Page 89 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
In the end, he could barely recall what the men discussed, only that he vaguely agreed to invest alongside the Duke of Stormhold. He didn’t hear the questions anybody asked about his absence or his return to London; all he knew was Penelope.
Penelope, Penelope, Penelope.
She encompassed him, and he was attuned to her, unable to help looking for her no matter where he was. But when the ladies returned to the drawing room after dinner for drinks, Lucien strolled over to him and pulled him aside, away from Finley.
“Edmund,” Lucien said quietly. “My wife is a bit of a meddler, and she seems to have noticed something between you and Lady Penelope. You do not have to confirm anything with me. Your personal life is your own, andIam not one for gossip, but she says that the air grows heavy with the weight of longing.”
The protest was hanging on the tip of Edmund’s tongue, ready to deny anything, when Lucien held a finger to his lips. Dukes held one another’s secrets.
“From one duke to another who had a secret admiration for a lady he could not have for a long time, I advise you to give in to my wife’s meddling and find yourself in the spare study, where your lady awaits you.”
“Lord Langwaite?—”
Lucien cut him off. “Again, from one duke to another, brothers are difficult to deal with but easily distracted by others.”
He nodded to where the Marquess of Wetherby had drawn Finley into another conversation, while the Earl of Bathurst was offering him a drink.
Edmund blinked, surprised by the show of support. Penelope claimed she was a spinster, but it was clear everybody wished to help her seek what she wanted.
Perhaps they think you are deserving of one another’s affection.
“Go and meet with her,” Lucien urged, clapping him on the shoulder, “and allow us to take care of everything else.”
With that, he walked away.
Edmund did not waste another moment as he left the drawing room, covered by the flurry of conversations around Finley. He stalked down the corridor, finding a door slightly ajar.
Once inside, he let the door close softly behind him as his eyes fell on the source of his torment. Penelope looked breathless already, her eyes widening.
“Her Grace set?—”
“Put your back to the far wall, Penelope.” His command was low, soft but laced with demand.
Her lips parted on an exhale, that look of surprise on her face that she always had, as if, even after all the times they had coupled, the intimacy of it all still surprised her.
She did as he asked, and he walked up to her, his eyes tracing the wretched gown that made her flush with more heat than arousal. He could not tear it off her as he wished, but he could free her of it.
With deft fingers, he loosened the fastenings of her dress. He pushed her skirt up, his fingers already slipping between her legs.
“Can you keep quiet for me?” he asked, his lips grazing her neck.
He breathed in her scent—vanilla and rose, the same he had scented every time he took her in Julian’s house—and knew that every moment of trying to restrain himself brought him back to her. As if they were two ends of a thread, invisibly connected, always tugged towards one another.
He shook the thought off. He did not need anything of that notion distracting him.
Instead, he focused on how she felt in his arms.
He focused on the muffled noises she made behind her palm when he slid his fingers inside her heat.
He focused on making sure nobody interrupted them—and when he finally entered her, filling her with his length, the aching need made him shudder against her.
Edmund focused on every part of him, of their coupling, ofPenelope, except for how wildly his heart pounded for more reasons than just the exertion. It terrified him, and his walls needed to be even higher, but how could he do that when she already knew that was his way of protecting himself?
He thrust into her in that study, while her brother was down the hall—while notable members of the ton were down the hall, either helping them or oblivious to the full extent of their meetings. And when he was close, he pulled out of her, spilling on a handkerchief—which he’d swiftly toss into the fireplace later—as they’d promised to be careful.
Then, he let out a long breath.
For a minute, he held her close. He stayed there, his breath fanning her collar, and he thought of how he had no right to hold her with gentleness when his hands had been long stained with blood.
