Page 22 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
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.
