Page 1 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
ChapterOne
“Lord Fenton, I will ask you only once to avert your gaze from my sister.”
At one of her first dinner parties of the Season, Lady Penelope froze at the warning from her stepbrother, Finley Stewart, the Marquess of Langwaite.
Dread coiled in her chest.
Lord Fenton blinked twice as he registered her stepbrother’s words. “My Lord, I was merely coming to say good evening,” he said quickly, his eyes darting to Penelope.
“Then say it to her face, not… below her face. As tight as her dress is, it is not a call for attention.”
Penelope stiffened as Lord Fenton scurried away with a pink face.
Finley turned to her, his smile too wide for comfort. “There,” he said. “All better, no? I did not appreciate the way he looked at you. Forgive me for shooing him away—I could not help it.”
Penelope fought to talk back, but Finley was already striding on, the incident—like so many before it over the last several years—quickly left behind. She found herself doing what she did best: smoothing over the cracks her brother made in her life in order to keep her wits about her.
“It is good to finally gather with everyone. Do you not agree, Brother?”
Lady Penelope looked up at her brother and felt hope rise in her chest that she might still appeal to one of his better moods.
His eyes scanned the dining room, narrowing slightly. “Hmm.”
Penelope’s stomach dropped as he watched the guests. “What is it?”
“Do you see over there?” His dark, wavy hair caught the light as he nodded towards the other side of the dining room, where several men gathered, glasses of wine in hand, as their own gazes swept over the room.
Not so discreetly, they all peered in Penelope’s direction before turning back to one another.
She flushed, turning her face away in proper bashfulness.
“Lord Thurnman and Lord Gelling are in attendance. I did not realize they would be invited to such a prestigious event. They, too, will be watching you. I do not like it.”
“They are titled, Brother.” Penelope half laughed. “Surely they are entitled as we are.”
“They are barons.” His lip curled. “And I dislike how they regard you. It is as if they are questioning whether you may be served on this table, a sweet dessert for everybody to take a bite of, and they only wish for the first chance.”
“Finley!” Penelope chastised, nudging her brother with her elbow, attempting to make light of his assessment, even as the unease burrowed beneath her skin. “I am sure they think no such thing. I am not a dessert, nor even a main course, thank you very much.”
“And I should think not, indeed,” he answered, his voice tight. “For nobody in this room deserves a marquess’s sister.”
“Not even Lord Samuel?” she asked teasingly, only to be silenced by his sharp glare. “I apologize, Brother.”
“Was he the man you spoke with upon our arrival?”
“I briefly greeted him, yes.”
At his silence, Penelope only sighed, feeling that familiar weight settle in her chest. One of dread, of anticipation, of wondering what might set off his over-controlling mutterings that night.
She supposed she ought to feel grateful that he was looking out for her. Already, he had dissuaded one suitor at another ball the previous week, claiming the young man was drowning in debt only a week after becoming a viscount. Penelope had not known that but had thought the Viscount was charming.
Finley had not.
Their hosts, the Countess and Earl of Tilsbury, entered the dining room, and a hush fell over the crowd.
In the pale pink dress that Finley had bought her only the day before, Penelope felt scrutinized in a way that made warmth spread through her. It was as if a humble blush was permanently etched on her face. She rather liked the pinkness, though. It made her look friendly, some suitors had claimed. Approachable.
“Please be seated, everybody!” the Earl of Tilsbury exclaimed, gesturing to the long table set up in the center of the room.
