Page 43 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
“Thank you,” the Duke answered tightly. “What sort of guardian would I be if I did not accompany my sister to such things?”
“It seems that some brothers are better staying at home, though.” Cecilia frowned. “Not you, Your Grace. In fact, Lady Arabella was speaking most highly of you to Lady Penelope during the ball the other night. At the Townsend ball?”
“She was?” The Duke glanced at Cecilia, who nodded so innocently before gesturing to Penelope. He turned to her then, and Penelope all but grew warm beneath his gaze. “What was she saying?”
“That you are… highly regarded,” she said lamely.
Penelope had never been a brilliant liar.
The Duke looked at her, the corners of his lips twitching, as though he was trying not to laugh.
“I see,” he answered. “And this high regard you speak of, was there anything in particular?”
“Nothing—nothing in particular.”
Heavens, why was her throat so dry?
Penelope shifted uncomfortably, silently cursing her friend for putting her in such a position.
“I am sure there was something.” Mirth danced in his eyes. “Shall I ask Lady Arabella?”
“No!” Penelope said, her voice tight. “No. Do not bother her while she changes. I… I believe we were speaking about… your perception.”
“Ah, my perception?”
Penelope nodded, still feeling shaky from being caught in her dress. “Your perception on the night we first met. You… you were perceptive.”
Oh, she could have cursed herself.
Cecilia blinked at Penelope’s terrible attempts at carrying out a conversation.
Penelope felt watched, vulnerable, not knowing why her tongue was running away with her so. She gave a nervous, uncomfortable laugh.
The Duke merely gazed back at her for a long moment. “Your gown looks very stifling, Lady Penelope. Are you sure you have the right seasonal wardrobe?”
“It issoconsiderate of you to inquire about such things, Your Grace.” Cecilia giggled, leaning in. “I asked Lady Penelope a similar question. Her taste in fashion is often rather exquisite, but I cannot help feeling as though there is something amiss today. Regardless, she looks beautiful in anything, do you not think? A tempting offering one must simply… taste.”
Penelope flashed her final warning, her breath short—she blamed it on the horrid dress.
She straightened up. “My gown is fine, Your Grace. It was much colder when I dressed than when I left my home.”
“Perhaps next time you should choose a more suitable gown,” he noted. “Something more… airy.”
“Airy,” she whispered, thinking of his eyes falling to her chest in the previous dress.
“More revealing,” Cecilia added, a suggestive chuckle escaping her lips. “She has a lovely figure. Do you not agree, Your Grace?”
“I amsure,” Penelope interjected quickly before the Duke could speak, “that His Grace has far greater concerns on his mind.”
“Such as?” he challenged, as if he had wanted to give his opinion on her figure.
Suddenly, Penelope was lost in thoughts of what he might have admitted.
Heat rushed down her sternum, and she found herself at a loss for words. However, the snap of a curtain being pulled back to reveal Lady Arabella in her first gown saved her.
“Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed with more enthusiasm than necessary, jumping up to break the tension, to get away from the Duke’s all-seeing gaze that threaded lust through her.
Lust she could not allow herself to feel. Lust she could not help but feel all the same.
