Page 30 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
Penelope tried to remain pliant and soft in his hold, to release her tension, but she could not.
The Duke of Blackstone set her on edge, and perhaps a part of her liked it.
His thumb brushed the edge of her ribcage, hidden beneath her layers, and she wondered if it was purposeful or not.
The waltz came to a slow stop, the music ending to prepare for the next score.
Left feeling unmoored, Penelope was caught in the Duke’s embrace for one moment longer right as he stepped back, bowing to her.
Just in time, she remembered to curtesy. He gave her one more knowing smile before leading her off the dance floor… right to a very angry Finley, who stormed towards them.
ChapterEight
“Why,” 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.
