Page 93 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

Penelope set down her silver fork carefully, her fingers steady but her mind drifting for a brief second.

Life imprisonment.

Even after a year, the words felt heavy, strange, and monumental. Charles had raged like a caged beast through the entire trial in London. He had threatened the judges, threatened the constables, and lied badly on the stand. He had tried to accuse the Duke of Brigrock of manipulating the courts and fabricating evidence.

But the servants had spoken up. The young, guilt-ridden footman Thomas had confessed completely to accepting the bribe for the forged note. And most damning of all, Penelope’s dark bruises had still been vividly, terribly visible on her neck and cheek when she stood before the court to give her testimony.

“He shall remain exactly where he belongs until his final breath,” Malcolm said quietly, his voice a low, gravelly vow that brooked no argument. “In the dark.”

Just then Hector wagged his thick tail so hard against the sideboard that the entire lace tablecloth shook rhythmically. Penelope jerked so suddenly that she nearly lost her hold on her crystal wineglass.

And then, without warning, the room tilted.

It was only a slight, brief wave of dizziness. Just enough to make the candlelight blur. Just enough.

Malcolm noticed the microscopic shift instantly. His large hand shot out, his fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her wrist beneath the table. “Penelope? What is it?”

“I am perfectly fine,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“You have gone completely pale. Your skin is white.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes thoughtfully from across the table, a sudden, sharp look of realization crossing her features. Violet noticed it a millisecond later, her wineglass freezing mid-air as she went completely, utterly still.

“Oh,” Violet said softly, a breathless gasp escaping her lips. “Oh, my.”

Penelope looked up, meeting Violet’s shining eyes. Then she looked at Amelia, who was grinning widely. Finally, slowly, Penelope lowered her gaze down toward her untouched glass of rich red wine, a sudden, beautiful understanding washing over her soul.

Malcolm’s intense gaze followed hers, tracing the path of her eyes down to the wine, then back up to her face. His large hand tightened around her wrist. The silence stretching over the dinner table became suffocatingly heavy.

Benedict blinked once, twice, his jaw dropping slightly. “Good God. Is it…?”

A sudden, brilliant heat flooded Penelope’s face, her cheeks turning a beautiful rose pink. Nicholas looked between all of the adults in complete and utter confusion, his fork hovering. “What? What is happening? Why is everyone staring?”

Malcolm was staring at her now, his dark eyes wide, his chest completely still as though he had forgotten how to draw breath into his lungs.

Penelope’s heart fluttered wildly, like a trapped bird, but a profound, overwhelming joy bloomed in her stomach. She smiled, her eyes crinkling with tears, despite her best efforts to remain composed.

“I believe,” she said softly, her voice vibrating with emotion into the quiet room, “that before the next winter arrives, we shall have to open the nursery at Brigrock Hall.”

For one full second, nobody in the grand room moved a single muscle.

Then Nicholas shouted at the top of his lungs, “Really?” nearly launching his entire body across the silver centerpieces.

Penelope laughed through a happy sob. “Really, darling.”

“I am going to be a brother? A real brother?”

“Yes, sweetling,” she laughed.

Nicholas looked absolutely thunderstruck, his small face transitioning from shock to a delighted, booming grin, before turning deeply, intensely serious. “This is excellent news. I shall teach the baby absolutely everything. How to sail, how to shoot, and how to trick the servants.”

Malcolm finally found his voice, his deep baritone cracking slightly. “You know almost nothing yourself, boy.”

Penelope looked toward Malcolm then. He had not moved a single inch. Not once. His dark eyes were fixed unblinkingly on her face, and the sheer, raw emotion crossing his rugged features was so completely open that her chest tightened with a beautiful pain.

Joy. Absolute terror. Profound wonder. And a love so deep it looked like a prayer.

Slowly, deliberately, Malcolm reached completely beneath the table, his large, scarred hand sliding into hers, his fingers tangling with hers with a fierce, possessive intensity.