Page 22 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“I’m surprised to see you here, Your Grace,” Garrick remarked, his voice dripping with a mock politeness that turned Malcolm’s stomach. “I was under the impression the hunt was more for gentlemen of proper breeding and… social graces.”

Malcolm’s gaze darkened instantly. He didn’t bother with the empty niceties of their class. He took a long, deliberate step into Garrick’s personal space, his broad shadow swallowing the smaller man entirely.

“Your opinion of me is hardly a concern, Lord Garrick,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, predatory rasp. “I have little use for your approval, or your company.”

The tension in the air thickened until it was a physical weight. Malcolm didn’t move a muscle, but the sheer breadth of his shoulders and the cold, unyielding steel in his eyes spoke volumes.

Lord Garrick’s smile faltered; his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He had clearly overestimated the safety provided by a public lawn.

“Is there a problem, Garrick?” Malcolm asked. He kept his voice low, a deliberate edge that felt as though it could cut through stone. “I suggest you keep your idle chatter to less dangerous topics. I have grown quite fond of hunting, as I am certain you have heard.” He tilted his head mockingly. “There is something about the chase that really unleashes me.”

Garrick’s eyes widened, his pupils pinpricks of sudden fear.

The bravado evaporated in a heartbeat, his posture crumbling as if his spine had turned to ash. He muttered a hasty, unintelligible excuse and backed away, giving Malcolm a wide berth as if he expected the Duke to spring at his throat.

Malcolm let the man retreat, watching him with cold, silent amusement. He didn’t need to raise his voice or lift a hand. He only needed to remain still and let the wolf they feared show its teeth.

The men were making final, frantic adjustments to their rifles and mounting their snorting steeds. The air crackled with the electric energy of the coming chase. On the terrace, the women gathered in clusters of silk and lace, their chatter forming a constant, distant background hum.

It was then that he found her.

Penelope.

She stood across the field, her figure a striking, soft contrast against the vibrant greens and golds of the lawn. The breeze tugged at her chocolate-brown hair, and her expression, one of quiet, guarded contemplation, immediately drew his focus like a magnet.

He knew she felt it too. That magnetic, thrumming pull that had ignited the last time they stood in the dirt together near his cottage. She didn’t look at him with disdain or fear like other people did. Her look was something else entirely.

Something far more dangerous. Something that threatened to make Malcolm unravel slowly, make him feel as if the walls he kept up were getting weaker.

Her eyes lifted, and their gazes locked across the distance. The world seemed to stop, the barking of the hounds and the shouting of the grooms reduced to a dull, insignificant hum. Neither of them looked away.

Malcolm found himself lost in the deep, honey-brown pools of her eyes, noting the subtle curve of her mouth and the poised, guarded stillness of her body. Hunger gnawed at his insides, his muscles going sharply, suddenly tense.

Benedict broke the spell with a knowing grin. “Now this is interesting.”

Malcolm’s jaw tightened until it ached. “Stay out of it, Benedict.”

“Oh, I’m just observing. No harm in that.”

A few moments passed before Penelope finally turned her head, breaking the connection. But the effect lingered in Malcolm’s blood. He could feel his heart rate quicken, his body taut with the primal instinct to close the distance and claim the connection he was trying to deny.

“Go on, Malcolm,” Benedict teased, sensing the inner turmoil his friend tried to hide. “I dare say you are getting all broody on me. One would think you were actually going to do something about it.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening on the reins. “You should keep your voice down, Benedict. We’re not in some private salon.”

Benedict chuckled, unfazed. “Ah, you are serious then. All right, all right.”

The men were gathering now, the horses stamping and snorting in the crisp air. Malcolm’s gaze fell to the group, but his mind remained partially on the woman on the terrace. His body responded to her presence with a primal urgency he hadn’t felt in years.

He mounted his horse, but before he turned away, his eyes flicked to Nicholas.

The boy was doing his best to keep up with the older men, his strides short but determined, his chin tucked low. Nicholas was eager, too eager, perhaps.

Malcolm watched him for a moment longer, noting the fire in the boy’s eyes. It reminded him of a younger version of himself, a boy trying to find his place in a world that had no guidance.

Malcolm looked back to the riders, his mind shifting to the hunt. His muscles tensed as he spurred his horse forward, the rhythm of the hooves beating in sync with the heavy thud of his pulse.

The chase had only just begun.