Page 79 of His Wild Duchess
George’s frown deepened. Reality came rushing back to him sooner than he wished. Slowly, his hands began to leave her, feeling quite empty the longer they stayed away. “There was some news,” he said, “That I had wished to share with you. But Fred had seen you leave the ballroom, and -”
“News?” she repeated. “What news?”
He stared at her with narrowed eyes. Somehow, a wall had been put between them in the matter of moments. When he had reveled so deeply in their kiss, finally believing in a hope of their life together, George hadn’t stopped to consider what any of it would mean to Penelope. Perhaps she was not swayed, not finding anything more than a tender embrace with him. Perhaps she had an inclining to the news, and was eager to hear him truly say it and make it real.
George pulled himself away from her fully. Had he made a fool out of himself for believing she actuallywantedto kiss him? “I received a letter yesterday morning. The cottage is ready.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “So soon?”
“There was little work to be done in the first place.”
Penelope watched him silently for a moment before turning away, gently taking her gloves off his lap. “You waited to tell me,” she whispered.
“Could it not have waited a day?” he asked, hearing the slightest edge to his voice. “Or did you think you could’ve avoided the heartache of the ball if I had thought to tell you sooner?”
“That isn’t what I meant, George.”
He rose from the bed, unable to sit still beside her. Penelope’s face was closed off, and he was unable to tell what it was that she truly thought about the news. If she was excited or disappointed, eager to leave or considering staying, remained unbeknownst to him. And it wasn’t like Penelope was getting ready to tell him anytime soon.
“Perhaps,” she suddenly said, standing beside him, “We should return before the guests wonder where their hosts are.”
Hiding his disappointment, George cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. Holding his arm out for her to take, Penelope avoided meeted his gaze as her arm slipped around his own, the touch light and almost nonexistent. He led the way out the bedroom, a thousand words resting on the tip of his tongue but unable to find their way out.
CHAPTER 23
“Tell me again, won’t you?”
Penelope sighed from her bed, still laying in her night garments, her hair a tangled mess below her head. She craved the presence of her animals - the need to hold one of them against her chest to stop her heart from racing was growing too deep to ignore. Instead, there was only her lady’s maid, Clarissa, who was too in love with love to pass up the opportunity to hear more about the ball’s success.
The truth behind the ball was something she carried deep within her heart. Sure, it proved to be a success in all its intents and purposes. George’s stud farm would have a line out the door when he began to produce foals. Most of the gentlemen interested in seeing the steeds had a particular interest in Vaun, the American stallion. To the Lords of London, Vaun was a beast from a land they never expected to visit. He was a foreign thing they were all engrossed with, eager to see what sort of power lay within him.
Much like their fascination with the American Duke himself.
Penelope turned over in bed, facing the room as Clarissa packed her things, leaving out a traveling dress for the journey back to the townhouse. No matter what, all night long and even on into the morning, every thought in Penelope’s mind led back to George. If it wasn’t about the kiss they shared, right at the foot of her bed, it was his words, or the unrecognizable expression that had clouded his face for the rest of the party. All of it ran amok in her brain as if she didn’t have any control over it.
Penelope snatched one of her pillows, pressing it over her face, trying to suffocate the memories of his lips against her own.
“You’re so funny this morning,” Clarissa mused.
Penelope grumbled. “I would not call this funny.”
“Am I annoying you, your Grace? Is that it? I’”
Lowering the pillow, Penelope sat up in her bed. “Of course not, Clarissa. Forgive me, I never meant to give that impression.”
“Oh, well, it’s quite alright if you did, your Grace,” Clarissa said with a sheepish laugh. “I’ve asked you to tell me about the ball three times in a row!”
“Four, actually.”
Clarissa paused as she folded up her gloves. “Really? It wasfourtimes?”
Penelope laughed as she willed herself to make the rest of the way out of her bed. “Do not fret over it, Clarissa, I enjoy telling you these things.”
“Do you really?”
“It feels very much like telling a sister, doesn’t it?”
Clarissa beamed as she closed the trunk. “I’ve always wanted a sister to gossip with.”
