Page 16 of His Wild Duchess
Suddenly, the sound of a chair scraping against the ground screeched through the room. The Duke moved quickly, his long legs getting him across the room in just a few strides. He stood before Penelope in a flash, a dark shadow passing over his face. At the same moment, Antony the mastiff appeared at Penelope’s side, looking up at the Duke with a low growl. Penelope placed her hand on the dog’s head to quiet him.
“I’d refrain from listing more insults,” the Duke said.
“Or what?”
The Duke stepped even closer, ignoring the mastiff. His eyes flickered to her lips. “I have tamed wilder things than you, darling.”
Without another word, the Duke stormed past her, ripping open the dining room door, and disappeared into the dark hallway. Penelope stepped backward, falling into her seat. Her heart rapped against her chest at the Duke’s words, heat rushing beneath her skin at his boldness. Antony lifted his heavy head with a low bark and placed it on her lap, looking up at her with a wrinkled face. She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Antony’s brow.
Before Penelope could do anything else, the mastiff pulled himself off her lap and trotted out of the room, following in the direction of the Duke. She breathed a sigh, placing an unsteady hand over her heart.
“Two months,” she whispered. “Two months.”
CHAPTER 5
Lew’s and Crake’s was the most well-known gentlemen’s club in London at the moment, according to a random man George had asked on the street outside the townhouse. He felt suffocated, as though his collar clung too tight to his neck. The halls of that townhouse never once made him feel as trapped as Penelope did, with her wide eyes and rich red hair. All of it became something he was not at all prepared for.
Six dogs.
George was a lover of animals like any other young man. They were excellent hunting partners, loyal companions, and full of soul. But in the hands of a young spinster woman? Preposterous. Half a dozen strays, all following the commands of a woman who walked through houses barefoot. Barefoot and dirty and sweaty. George should have left Egerton Manor that day and found another option to carry out his plans. Despite that thought, there was a voice in the back of his head that said,you damned fool, don’t pretend like you aren’t happy with it.
George rolled his shoulders, about to walk down the street, till he came across the club when he heard the soft sound of paws smacking against the pavement. Turning, he saw a large black shadow come trotting towards him. As it approached, the figure grew clearer and sharper in the early evening.
“Antony,” George called out, “Is that right?”
The mastiff took a set a few feet away from him, using his foot to scratch behind his ear before lazily looking around.
George stepped closer, patting his hand against the side of the mastiff’s large stomach. “Go on there, boy. Home’s thataway.”
Antony barely budged.
“Get on, Antony.” George took a step back, bewildered. Thrusting a hand forward, he pointed at the townhouse, raising his voice slightly. “Back to where you came!”
Silence responded. Antony merely watched him, blinking slowly. A few passersby watched him with odd looks, glancing between him and the dog. George sighed, rubbing a hand across his face as a headache pounded beneath his skull.
“Bloody might as well accept it,” he muttered under his breath as he started to walk away. “Better get the Ton used to the damned things sooner rather than later.” Only a couple of months, and he could pack the dogs and his wife off to a private country cottage,and the gossip about Penelope’s pack would fade away as soon as a new scandal arose.
Antony huffed as he trotted behind him as if he understood the words he spoke.
George stole a glance over his shoulder at the mastiff. A smile couldn’t help but spread across his lips. He truly did enjoy the presence of dogs. The last time he got to handle them was when he was out west in the New World, searching for wild horses. Mastiffs were beautiful creatures, but he fought the urge to dip down and give his attention to the dog. More important things were at stake, and he was trying to be mad at Penelope.
George was able to locate the club in no time. It wasn’t too far of a walk away from the townhomes, but enough that he felt comfortable going in. As he approached, a few parties of gentlemen entered, all of them chatting amongst each other. George swallowed down his apprehension.
The nostalgia tasted bittersweet as George entered Lew’s and Crake’s.
Round tables were all around the wide room, and a delicate and small bar was positioned in the middle of the room. Men held their glasses of brandy and discussed everything beneath the sun. George slowly walked down the steps till he entered the main room, trying to ignore the dog's pattering behind him.
Eyes slowly began to turn and face him. Soon enough, the crowds were only talking about the stranger entering their cluband ordering a drink from their bar. George was used to people gossiping about him. His appearance alone made him stand out like a sore thumb in London. A decade's worth of hard labor in the New World left him rugged and strong, new muscles filling out his frame. Most men wore their hair long in the colonies, seeking to cover their skin from the sun.
Everything about him in England reeked of the colonies. A part of him wondered if even the title he inherited from his father would make him more acceptable in the Ton’s eyes. It didn’t change the fact that he’d willingly decided to leave the country ten years prior.
Leaving the bar, George scanned the room for a lone table. He moved quickly, wanting to avoid any small talk until he could have a few drinks. The only way he’d be able to come off personable enough for the Ton’s gentlemen was through as much whiskey as he could get his hands on.
“Evening, sir!”
Bollocks,George thought to himself. Looking over his shoulder, he watched an unsteady man approach him from behind. The gentleman obviously had too much to drink and searched for a new stranger to dump himself on.
George cleared his throat, eyeing the mastiff that sat close to his hip. “Good evening.”
