Page 7 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Seven

“L adies,” Penelope said cheerfully, having guided Lady Arabella over to her friends. “This is Lady Arabella, the Duke of Blackstone’s sister.”

She noticed how, despite the proud tilt of her chin, the young girl looked around her as if worried, or anxious. Penelope understood the feeling rather well.

“Lady Arabella, these are my friends. Mary Pemberton, the Countess of Bathurst.” Penelope nodded towards Mary, who curtsied with an intrigued smile. “Cecilia Davis, the Marchioness of Wetherby.” At her introduction, Cecilia nodded her head elegantly, curtseying as well. “And this is Daphne Galpin, the Viscountess Ayersfield.”

“It is lovely to meet you all,” Lady Arabella said, taking them all in and muttering under her breath as if trying to commit their names to memory. “Is it all a bit overwhelming, is it not?” A nervous laugh slipped free. “My cousin, the Viscount Enthorpe, saw me through my debut in my brother’s… absence, but I believe I am still not quite accustomed to the ton’s scenes. It is all so beautiful, though.”

“We will be more than happy to guide you,” Mary insisted. “Do call on us anytime. We have all been there. Lady Penelope is, of course, still there.”

“Charming,” Penelope huffed, frowning. “I am only still in such a place because Finley is protective. He wishes me to marry well.”

“It seems I might have my own sibling challenges,” Lady Arabella sighed. “I wish to converse more informally with you if that is all right. I think it would help me to feel more comfortable. At home, I am simply Arabella.”

“Very well.” Daphne smiled. “How was your debut?”

“Well…” Arabella trailed off, glancing around. “Like I said, I have faced some challenges. Many suitors danced with me at my first ball, only to quickly enquire about my brother and my father. They only wanted to feed their own curiosities, or be the men with the most knowledge to likely boast to their social circles.” A light flush spread across her face. “I romanticized the thought of a man simply approaching me because I am me , not the lady who might give him information.”

“How terrible.” Mary furrowed her brow, her voice soft with sympathy. “However, that is all the more reason for you to know that the wait will be worth it.”

“Indeed,” Arabella agreed. “But I look at the suitors now, and they are all hesitant to approach me now that my brother has returned. The ladies seem to whisper, though. I do notice them looking at him. The spotlight is off me, at least, but now it seems that his presence keeps everyone at bay.”

Penelope understood such things. Her own brother, for a different reason, was a hindrance to her prospects.

She began to say something, to sympathize, but Mary was already sighing, rolling her eyes.

“They are all terribly narrow-minded,” she muttered. “You have done nothing wrong, yet look at how they glare.”

“I believe they are jealous,” Daphne added, fussing over Arabella, always the softer-hearted of the group. “Whether the suitors will approach you or not, you are still the sister of a duke. Your status alone will give them a rival. You are beautiful, Arabella, and every suitor here likely thinks so. Truly, they could be nervous to approach a lovely lady such as yourself.”

“I do hope that is all it is,” Arabella bemoaned.

“Oh, do ignore them all, these ladies of the ton,” Cecilia told her, raising her voice so the ladies around her could hear. “They have nothing better to do than gossip. You are a beautiful, accomplished lady with excellent manners and a fine upbringing. You have nothing at all to fear from any woman here.”

“I agree,” Penelope said, placing a hand on Arabella’s shoulder.

The girl froze for a moment, as if unused to being touched, but then quickly relaxed with a grateful smile to them all.

“The right man will come along. I do not doubt that His Grace wants to see you happily courted.”

“Thank you,” Arabella said, her delicate eyebrows lifted in soft gratitude. “I am so grateful for your kindness.”

“We would not let a young lady wander through these social mazes alone. One might get lost.” Cecilia nodded sternly, stepping forward to offer her arm. “Come, we should take a turn around the room. Perhaps we might see if a suitor catches your eye. I can introduce you.”

“Oh, but my brother?—”

“He seems otherwise occupied with your cousin,” Cecilia noted.

“Do take a turn,” Mary urged. “I miss those days. It was ever so exciting. Simply giggling, smiling at the suitors, seeing who returned the attention.”

“You deserve to have fun, Arabella,” Penelope added, slightly quieter, giving her an encouraging nod.

She did not know what it was like for Arabella to endure her brother’s absence for seven years, but it could not have been easy. Now was the time she released her worries and let herself enjoy her debut.

“If His Grace approaches and you have not returned, we will cover for you, if you like,” Penelope offered.

“That is if he does not catch me first.” Arabella giggled, still blushing as Cecilia gently tugged her away.

In their absence, Penelope shifted so she faced the ballroom, trying to keep an eye on her brother, who was occupied once again with Lord Frederick. The two looked deep in conversation, their expressions tense.

Hopefully, it would keep him busy for a while.

As she looked around, her eyes landed on the Duke of Blackstone, only to freeze when she found him already looking at her.

She shivered, quickly averting her gaze.

“We saw your brother introduce you to His Grace,” Daphne teased, her voice light. “How was it? Did he reference your nightly meeting?”

“You know full well if he had, I would not be standing here, speaking with you. Finley would have likely herded me into the carriage, never to attend another event. Besides, he likely does not even remember me.”

“It does not look that way,” Mary pointed out.

At the ladies’ attention, Penelope noticed that the Duke finally looked away.

“Finley introduced us politely enough,” she told her friends. “But he warned His Grace that no suitor here is good enough for me, and the Duke acted as though we had never met. I believe I am safe, and if he changes his mind, it will only cause Finley to ask him why he lied about not knowing me.”

“I hope you are safe,” Daphne murmured, the three of them huddling together again. “I really do not feel he is safe company, Penelope. He looks at you as though… I do not know. It is not the way Finley watches you, but perhaps as though you are something rare and he wishes to discover it himself.”

“I agree,” Mary whispered, as if the Duke would overhear them from across the ballroom. “He is dangerous, violent even. If you can keep a wide berth, do so. Heavens, I think of Arabella, now trapped with him. Though she seems pleased to have her brother back.”

Penelope nodded thoughtfully, though she could not help the question: if the Duke of Blackstone was so dangerous, was Arabella merely unaware of that? Did the Duke somehow hide his darker side from his sister? Was that why the suitors steered clear of her? Because they did not want to tarnish their reputations by being involved with the Blackstones?

The questions in her head swirled and swirled until she could not think of them any longer, for she would not get answers. If Arabella was unsafe, Penelope could only hope she would alert them.

Eventually, the music shifted into a gentle waltz. The melody built prettily, and that familiar pang of loneliness hit Penelope. Her heart ached at the tenderness of the music, but it had been a long, long time since she had danced a waltz with a suitor. Beyond that, she knew she would not be asked, for suitors feared Finley’s interference.

Daphne and Mary both looked up to see their husbands, Harry and Stephen, approaching them, charming smiles on their faces.

Mary immediately was drawn to Stephen, the love she had for her husband clear on her face as he took her hand.

“My darling,” he murmured. “Will you do your husband the honor of letting him take you to the dance floor?”

Mary giggled.

It was heartwarming for Penelope to see her friend in love, no matter how much time had passed in their marriage. The ton had so many marriages of convenience that to see the love between a couple made her ache.

“Why, of course. You would have never heard the end of it, had you not asked.”

“Oh, I am sure, my wildfire.”

Stephen pulled Mary closer as Harry offered his hand to Daphne, bowing. “A dance, my wife?”

It was Daphne who hesitated, as Mary soon did, glancing over her shoulder at Penelope, who tried not to look as though she was awkwardly hovering, watching the couples.

It was an old, painful routine.

Quickly, she gestured for them to go ahead.

“I will be fine,” she told them, mustering a smile.

Inside, her chest crawled with hot rejection—not from her friends but from the general lack of suitors asking to dance with her.

“We do not wish to leave you alone,” Daphne murmured, right as Mary opened her mouth to say something.

“Lady Penelope will not be alone.”

Penelope’s heart pounded at the familiar voice as she looked towards the Duke of Blackstone, who had approached her group. His eyes were fixed on her, softer than they had been across the ballroom but no less intense.

“She shall be dancing with me,” he continued.

Penelope froze, utterly rooted to the spot. Around them, ladies and other suitors subtly craned their necks, eavesdropping.

“If you will do me the honor, of course,” the Duke added, not looking away from her.

How could he look at her like that? As if she was the only lady in the entire ballroom.

Fear crept through her—fear and intrigue, a horrific mix. For a second, all she could see was her fumbling pretense outside Julian Gray’s house and him seeing right through her. He was holding her secret over her head, and perhaps this was when he would blackmail her. What did she have to offer him?

Penelope was trapped. To refuse him was to invite more whispers than ever. Even if Finley did not want her dancing with any suitor here, not even a duke, her rejection would harm her family’s reputation further. She already suffered so much for being a spinster, enduring the humiliation of lingering on the fringe of every dance floor.

No. No, she could do this.

Slowly, Penelope nodded and slipped her hand into the Duke’s.

The Earl and Viscount, with their wives, wasted no time in going to the dance floor, and the Duke quickly guided her there as well.

Her legs trembled with nerves, trying not to seek out her brother, to find out if he had seen the invitation yet.

The silence was thick between her and the Duke, and she did not know how to break it. The stares around her were heavy, crawling down her spine.

“What an unusual option for a duke,” one lady whispered behind her fan to her companion, giggling nastily as Penelope glanced in her direction, only for her to look away.

“I wonder what will happen between His Grace and the Marquess of Langwaite.” Her companion chuckled.

Penelope’s heart beat harder as they reached the dance floor, falling into line with the other couples.

Facing her, the Duke’s eyes swept across the onlookers over her shoulders. When he finally met her gaze, Penelope nearly lost her wits at the intensity of it.

As one, they stepped into their dance, and Penelope could only hope that her nerves did not make her trip.

“Do not pay them any mind,” the Duke told her, his voice low.

Her nerves formed into something with a sharp edge—something she could wield.

“That is easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You are a man. Nothing you ever do will be scrutinized.”

Instead of insulting him, she had only amused him, as he smirked at her. “I see. What evidence do you have for such an observation?”

Penelope fell silent. For a moment, she thought about challenging him about his reasoning for crossing paths with her the other night, but she did not want to be mistaken for blackmailing him.

His smirk widened. “That is what I thought.”

He led her through the dance for a few more minutes before he spoke again. All Penelope could think about was how warm he felt against her.

“I often let the music become a barrier. I pretend as though I do not hear anything, as long as there is music.”

She blinked, surprised by his words. “You do not strike me as the type to enjoy music as a pastime.”

“I have recently found myself haunting the backseats of orchestra performances.”

There was something in his expression that she could not untangle. The effort of trying only left her taking in his strong face. The prominent jawline, the trimmed beard, which seemed even more groomed than the other night. One eyebrow seemed permanently arched, as if the ton’s events either annoyed or bemused him. As if Penelope herself elicited such a reaction.

“And you,” he continued, “have you found yourself running any more late-night errands… Poppy?”

At the reminder of her false name, used in desperation, Penelope blushed. “No, I have not. I do not make it a habit. It was a one-time moment.”

“Of vulnerability and desire, or desperation, because of your brother’s overbearing nature?”

Penelope stumbled through the next step at his question, at him seemingly knowing and seeing through her once again, as he had that night. Her stumble almost had her tripping, but his arm tightened around her waist, and her breath caught at how hard he pulled her against him.

“Do not fall, My Lady,” he murmured, holding her gaze.

“Then do not attempt to disarm me with questions like that,” she said hotly, pulling back, but he kept her right where she was.

They fell back into step, and Penelope felt as though she was naked from head to toe beneath the weight of his attention.

“I am merely curious,” he said. “You seemed more flustered than insulted by my offer that night. If it is a pressing desire, then you must be willing to admit that there are easier ways than seeking the services of an escort. Gray is a man who knows his business, do not mistake me, but he is expensive.”

“Perhaps he is worth every penny,” Penelope countered.

“Perhaps another man will give you a far better night of pleasure without any payment.”

“And I suppose that man is you?”

Her accusation was flung out before she could control her words, and as soon as they were out, almost an acceptance of his offer, she blushed deeply. Her gaze fell to his corded neck, framed by his high collar and black cravat.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and the emotion left her warm.

Heavens, he was making her nervous.

“So you confess, you have considered it,” he teased, smirking.

“I have thought nothing of the sort.”

“Then why will you not meet my eyes again?”

Penelope’s eyes snapped up to his, stubborn and embarrassed. She was aware of how hot her face was, how red she must have appeared, but she forced herself not to be intimidated.

A strong hand slid up her waist, and she became aware of how he held her gently. Suddenly, she could think of nothing else, and her breath came harsher as his hand stopped just beneath her ribcage.

Penelope tried to remain pliant and soft in his hold, to release her tension, but she could not.

The Duke of Blackstone set her on edge, and perhaps a part of her liked it.

His thumb brushed the edge of her ribcage, hidden beneath her layers, and she wondered if it was purposeful or not.

The waltz came to a slow stop, the music ending to prepare for the next score.

Left feeling unmoored, Penelope was caught in the Duke’s embrace for one moment longer right as he stepped back, bowing to her.

Just in time, she remembered to curtesy. He gave her one more knowing smile before leading her off the dance floor… right to a very angry Finley, who stormed towards them.