Page 31 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
“Compose yourself.” The Duke’s sharp tone made both Penelope and Finley step back.
He leveled a narrowed gaze at Finley, not a glare but something that showed he was annoyed by the spectacle.
“Lady Penelope should not need your permission. Do as your sister requested, Lord Langwaite, and calm yourself.”
At the firm order, Finley faltered. He looked between them, frowning, and then assessed their surroundings. Many eyes had turned to them, and people were not being discreet about it.
Across the room, Penelope noticed her friends and their husbands looking, their faces masks of empathy yet expectation, as if they had known Finley would not do any differently. Penelope ducked her head, ashamed that she could not do more to curb her brother’s interference.
Finley cleared his throat and let out a quiet chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair. “Of course, I am composed. I merely was surprised, is all. Penelope has not shown a great deal of interest in dancing for a while. I was caught off-guard. I am ever so protective of her, Blackstone.”
He laughed again, louder, to attract more attention, to be heard now in his polite cover-up, but Penelope’s throat still burned with humiliation and the true face of his control.
“You know how men of the ton can be,” Finley added with an easy smile.
His jaw tight, the Duke nodded, but he did not look convinced at all. It was all a play. A ballroom was no different from a theater stage, and to save face, the Duke was forced to accept Finley’s polite explanation, as was Penelope.
Reduce the scandal, she told herself and fixed her docile smile in place as Finley regarded her. But it was the Duke she returned her attention to. He inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“Thank you for the dance, Lady Penelope,” he murmured. “I am glad you were not left alone while everybody else participated.”
With another warning look at Finley—perhaps for causing that loneliness in Penelope—he walked away.
Penelope could not relax even if she tried to. Finley took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow as he led her away from the watching crowd. He smiled brightly as if nothing had happened, but Penelope’s heart still hammered, her breath tight in her chest.
“I only say this as your brother, Penelope—be wary of the Duke,” he told her, his voice tight with the effort of keeping it polite—though she knew a snarling, foaming beast hid beneath, likely wanting to snap. “I am sure you have heard stories about him. Heed them, and keep your distance. If you wish to dance, all you need to do is ask me.”
“You are not a suitor,” she replied, her annoyance still lacing her tone. She cleared her throat at his sharp look and tried again. “I would like the chance to dance with a man who might court me, is all.”
“And that will not be the Duke of Blackstone.”
“But you are friends,” she pointed out. “Why are you so concerned?”
As they stopped at the refreshments table, Penelope turned to face the ballroom, trying to find the Duke while Finley got himself another glass of wine and downed it in one go. He picked up another, and Penelope went to reach for one for herself, but he shook his head.
“I am concerned because the old friend I once knew is gone,” he told her. “The Duke is different now, and I fear I do not know this man at all. Who knows what happened to him during his time away? We do not even know for sure where he disappeared to, and that alone is concerning.”
“Yes, but?—”
“Penelope.” His voice was sharper as he turned her to face him.
Over his shoulder, Penelope saw Cecilia begin to stalk over to them, ready to intervene, and her anxiety flared at the thought of another confrontation so soon after the one he had with the Duke.
Thankfully, Cecilia was held back by Mary and Daphne, all of them whispering among themselves. Cecilia thrived on a scene, especially if it involved protecting Penelope, but her other friends knew better than to draw further attention.
“I am sorry,” Penelope said, as she was supposed to, looking back at Finley.
He nodded as if she had said the correct thing. “Please choose the suitors I can look into properly. Suitors who do not have seven years’ worth of mystery about them. It will save me a great deal of worry.”
He gave her a soft smile, but she could not be comforted by it. Not when she remembered how he did not let her choose a suitor at all, mysterious or not.
“Of course, Brother,” she said once again, as expected. “I am sorry for causing you such distress.”
“It is no matter. How about we leave shortly and retire to the parlor for a drink, where it’s less crowded?”
Her smile was so rigid that it hurt her cheeks as she nodded.
But as soon as Finley turned back to the table, her smile dropped and she greedily searched the ballroom once more, hoping desperately to see just one glimpse of the Duke, who had spoken up for her in a way no other man had.
