Page 47 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
Instead of the gown, she tried to focus on the opera house below her, the theater spreading out in rows and rows of beautiful seats. They were all filled with ladies in their finest gowns and men in their sleek, pressed tailcoats, having taken off their top hats. Feathers billowed atop headpieces, and Galilean binoculars were lifted despite the currently empty stage.
“Are you looking forward to listening toLa Ballade?” Finley asked. “I pay good money for us to keep this box.”
“Of course!” Penelope said. “I love the opera, as you well know. I have always dreamed of being accompanied here by a suitor.”
“Well,” her brother drawled, chuckling, “think of me as one if it pleases you.”
She winced around a smile and squirmed in her dress again, but as she took in the theater below once more, eagerly awaiting the moment the lights turned down, her gaze landed on a familiar head of dark hair in the box opposite hers.
Despite the distance, the Duke of Blackstone’s eyes meeting hers had her pinned to her seat, the only thing able to keep her still all evening.
Next to him, Lady Arabella was talking animatedly, and there was something insatiably attractive about how he answered her while not taking his eyes off Penelope.
She could barely look away, her breathing quickening, not even aware of her brother pawing at her to watch the singer come onto the stage.
Her head spun, and she blamed it on the tightness of her dress rather than the intensity of the man watching her in a way that had pleasure tingling down her spine.
The lights went down, yet the Duke’s eyes did not leave hers.
Penelope looked away first right as the overture began to play out over the theater.
Though she tried to focus on the music that reverberated through the auditorium, making her shiver in that way sorrowful cellos always had, she found that this evening, she could not.
Her dress was too uncomfortable, her upper arms clamped in fabric, her neckline stifling. The skirt was heavy and clinging to her legs in a way that had sweat slicking the back of her thighs. She tried not to squirm, tried her best to be good and dutiful, but it was unbearable.
As the opera descended into its tragic tale, Penelope fidgeted terribly. Finley threw her looks that silently warned her to behave.
How could she, when her ability to breathe lessened and lessened?
She pressed a hand to her chest, rubbing up her throat, trying to relieve the tension, but it wouldn’t budge.
The first act passed in dizzying sweeps of instruments and heart-shattering falsettos, stunning duets from the leads. Penelope desperately wanted to enjoy it, but she struggled to. She did not want to draw attention to herself more than she already had, but her discomfort deepened.
Her ears were ringing, her blood pounding with the start of a faint, until she gasped and rose to her feet, dizzy and unsteady.
“Sitd?—”
She cut off her brother with a rushed, “I must powder my nose. I will not be long.”
She half feared he would insist on chaperoning her, but he only waved her away, likely glad to be rid of her fidgeting for a moment.
Penelope rushed out of their box and picked her way through the auditorium aisle in the dim light, one hand still on her neck, rubbing as if she might get the air back into her lungs that way.
Her vision blurred as she broke out of the main theater, emerging into an empty corridor.
A light breeze drifted from one direction, granting her relief as it enticed her deeper down the hallway. She followed it, smiling at the attendants that lined the corridors, on hand to aid with anything.
She followed the ribbon of breeze until she came to a pair of French doors, with translucent white curtains billowing in front of them. One door was open a small crack, and no attendants were there.
Slipping through the doors, Penelope stepped out onto a small balcony, inhaling deeply. It didn’t release all of her tension, not yet, but fresh air filled her lungs, andhiseyes were finally off her.
For the first time in several days of heavy, modest dresses and her brother’s watchful eye, Penelope could breathe.
She bowed over the balcony rail, sucking in lungfuls of air. She closed her eyes, basking in the peace, but the dress was still too confining, and she clawed at it, her panic and trapped anxiety building inside her sternum.
“Lady Penelope.”
She stilled at the sound of the Duke’s voice.
