yes?”

“Somewhat,” the Duke answered, releasing her hand, but it was clear the word was a mere replacement for another neither were willing to venture deeper into.

“It is a pleasure,” Penelope murmured, only realizing a moment later that she’d merely echoed his sentiment.

She could not stop looking into his eyes.

Outside the escort’s house, they had been as cold as a blade—perhaps just as dangerous, too, with how well he had read her. But beneath the full light of the chandeliers in the ballroom, they were almost silver.

Her neck and cheeks were awash with a warm flush.

Finley cleared his throat, and their gazes broke. The Duke stood straighter, blinking hard, and frowned. It was as if he had thought of something puzzling.

Penelope kept quiet, biting her lip. The Duke’s eyes fell to where Finley still had his hand on her, keeping her close, disguised through their introductions. She only cringed and looked away. But as she did, a beautiful young lady with hair as dark as the Duke’s came over.

I recall that I couldn’t tell if the Duke’s hair was black or very dark brown.

Penelope looked at his hair now. She saw it was not quite black, but close—an indulgent, rich shade of deep brown. His beard was of the same color.

Even out of the shadows, his presence was commanding, intimidating.

With the girl at his side, though, he seemed to soften slightly.

“Ah, Lord Langwaite, Lady Penelope, may I introduce my sister, Lady Arabella Hawke. I was not here to oversee her entrance into Society, but I intend to make up for it as her chaperone tonight.”

Lady Arabella grinned—an easy, lovely thing—and Penelope immediately felt comforted by her presence.

She leaned towards Penelope. “He says he is my chaperone to distract you from the fact that he rather misses the ton’s way of things.”

“I do not.” The Duke’s response was curt, sharp, and Arabella only rolled her eyes, settling back at his side. “Arabella, this is Finley Stewart, the Marquess of Langwaite, and his sister, Lady Penelope Clarkin.”

Arabella frowned, looking between them. “Forgive me, but I cannot help but notice the two different family names.”

Penelope opened her mouth to explain, but Finley cut in first, and she supposed it only made sense.

“Pen’s mother remarried after losing her first husband. Her second husband was, of course, my father, so we are mere stepsiblings, but that does not stop us from being as close as biological siblings. I look out for Penelope as if we were blood-related, do I not?”

He turned to her expectantly, but she was a moment too late to agree. His eyes narrowed, and she swallowed back guilt at the hurt on his face.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, indeed.”

Arabella’s gaze flicked between the two of them, seeming inquisitive, but she asked nothing else. All she did was beam at Penelope.

“Well, it is lovely to meet you, Lady Penelope.” She nodded once at Finley. “My Lord.”

She moved closer, trying to tug Penelope from Finley’s side, but he held fast to her.

“Penelope has already had some wine,” he said. “Heaven knows if she was not propped up by me, she might just topple over. It seems she has been inebriated often lately.”

“Brother!” Penelope chided, glaring at him. “Do not say such things. I have not even gone to the refreshments table yet.”

“Me neither,” Arabella answered excitedly. “We should go together! And, oh, do you see over there? Lord Milton is over there. I believe he is here on a long visit from Spain, and that he has family here in London. He might just settle down if he meets the right lady. Shall we go and speak with?—”

“Absolutely not,” Finley spoke darkly. Penelope glanced up at him, seeing how his pleasant expression had shut down into something stoic and unimpressed. “No man present is worthy of my sister. No offense, Blackstone.”

The Duke narrowed his eyes, clearly insulted at being included. “None taken.” But then his eyes slid to Penelope. “I understand what it is like caring for a sister. They can be wicked things when nobody is watching them.”

Penelope tried to mask the way she went rigid at the familiar words.

“But good girls are always the most wicked when no one is watching.”

His parting words to her in the dark. Almost a promise, a challenge—perhaps even a warning.

“And what of the sisters who are always watched?” She could not help her retort, spoken about Finley but aimed at the Duke.

“One cannot be watched constantly,” he answered.

Penelope was aware of Arabella and Finley looking between them, before Finley laughed.

“Well, it is not for a lack of trying. Do you agree, Blackstone?”

“Indeed.” Yet the Duke did not take his eyes off Penelope, not for another minute, until she looked away.

“Lady Arabella, I must take you to meet my friends,” she offered. “They are near the glass swans over there.”

She pointed to the two arched-neck glass swans that framed the doors to the terrace, where her friends were gathered, their gloved hands barely concealing their mouths as they gossiped.

When Mary caught sight of Penelope with the Duke behind her, her eyes widened, and she turned to the other ladies. Daphne and Cecilia both looked, and there was that mischievous excitement in Cecilia’s eyes as she took in the group.

“Why do they look so concerned?” Arabella whispered.

Penelope laughed nervously. “It is quite a complicated story,” she said quietly. “I shall tell you about it another time.”

For if you do not know the rumors about your brother by now, I shall not be the one to tell you about them.

“Edmund, may I go with Lady Penelope to meet her friends?” The hope in Arabella’s voice struck something inside Penelope—desperation, perhaps, a need to be somewhere, to belong in even the smallest of places, among others who did not always feel included.

If her brother had indeed disappeared for seven years, Penelope could understand why Arabella may have felt out of place.

The Duke of Blackstone nodded. Meanwhile, Penelope glanced at Finley, whose mouth was pinched, as if he had tasted something unpleasant. He was scowling over her shoulder, and she did not have to look to know it was aimed at Cecilia.

“Yes,” he sighed. “You may go, but no speaking to Lord Milton.”

“Of course not,” Penelope muttered, before Arabella tugged her away, eager to meet her friends.

* * *

As the two women walked away, Edmund tried not to watch Lady Penelope too closely. However, the knowledge that Arabella would be welcomed into a group pleased him. He knew she was lonely, and maybe another part of him, one that made him feel guilty, thought that if she had friends to fill up her time, he would be freer to continue his investigation.

He had time to make up with Arabella, but he could not rest at night, not until he had his answers.

Next to him, the Marquess of Langwaite also watched the ladies leave, his eyes lingering on Penelope.

Edmund regarded him, thinking of how he knew nothing about his sister loitering outside an escort’s house. Again, it was not his secret to tell.

“So.” Finley cleared his throat, as if to draw Edmund’s attention, but looked uncomfortable to find it already on him.

Did he realize he was being watched?

Edmund did not make a habit of watching his acquaintances so closely, but there was something about the way Finley had kept a possessive hand on Penelope and told her that nobody present was good enough.

“How are you settling back in London?”

“Well enough.” Edmund looked at where Arabella had gone, mingling with a group of ladies who were already excitedly chattering away.

Their attention remained on him for a moment longer before they huddled together.

Gaggling geese , he thought, amused.

He had no idea what rumors circulated about him, and he didn’t want to know either.

“I heard you took up the mantle of Duke very easily. I am sure returning after the death of your father could not have been easy. Especially finding your sister under the guardianship of another relative, rather than yourself.”

Edmund smiled tightly. “As I said, it has been well enough. It is no hard matter. Estates, ledgers, chaperoning. I have taken it in stride, as I was groomed to do by my father.”

“Indeed.” Finley nodded. “You have grown greatly since our Cambridge days.”

“I should hope so.” Edmund regarded him. “As have you. The marquessate suits you as well, Langwaite. Are you not going to take a wife?”

Finley barked out a harsh laugh. “I am very capable alone. When I require an heir, I am sure I will arrange the necessary means. Until then, I am quite content. I am still ensuring that the Langwaite name carries more weight around the ton. My father never did a great deal with his status, and I wish to garner influence and notoriety. Expand business ventures, grow the family fortune.”

Edmund nodded. “Indeed. And is restricting your sister’s prospects part of that?”

“Ah. That is not as serious as it looks.” Finley laughed. “I merely know that if I have more time, we shall both make much better matches than we might do now. I do not want her to settle as her mother did with my father. He did not provide riches and fortune as he could have. I only want the best for Penelope.”

He spoke so smoothly, as if the words were either practiced or often said as an explanation.

Edmund paused before inclining his head in acknowledgment. He did not know why he wasn’t entirely convinced.

While he had not taken offense at Finley’s earlier declaration, if a notable duke such as himself was not good enough for Lady Penelope, then who was?

“You must wish her to marry a foreign prince, then,” Edmund pushed lightly.

Part of him was beginning to piece together why he had found Lady Penelope at Julian’s house. Was her brother so protective of her virtue that she thought she would never find a match, and thus resorted to other means? Or was she simply a rebellious younger sister wanting to break away from the norm?

“Perhaps,” Finley joked. “What is it you have been doing with yourself, then, Blackstone? You have been back for two months, and yet you have not attended a single function. We all gathered at Lord and Lady Tilsbury’s townhouse several nights ago. You were not present. Surprising, if you are already making strides as a duke.”

“Surprising, yes,” Edmund muttered. “I have been busy.”

Finley glanced sideways at him, smirking. “Seeking other company, I see. Perhaps some townhouses in those shadier streets of London?”

Edmund shook his head quickly, insulted. “No.”

“It is fine, we all seek a little company from time to?—”

Irritated, Edmund cut him off. “I have been searching for something.”

“What are you searching for?” The Marquess’s eyes went wide, interested.

“ Who ,” Edmund corrected.

Finley’s face lit up as he leaned in. “It sounds intriguing. Do tell me more, Blackstone.”

“That is all there is to say.”

“Come now, I am sure there is more.”

But Edmund refused, keeping resolute in his silence. He wished to keep his cards close to his chest. While he knew Finley, there was a gleam to his eyes akin to Benjamin’s, and the fewer people involved in his investigation the better.

He knew how to silence people; if he roped innocent men into the mix who could be tempted to speak, his whole plan would be ruined.

“There is no more,” he finally said, seeing Finley stiffen in offense.

Perhaps the title had gone to Finley’s head. He had always been a little privileged in getting what he wanted.

“Excuse me,” Finley said, giving him a quick nod. “I see a business partner of mine I must greet.”

Before Edmund could say anything else, Finley walked away, leaving him alone.

It was a strange thing, to be standing in a room full of people he had grown up among, only to feel isolated. Apart from the crowd.

Without thinking, his gaze strayed to Lady Penelope, noting how the blonde strands of her hair nestled among the darker ones shone like threads of gold beneath the chandelier. He watched her discreetly.

That was until Benjamin came to bother him.

“Good evening, Cousin. I trust your adventures the other night led to prosperous places?”

Edmund bit back an annoyed sigh as he nodded once. “Indeed.”

His thoughts strayed to the list Julian had given him, now written out, locked away in his desk drawer.

“Will you not ask about the rest of my evening that night?” Benjamin nudged him.

“I am not as invested in your life as you are in mine, Cousin.”

“I see, I see. A shame, really. I wished to boast about a lovely lady I bumped into at a tavern. She is a traveling performer, and…”

His cousin rambled, clearly looking for some attention, or perhaps praise for giving his attention to a woman far below his status. No doubt he had already set her up in an apartment somewhere to visit when he pleased.

Benjamin was like that, Edmund was learning. Helpful, needing to be the one providing for others. But Edmund, in his lack of interest, found himself looking at Lady Penelope once again.

She wore a gown that, while flattering in itself, did not make her stand out, and yet it seemed quite impossible that she would not. Her petite figure was further dwarfed by the height of a black-haired lady in her group, but Penelope stood differently to them as well, he noticed. Her shoulders tended to curl inwards, and she often linked her fingers together, as if trying to be small.

Was that her disposition, or was it an attempt to not be noticed by suitors her brother seemed intent on keeping her away from anyway?

If he had to guess, the other ladies were married, given the way they did not assess the ballroom with the keen gaze of a lady on the marriage mart.

Edmund could not look away from Lady Penelope, not even as Benjamin pressed a drink into his hand.

“Edmund, are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” he lied, his eyes fixed on Lady Penelope’s neck as she tugged on a strand of hair.

Something hit him, something he did not like—something that roused in the empty cavern of his chest.

“You are not!” Benjamin sighed. “You are—Edmund, are you looking at Lady Penelope Clarkin? I advise you now not to do it. You have been absent and do not know how her stepbrother is. Heavens, he almost had a man strung against the wall last week for brushing against Lady Penelope accidentally to get to another part of a room at a dinner party.”

“I am not looking at her,” Edmund said quickly, turning away abruptly. “Not at all. I am merely keeping an eye on Arabella.”

“I do not believe you.” Benjamin laughed, raising his eyebrows. “Have you taken a fancy to the beautiful spinster?”

“Spinster?”

He chuckled. “She is five-and-twenty and has never been courted because of Lord Langwaite’s interventions, of course. The ton already calls her an old maid.”

And yet she is the most beautiful woman in this room , Edmund thought, before quickly pushing the notion away.

He should not think such things. He had teased her outside Julian’s only because he had sensed her nerves and had wished to rile her, to see how far her pretense would go. But ultimately, he had wanted to protect her from being involved in the escort’s business.

“Well, as I said, I was not looking,” he muttered, sipping the wine his cousin had given him. “How is it being back at Enthorpe? You must have missed your residence.”

“Oh, it is not like Blackstone Hall, of course, but it is home. In fact, did I tell you that I have ordered a renovation of the drawing room? It is a slow process. You must let me show you. I am working with the best furniture maker…”

And once again, his cousin’s voice faded into the background as Edmund discreetly looked at Lady Penelope out of the corner of his eye.