Page 8 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Eight

“W hy ,” Finley spat out, “did you dance with my sister without asking for my permission?”

His glare was heavy on Edmund, but Penelope’s mouth went dry at the thought of being on the receiving end of her brother’s wrath next.

My permission .

Her stomach sank at his possessiveness. She looked around them, hoping nobody noticed, and she flinched sorely upon seeing the eyes on them.

“Brother,” she whispered, “let us not. Not here?—”

“ Yes , here,” Finley snapped, not looking away from Edmund.

The Duke stepped back, away from Finley’s clawed hand, which hovered before him as if Finley intended to grab him by the front of his waistcoat to threaten him but then thought better of it.

Few people trusted Finley, and even fewer seemed to trust the Duke of Blackstone, but Penelope wondered who would be favored if there was a fight.

That thought sent her mind spiraling.

She opened her mouth to say more, but the Duke straightened, ever a rigidly poised gentleman, and spoke in a calm, level voice.

“Lady Penelope does not need her brother’s permission to dance,” he replied, as if the fact was too obvious and Finley was foolish to accuse him. “And a stepbrother, at that.”

“Blood or not, I am her guardian,” Finley snapped. “I am owed that respect.”

“Owed?” the Duke echoed, still calm, still collected. It only made Finley look more out of control. “You are owed nothing, My Lord. Lady Penelope may dance with whomever she pleases.”

And because I cannot dance with whomever I please, I am a spinster at five-and-twenty .

Penelope did not voice that thought.

When the Duke quickly glanced at her, she wondered if he thought it too.

“You forget yourself, Your Grace.” Her brother’s accusation came with a series of gasps from those around them.

Penelope stepped forward, trying to get between the two men, but Finley blocked her.

“Brother,” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “Brother, calm down.”

“Do not tell me what to do,” Finley snapped, his head whipping to her.

The weight of that glare, that stifling control he wanted over her so desperately, flared in his eyes.

He hated to be confronted about his behavior, and having the Duke do so only made Penelope nervous yet grateful.

“You should not have danced with him! Not without seeking my permission,” Finley hissed.

“Compose yourself.” The Duke’s sharp tone made both Penelope and Finley step back.

He leveled a narrowed gaze at Finley, not a glare but something that showed he was annoyed by the spectacle.

“Lady Penelope should not need your permission. Do as your sister requested, Lord Langwaite, and calm yourself.”

At the firm order, Finley faltered. He looked between them, frowning, and then assessed their surroundings. Many eyes had turned to them, and people were not being discreet about it.

Across the room, Penelope noticed her friends and their husbands looking, their faces masks of empathy yet expectation, as if they had known Finley would not do any differently. Penelope ducked her head, ashamed that she could not do more to curb her brother’s interference.

Finley cleared his throat and let out a quiet chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair. “Of course, I am composed. I merely was surprised, is all. Penelope has not shown a great deal of interest in dancing for a while. I was caught off-guard. I am ever so protective of her, Blackstone.”

He laughed again, louder, to attract more attention, to be heard now in his polite cover-up, but Penelope’s throat still burned with humiliation and the true face of his control.

“You know how men of the ton can be,” Finley added with an easy smile.

His jaw tight, the Duke nodded, but he did not look convinced at all. It was all a play. A ballroom was no different from a theater stage, and to save face, the Duke was forced to accept Finley’s polite explanation, as was Penelope.

Reduce the scandal , she told herself and fixed her docile smile in place as Finley regarded her. But it was the Duke she returned her attention to. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Thank you for the dance, Lady Penelope,” he murmured. “I am glad you were not left alone while everybody else participated.”

With another warning look at Finley—perhaps for causing that loneliness in Penelope—he walked away.

Penelope could not relax even if she tried to. Finley took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow as he led her away from the watching crowd. He smiled brightly as if nothing had happened, but Penelope’s heart still hammered, her breath tight in her chest.

“I only say this as your brother, Penelope—be wary of the Duke,” he told her, his voice tight with the effort of keeping it polite—though she knew a snarling, foaming beast hid beneath, likely wanting to snap. “I am sure you have heard stories about him. Heed them, and keep your distance. If you wish to dance, all you need to do is ask me.”

“You are not a suitor,” she replied, her annoyance still lacing her tone. She cleared her throat at his sharp look and tried again. “I would like the chance to dance with a man who might court me, is all.”

“And that will not be the Duke of Blackstone.”

“But you are friends,” she pointed out. “Why are you so concerned?”

As they stopped at the refreshments table, Penelope turned to face the ballroom, trying to find the Duke while Finley got himself another glass of wine and downed it in one go. He picked up another, and Penelope went to reach for one for herself, but he shook his head.

“I am concerned because the old friend I once knew is gone,” he told her. “The Duke is different now, and I fear I do not know this man at all. Who knows what happened to him during his time away? We do not even know for sure where he disappeared to, and that alone is concerning.”

“Yes, but?—”

“Penelope.” His voice was sharper as he turned her to face him.

Over his shoulder, Penelope saw Cecilia begin to stalk over to them, ready to intervene, and her anxiety flared at the thought of another confrontation so soon after the one he had with the Duke.

Thankfully, Cecilia was held back by Mary and Daphne, all of them whispering among themselves. Cecilia thrived on a scene, especially if it involved protecting Penelope, but her other friends knew better than to draw further attention.

“I am sorry,” Penelope said, as she was supposed to, looking back at Finley.

He nodded as if she had said the correct thing. “Please choose the suitors I can look into properly. Suitors who do not have seven years’ worth of mystery about them. It will save me a great deal of worry.”

He gave her a soft smile, but she could not be comforted by it. Not when she remembered how he did not let her choose a suitor at all, mysterious or not.

“Of course, Brother,” she said once again, as expected. “I am sorry for causing you such distress.”

“It is no matter. How about we leave shortly and retire to the parlor for a drink, where it’s less crowded?”

Her smile was so rigid that it hurt her cheeks as she nodded.

But as soon as Finley turned back to the table, her smile dropped and she greedily searched the ballroom once more, hoping desperately to see just one glimpse of the Duke, who had spoken up for her in a way no other man had.

A man who had ignited something new in her during their dance—a man who looked at her as though she was more than an insignificant lady, more than a spinster already written off.

And although she could not find the Duke of Blackstone in the thick crowd, he did not leave her thoughts for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Edmund strode through the ballroom, trying to forget the feel of Lady Penelope in his embrace.

Soft curves that fit into his palms so perfectly, her face pinched in gentle confusion, and the hair that had tumbled down her back, brushing his hand where he had held her?—

Stop this , he berated himself.

Why were his thoughts so fixated on her suddenly?

Shaking off the lingering heat he had felt during the dance, he focused on finding Arabella. He should have kept a closer eye on her. It was not her first ball, he knew that, but he wanted to make sure she was doing all right nonetheless. She was his charge, after all.

When he found her near the terrace doors at the far end of the ballroom, he forced himself to be calm, collected. Still, his instincts to protect her flared, and he fixed an expectant smile on his face as he smoothly inserted himself into their conversation.

“Brother—”

“Good evening,” he said, briefly nodding to Arabella but looking at the lord. “Lord Graham, is it not? I do not believe we have been formally introduced. I am the Duke of Blackstone, Lady Arabella’s brother.”

His words were pointed, a veiled reminder for the lord to be on his best behavior in his presence.

The young man’s eyes widened as he nodded quickly before moving to shake Edmund’s hand. “It is, indeed. Lord Graham. My parents are?—”

“The Earl and Countess of Avendale,” Edmund finished, shaking the man’s hand with more force than was necessary. “I am aware, yes.”

Lord Graham’s eyes widened. “Yes—yes, of course you are aware. I imagine being a duke gives you a lot of knowledge of who is who at these events.”

“Indeed.” Edmund arched an eyebrow. “Including their secrets, lives that they hide away. Any foul play. Nothing escapes my notice, Lord Graham.”

“Brother,” Arabella whispered, furrowing her brow, cross with him.

Edmund continued, “If I recall correctly, the Avendales have several business ventures, no?”

“Yes!” Lord Graham said, his voice high-pitched. “All very profitable, Your Grace.”

“And do you have sufficient estates worthy of a duke’s sister?”

“Brother!” Arabella cried again, but Lord Graham was thinking before he nodded once again.

“I-I believe so.”

“Believe so, or know?” Edmund questioned.

“I know,” Lord Graham corrected, a slight flush rising to his face.

“And should you marry my sister, Lord Graham, as many suitors tonight likely intend to, when should the following news be broken?”

“Following news, Your Grace?”

“Children,” Edmund clarified. “How soon do you expect to produce an heir?”

“Oh, Heavens,” Arabella muttered under her breath.

But Edmund only took in the young man—his red curls and his bright blue eyes—and then glanced at his sister, with all her dark features, and hummed.

“Children, yes.” Lord Graham cleared his throat. “Well, of course, I-I mean?—”

“Did you go to Cambridge, Lord Graham?”

“Yes, and I finished with very good scores, Your Grace.”

“And yet you cannot string a good, decent sentence to answer me with.” Edmund raised an eyebrow. “You understand I will not settle for less than the best for Lady Arabella. It is ultimately her choice, but I will endeavor to influence her choices.”

Visibly, the lord swallowed, looking at Arabella as if searching for a way to redirect the conversation. When it was clear there was none, he backed away, smiling nervously.

“I-I must meet with my father,” he mumbled. “He is right over…”

He did not finish his sentence, already turning on his heel and hurrying away.

As soon as he was gone, Arabella rounded on Edmund, her pretty face tight with annoyance.

“Must you do that?” she huffed. “He was perfectly lovely!”

“And you deserve perfectly perfect ,” Edmund corrected. “You were being foolishly drawn in by a kind smile.”

“And you were being rude,” she countered. “I was enjoying myself, Brother.”

For a moment, his confidence faltered, but he quickly regained it. “I am looking out for you. Shall I ask more questions next time to hasten the process? It will wheedle out the idiots better.”

“No! You absolutely should not. You must allow me to choose for myself.”

“I will,” Edmund told her. “But I will not see you married to a fool when you are so brightly intelligent, Arabella.”

“A fool you may think he is, but I found him to be a gentleman.”

Without thinking, he rolled his eyes, sighing his exasperation. “That is because you are still innocent, and men can be snakes who will take advantage of that.”

His sister reared back at the insult, her lip curling. “Yes, but perhaps I should find that out for myself instead of it being dictated to me by a man .” Her eyes narrowed. “I would have had to find out without your help if you had not made it back. I am ever so glad you did, but I am more grown than you recall, and I can use my intelligence to navigate a ballroom.”

With that, she walked away, leaving him quite berated and feeling slightly off-kilter.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, his confidence wavering once again.

Guilt spread through his stomach; Arabella was right. Had he not made it back, clawed with every ounce of his being to return to his sister, she would have had to go through this alone. Or at least with Benjamin, and Heaven help her if that happened.

He thought about going after her but found himself utterly exhausted by the whole ordeal already. He did not want to cause further aggravation. Besides, he had sworn to himself that he would see Arabella chaperoned and then continue his hunt.

His night was far from over, even when the ball ended.

And although he was ready to leave, staying only for Arabella’s sake, there was one other reason to linger at the fringes of the ballroom.

Lady Penelope, and the fact that despite not being able to spot her now in the crowd, his body remembered the feel of hers. His arms ached, as if aware of how empty they were without her.

He could not help but cast his gaze over the ballroom, ignoring the pang of disappointment when he could not see her.

Lady Penelope had struck a match within him, and now he burned for another glimpse of her.