Page 22 of His Wild Duchess
“Oh,” he snapped, sounding sarcastic and angry, “do you mean to say that your spies didn’t report back to you?”
Penelope laughed exasperatedly. “You aren’t making any sense!”
George stormed forward, effectively closing the space between them. Just a few steps below her, they almost were at eye level with each other, with George only slightly looking up at her.
“Were you missing a creature?”
“This is their home as much as it is mine,” Penelope replied, trying to keep her tone even. “Look, I came to tell you that I found a dress suitable for -”
“Never mind that,” George snapped, thrusting a finger over his shoulder. “The damned mastiff ripped my papers in two!”
“He’s quite the fan of playing.”
“I wasn’t playing!” George rubbed his hands along his face, obviously irritated. “He just grabbed it out of my hand! How irresponsible can one woman be?”
Penelope pressed her lips together firmly, unable to hold herself back any longer. “You need to calm down! Haven’t you stopped to consider this an uneasy time for the animals, too? This is a new home, with new people they aren’t used to!”
“Then perhaps you should’ve been a stronger owner and left them at home!”
“What kind of a caretaker would I be, then? Abandoning the animals I pulled from off the streets?”
George shook his head, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Don’t forget: you tricked me.”
“What?”
“You neveroncefully informed me about your…baggage, and look at me now!” He held his work up in the air. “How on earth can I be expected to concentrate if your beasts won’t give me the time of day?”
Penelope rolled her eyes at him. “Is itreallythat hard to open a stud farm? That you feel the need to blame your inadequacies on a handful of dogs?”
“You -” George growled, a red heat of anger rushing to his face. “This is why I left London. This!”
“Oh, really.” The corner of Penelope’s mouth curled in a sarcastic smirk. “You left England a decade ago because of me and my dogs?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I meant marriage. London’s women! Every last one of you!”
Penelope’s hands clenched into fists. “Then why don’t you do all of us London women a favor and go back to the colonies?”
With a bright red face, George’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened, readying himself to deliver another onslaught.
Before he could say another word, Titus squeezed himself through Penelope’s legs, pushing till she made room for him. Leaping forward, the wolfhound jumped in the air, front paws landing directly on George’s chest. With a resounding yell, George toppled backward, his back slamming against the floor with a mightythud.Titus remained on top of him, a long line of drool dripping between his teeth.
“George!” Penelope shouted, gathering her skirts to fly down the rest of the stairs. She struggled with Titus, trying to pull him off of the Duke. “What on earth’s gotten into you?”
Turning to George, she watched him with wide and fearful eyes. “Are you hurt?”
He grunted, lips pressed firmly together. “Of course not,” he replied, though his voice sounded strained. “Get the damned thing off me.”
Penelope wrangled Titus till he stepped around George, taking a seat at the end of the stairs as if he didn’t do anything wrong in the first place.
“Your Grace,” Penelope breathed beside him. “I don’t know what’s gotten over him. Can’t I fetch you something to help?”
George stared at her intensely. Still lying on his back, Penelope crouched beside him, her reddish hair falling down her shoulders like a curtain. His eyes went wide, and his lips parted slightly.
“A-Are you well?” she asked again, searching his face.
George suddenly blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. “You can control your beasts!” he shouted before climbing to his feet. “Or I’ll banish them all to the stables.”
“But -”
