Page 70 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“You cannot simply say such things because they serve in an argument, Your Grace. It is reckless.”

“I can say them if I mean them.”

Her breath stopped, trapped behind her ribs.

Malcolm stepped away from the door. Not quickly. He crossed only halfway toward her and stopped, leaving a deliberate, heavy space between them. The scent of him, sandalwood and the cold night air, wrapped around her, making her dizzy.

Penelope swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. “You cannot mean it.”

“I do.”

“No.” She shook her head once, a desperate gesture. “No, you are angry. You heard him threaten Nicholas and you wished to frighten him. You reacted out of chivalry.”

“I wished to frighten him, yes.” Malcolm’s mouth hardened into a grim line. “I also fully intend to marry you.”

Penelope pressed one hand to her middle, her stomach twisting. The room tipped for half a second.

“I know you are afraid,” he said softly.

“I am not.”

“Do not lie to me, Penelope.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. He did not soften the command, but his face changed. The dangerous anger in his eyes shifted, not gone, only turned entirely away from her.

Penelope’s lips parted, but no answer came.

Malcolm moved one deliberate step closer. The sheer heat radiating from him was palpable. “I will not let him separate you from Nicholas. I swear it.”

He held her gaze, pinning her with the fierce intensity of his stare until she was forced to look away first. Penelope rubbed nervously at her wrist where Charles had gripped her. The soft skin still ached beneath the plum silk of her sleeve.

“Why would you do this?” she demanded, her voice shaking. “Do not tell me it is only because Charles is vile. Many men are vile. You do not propose marriage to every threatened woman.”

His hand tightened once at his side, the leather of his glove creaking. Malcolm looked away to the smashed porcelain on the carpet, the broken little shepherdess lying in pieces right beside the dark smear of Charles’ blood.

He looked back at her, his expression raw and entirely unguarded. “Because when you were begging him not to take Nicholas, I wanted to tear this entire house apart with my bare hands.”

Penelope’s breath caught hard.

“Because your son should never have to hear that his mother had to bargain her body away to keep him safe.” His voice roughened, a low, gravelly sound. “Because I have a name, a title, a fortune, and influence enough to make every man hesitate. Because if I walk away tonight and let you face that monster alone, I am no better than every man who failed you before.”

Her eyes stung with sudden, hot tears. “You are not responsible for me. Nor for my son.”

“No.” His gaze did not waver an inch. “But I wish to be.”

A profound silence spread between them. The music ended somewhere beyond the door, and a muffled burst of applause rose, distant and hollow. Penelope stood very still. Her heart beat so violently she felt it pulsing in her wrists.

Malcolm moved closer, slowly, giving her ample time to retreat if she chose.

She did not move.

He stopped directly before her, his massive frame towering over her.

“Penelope,” he said, and the deep, rough sound of her name in his voice made her fingers curl tightly into her palms, “will you marry me?”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her throat was entirely closed.

He lowered his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on hers, thick with restraint.