Page 69 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

Charles’s words died instantly in his throat.

“If I see you lay a hand on her again, or hear her name cross your filthy lips, no court in England will find enough pieces of you to bury.”

Charles’s face completely drained of color.

Malcolm released him with a rough shove. Charles stumbled backward, caught his boots on the rug, and stared at him with wide, hollow eyes. For the first time all evening, he had no clever retort ready.

Penelope’s frantic breathing was the only sound in the room. Charles looked at her then, but only for a fraction of a second. Whatever he saw lingering in Malcolm’s dark gaze made him look away instantly.

Charles adjusted his cravat with fingers that failed twice before obeying his command. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his bloodied handkerchief, and dabbed at his mouth one last time before glancing toward the exit. He calculated his escape route like a trapped animal.

Malcolm did not move aside. He stood like a stone wall.

Charles was forced to edge around his massive frame, pressing his back against the wall to avoid touching him. At the threshold, he paused, his hand gripping the frame, though he did not turn fully back.

“You will regret this, Your Grace.”

Malcolm reached past him and pulled the door wide open, letting the bright light and loud music of the gala flood the small room.

“I regret not doing it sooner.”

Charles left, his hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor until they were swallowed by the crowd.

The heavy door shut behind him.

The music from the ballroom pressed faintly through the thick wood once more.

Malcolm stood perfectly still, his back to Penelope, listening to the absolute silence that settled between them.

Only when he was certain Charles was gone did he slowly turn around.

Penelope was still standing beside the writing desk, one hand braced heavily on its edge to keep her knees from buckling. Her face was entirely bloodless. Her large, honey-brown eyes were fixed on him, wide with a terrifying mix of shock, relief, and sudden apprehension.

“Penelope,” he said softly.

She flinched at the sound of her name on his lips. Not much. Just a slight tightening of her shoulders.

But it was enough to make Malcolm stop dead where he stood.

Her lips parted twice before she could force any air into her lungs to form the words. “What have you done?”

Chapter Twenty

“Your Grace,” Penelope urged when he still did not speak. “What have you done?”

Malcolm stood by the closed door, his broad shoulders blocking half the weak candlelight from the corridor beyond. He did not answer at once.

Penelope gripped the edge of the writing desk, her fingers digging into the wood until her silk glove slid against the polished mahogany. Her heart was beating in her throat.

His dark, unblinking gaze moved over her face, tracking the tear tracks, before dropping down to her trembling hand. “Do not call me that. We have covered formalities.”

Her fingers tightened, her knuckles turning bone-white. “This is hardly the moment to correct my address.”

“It is exactly the moment.”

Penelope stared at him. The small side room felt entirely too claustrophobic now that Charles was gone.

Before, her brother-in-law’s venomous fear had filled every corner. Now Malcolm did. His black coat, his broad shoulders, his dark eyes glittering in the candlelight, his leather-gloved hand still flexing once at his side as if his powerful body had not quite finished the fight.