Page 14 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

The low rasp in his tone sent a shiver down her spine, but she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or something else. Something dangerous she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Of course, I’m worried about Hector,” she snapped, unable to hide the tension in her voice now. Her fists clenched at her sides, fingers aching with the need to grab her son and pull him to safety. “I am worried about you, too. The way you are looking at him. He does not belong to you.”

Nor did he belong to Charles. To anyone who would try to change her son into a heartless, controlling version of himself.

The Duke raised an eyebrow, his gaze turning more curious, more… incredulous, as if he was not used to being accused like that. “Looking at him? How am I looking at him?”

Penelope took a step closer, her jaw set as she glared at him. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had been careful not to overreact, but the way the Duke spoke… how every word and movement was careful, as if he never did anything without thinking it through efficiently first… it enticed her.

“You look at him like he is an object,” Penelope said, her voice rising slightly, each word sharper than the last. “Like he is something to be taught, to be controlled. He is a child, not a pet!”

Malcolm’s lips parted for a moment, as if to respond, but no words came out. His expression tightened, a flicker crossing his features. Perhaps anger, perhaps realization, before he masked it again.

“And what about you?” she continued, her voice cracking a little with frustration. “Did you think I did not see the way you size us up, too? That I cannot tell you do not care who gets in your way, as long as you get what you want?”

The Duke’s shoulders stiffened, and he stepped forward, closing the gap between them just a little more. The scent of him, of earth and wood, a primal, dominant scent, clung to the air, pressing on her chest.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still carrying an edge.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” His voice was low, almost gentle, as if he were suddenly, unexpectedly, probing for something.

“I trust you as much as I imagine you trust me,” she countered.

“Then that indeed makes two of us.”

Penelope’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt a pulse of heat flare across her skin.

Before she could react, Hector suddenly barked, his tail wagging wildly as he ran over to Nicholas, his excitement palpable. The sudden distraction broke the tension between them like a thunderclap. Penelope let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Hector! Sit!” the Duke commanded sharply.

Hector, now almost frantic with playfulness, ignored him, running around Nicholas again, jumping up to lick his face. Nicholas laughed and tried to calm the dog down.

Penelope’s focus immediately shifted back to her son, the overwhelming surge of protective instinct taking over once again. She quickly moved toward Nicholas, grabbing his arm.

“Enough, Nicholas,” she said, her voice firm but laced with exhaustion. “We are leaving, now.”

Nicholas, still holding onto Hector, looked up at her with wide eyes, confusion etched on his face. “But Mama, Hector still wants to play.”

“No, Nicholas,” Penelope said, cutting him off. Her voice softened just enough to show her concern. “Not today. We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

She turned toward the Duke, giving him one last glance, her lips pressed tightly together. There was so much she wanted to say, so much that should have been said. But the tension between them, the way their eyes locked with such unspoken words, made it impossible to form a coherent thought.

The Duke stood there, watching them, his face unreadable. She didn’t know if he was angry, indifferent, or… something else. But one thing was clear: he was waiting for them to leave, and his patience was likely running out, if it hadn’t already.

“And once again, Lady Romwich, try to see to it that this is the last time this happens.”

She didn’t even answer him, only urging Nicholas back the way she had come, truly hoping she wouldn’t have to endure another situation like it again.

Chapter Five

Benedict droned on cheerfully, a series of chattering words that didn’t mean much. Malcolm leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass, eyes focused on the flickering firelight. The warm amber glow contrasted sharply with the chill that had taken root inside of him since the morning, an unease he couldn’t shake.

It had nothing to do with the estate or any of the duties he’d ignored for the past few days. No, it was her. Lady Romwich. The image of her on his grounds, standing so defiantly, so protectively over her son, lingered in his mind like a shadow.

Her fiery spirit, her sharp tongue, her beauty… it was all far too much for him to ignore.

Benedict, the Marquess of Hayward, had been talking, but Malcolm hadn’t heard a word. He wasn’t interested in anything his friend had to say. It was all background noise to the constant swirl of thoughts that had consumed him all day.