Page 10 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
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 shorthmmof 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.”
