Page 28 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
“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.
