Page 23 of His Wild Duchess
“No!”he exclaimed, pulling a flinch out of Penelope. “My word is final.”
After taking one more look at her and Titus, George straightened his coat and grabbed the papers he carried, bundling them up in his hands before storming off across the foyer. Penelope remained there as Titus slowly stepped towards her, head hung low. She wrapped her arms around the dog’s shaggy neck, pulling till he could rest beside her.
“Do not take his words to heart,” she whispered in the hound’s ear. A clever smile spread across her face. “If he thinks I am Mother Nature, I shall show him what nature can do.”
CHAPTER 7
It was the day of the ball, and Penelope couldn’t worry over it more. For the first time in ages, Penelope was without her animals, no loyal hound sticking close to her side. It took more effort than she thought, locking the dogs up in her bedroom with Clarissa on the inside with them, hopefully keeping the pack at bay. The last look she gave them all was bittersweet, feeling like she left behind a piece of her soul when the door was tightly shut.
In the carriage ride, Penelope wound her hands together on her lap. Her reddish locks were twisted at the top of her head, pinned with jade accessories so they couldn’t fall over her face. The dress Clarissa picked out for her fit was snuggly, cinching in at the waist and exposing more skin than she would’ve preferred.
Across from her, George was dressed in a neat suit, a tall hat sitting beside him. Ever since their last squabble, George regarded her silently, eyeing her skeptically, as if a dogwould pop out from beneath her dress to tackle him to the floor. Evennow, he was grumbling quietly while picking thin cat hair pieces out of his coat.
Raising a gloved hand to her lips, Penelope fought the urge to laugh.
His head shot up when he heard her. “I don’t find this very funny.”
“I’m terribly sorry, your Grace,” she said, giggling slightly. “I suppose that would be my fault.”
“You suppose?”
“It’s just Butternut,” Penelope explained. “She might’ve gotten into your wardrobe.”
With an eye roll, George tried to smack the hair off his clothes. “I don’t thinkmightis the right word.”
Penelope laughed again. “Haven’t you ever met a cat before?”
“What an odd question,” he muttered, shaking his head at her.
“Butternut likes you.”
George rolled his eyes again. “I doubt that.”
“She does,” Penelope argued. “Cats like the smell of their loved ones, just as much as any other living creature. It isn’t surprising that she sought you out in your clothes. I can only assume she tried to nest in them, probably slept a little by the looks of it.”
George shot her a glare. “Very funny. It isn’t nice to lie.”
Her eyebrows raised. “It isn’t a lie, your Grace.”
“That can’t be the real reason,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why can’t it be?” Penelope laughed. “You men are so ridiculous at times. And you have the nerve to complain about women!”
“Be serious.”
Penelope met his gaze, no longer laughing. She held his stare, ignoring how a heated blush threatened to pass over the bridge of her nose the more she watched him. “I am,” she whispered. “Why can’t you just be pleased?”
“Pleased at cat hair all over my clothes?”
She smiled sadly. “Pleased that a cat once so wildshe refused to let any human come near herchoseyou.”
George blinked, glancing down at the hairs he had gathered in the palm of his hand. He sighed irritably, giving up on pickingthem out as the carriage rolled to a stop. He breathed deeply, shooting a pointed stare across the carriage.
“Remember,” he said, “to play your part.”
Benedict House was a tall home within the center of the social atmosphere in London’s aristocratic society. All well-off men and women of the Ton found themselves in the luxurious Lady Tollock’s townhouse, one way or another. Penelope recalled her sister’s stories of the mischief that could occur within the illustrious halls as she stepped out of the carriage.
Rows of couples filed into the house, all of them chattering and dressed regally. George slipped Penelope’s hand within the crook of his elbow, securing her position beside him. Adrenaline fueled her every step, pushing her forward with a confidence she didn’t know she could have. Perhaps it was the feeling of the Duke beside her. Not out of power or a rise in station but out of their similarities.
