My Cruel Duke

Chapter One

“Miss Hislop, I have received strict instructions from the lady of the house not to let you in.”

“Oh Bernard, it would only be for a moment,” she tried to side step him but he blocked her with his arms opened wide. 

“Miss Hislop, your request is beyond me!” 

She smiled sweetly at him and went under his arms to the other side.

“Miss Hislop, you cannot–”

“Thank you, Bernard; I shall make sure to repay this kindness.” 

The distressed butler sighed, but there was not much he could do to stop Penelope. She was a friend of the family, after all, and he had seen her pass through those doors since she was a little girl.

“I will just have a word with Eleanor, and I will be out of your hair.” Ironically, the older man had no hair, but Penelope, or Penny, as her friends called her, had always made such jokes with him, and he secretly loved it, despite the glare he passed her. 

Penny, true to her word, wanted to have a word —or lots of words— with her childhood friend, who had been kind enough not to invite her to the ball her family hosted the night before. It had come as a shock to Penny when she found out that she had been left out without an explanation, or maybe there was one, but she did not want to think that her friend was that frail-minded. 

No, Eleanor could never.

Penny stalked through the halls like she had done countless times. The Langley house was not as exciting to her anymore as it had been when she was but a little girl. Lord Langley loved traveling, and more than that, he loved returning home with souvenirs with which the house was adorned. There were incredibly made vases that sat in almost every angle in the house, and Penny’s favorite had been one Lord Langley claimed was from his travels to Africa. She loved it so much she would always stop by it whenever she was at the Langley house, but it was the least of her concerns now as she passed it, eyes locked on the pair of cream double doors she knew Eleanor sat behind. 

She pushed the door open, and the sight before her felt like a direct blow to her face. 

“What is going on here?” Penny demanded with a frown. She had earlier rehearsed her speech to Eleanor, but that was when she thought Eleanor would be alone. She should have suspected this much when Bernard told her Eleanor was in her drawing room and not her bedroom. Penny had merely thought Eleanor was overseeing the rearrangement of the room as she told her she would some weeks ago. But now, with the sight of all her friends, finely dressed and all sipping tea from the tiny teacups they all held, Penny knew that her lack of invitation to the ball was purposeful. Eleanor did not simply forget to send her an invitation.

 All of her friends paused, but not one of them had the nerve to look her in the eye, even Eleanor, her supposed best friend. The room fell silent until Marina coughed. She might have thought that would help alleviate the awkwardness, but it only made it worse. 

“Penny…” Eleanor dragged and dropped her teacup on the table with the saucer underneath. Penny watched her swallow and smoothed out her pastel pink dress. 

“You called everyone for tea, and you did not think to invite me?” They were the first words at the tip of her tongue. The other four girls cleared their throats, still looking away. 

“Penny, you must understand that—” Penny shook her head, disbelief flooding her sight. 

“I was not invited to the ball last night. Is that something I must understand, too?” Eleanor raised her hand to her head, fixing the little tendrils of red hair behind her ears. 

“Penny, this matter is far more—” Eleanor started but was once again cut off by Cordelia.

“It is best if you tell her the truth, Eleanor. She needs to know,” her words were without venom; her voice was cool, calm, and collected like Cordelia always was, but it stung just the same. The black-haired girl had no expression on her face, but her words had a hint of annoyance, not at Penny, but at the situation. Penny averted her gaze to her. Eleanor stepped aside.

“Given the situation shrouding your family, I am sure you understand that it has become difficult for us to be seen with you… especially out in public…” 

Penny bit down on her lower lip as tears threatened to fall. 

“You are a smart girl, Penny, smarter than most of us. You should know how these things work.” Feeling defensive, Penelope took a step toward the oak table the girl sat around. 

“My family is innocent!” Her face burned. “The duke should be blamed for this. He framed my father, and you all know it,” she was close to tears now, but she could not cry, not in front of these women who now stared at her as though she was less of a lady than they were. 

“If that were true, your brother would not have fled the country and you know it,” Marina shrugged, and Penny’s chest caved. She bit harder on her lower lip until she tasted blood. 

“Even if it were so, my sister and I have no ties to the matter. It is between my father and that… cruel duke!” 

Gasps arose at the insult. 

“Penny! You will not speak of His Grace in that manner in my home!” Eleanor rebuked. Penny could not believe her ears. She had watched Eleanor say less than nice things about the duke in question multiple times. He was the Cruel Duke, after all. “We know you and Lydia are innocent, but it is just so unfortunate that you both have to suffer the burn of it.” 

Penny had never felt such rage before. It held her by the neck, aching for release, but there was nothing she could do but suppress it. The ladies were right. Her family’s ruin was the talk of the town. Her brother had fled England, and her father was imprisoned. It was very bold of her to march into the Langley house as though she was not aware of the situation. 

She was aware, very much so. It was the sole reason she came anyway. 

“Very well then, enjoy your tea, do not let me spoil the mood any longer,” she mustered a smile, and with one last glance at them, she ran back home. She should have listened to her inner voice that warned her of what may happen if she went to the Langley house. Penny had been stubborn— foolish— to think that her friends would be any different from the rest of the Ton. It had only just dawned on her that she was alone now, save her sister and Aunt Augusta, her maternal aunt and the only relative left of her dear Mama.

Penny wiped the tears from her face the closer she got to her family home. Lydia would be home, and she would hate for her to see her in such a state. With a hard smile, Penny walked in. 

“Oh goodness, you are back,” Aunt Augusta smiled. Confusion struck Penny as she looked around the drawing room where old dresses lay on the bare floor. 

“Lydia and I began putting together dresses for her debut,” Aunt Augusta patted Lydia’s head, and the young girl smiled warmly. Aunt Augusta had been a rock for them both, stepping up as their mother after Penelope’s mother died. She had been more than delighted to take the role since she had no children of her own as she never married. 

“How was your outing?” Lydia inquired. 

Penny did not have the answer Lydia wanted to hear, so instead of replying, she joined them on the floor, looking through the old modes, some even belonging to their Aunt Augusta. Penny instantly regretted selling off her dresses when she did, but she did not have much choice in the matter. Her father had just been imprisoned, and any little money he left behind, Patrick, the eldest, took it and fled, leaving them in utter penury. There had been heaps of bills to pay, and Penny could not handle them all on her slender shoulders. All their servants had left due to the lack of money, and it was a miracle they were able to cook and clean themselves.

“What have you found?” Penny asked Lydia after a beat had passed. Lydia smiled and got up, showing off the lavender dress that belonged to their Mama. The color suited her, and she looked just like their mother. Even Aunt Augusta let out a soft gasp at the sight. 

“You look magnificent, dear sister,”

Penny smiled, but deep down, she knew that Lydia would be scorned and overlooked all the same without a dowry. 

Later that evening, Penny gathered her family at the table and served them dinner. 

“This looks delicious,” Lydia beamed but Penny knew the taste would be far from the word. The sweet potatoes had been a gift from one of the sellers who Penny usually bought from. The kind man had noticed Penny did not have much money left on her to buy potatoes, so he called her and handed some to her. Little by little, Penny and her family had eaten them, sometimes with nothing in them but water. This time was no different. Even the parsley Penny had managed to sprinkle in it did not make it taste better than before. 

“It does, does it not?” Penny smiled back; her eyes locked on the oak table. Perhaps she should sell the table and use it to buy some meat for the coming days?

“What are you thinking about, sister?” Penny lifted her eyes to find a happy Lydia staring at her.

“Nothing to worry your pretty head about, dear.”

“Perhaps you should tell her–” Aunt Augusta started but one look from Penny made her cease talking. Lydia did not have to know how bad their situation was, she should focus on her debut and nothing else, not even what she would wear on the morrow.

Penny loved her family so dearly that she thought it impossible to feel anything other than deep love and affection for them, but Patrick had changed that. She had never felt such deep hatred for someone of the same blood. She loathed her brother for letting them fend for themselves without a protector. Despite her faltering smile, she swore to kill Patrick if she ever set eyes on him again.

Or perhaps I should kill the Duke of Huxton for putting us in this mess in the first place.

Chapter Two

What is that?

As darkness covered the corridor, the bunch of white lilies in the black vase was sure to catch Rhysand’s attention. He had originally walked past it in haste to get to his uncle in his study, but the splash of color revolted him. He retraced his steps to it, picked it up, and assessed it. In turn, the innocent flowers mocked him, reminding him that he would never have such beauty in his life. 

“Who did this?” He raised the vase with the flowers in them. He whipped his head in the direction of footsteps coming from behind him. Rufus, his butler, stilled where he stood as he watched his master’s eyes darken. “Who put these here?” 

Rufus parted his lips, but he knew better than to say he had no idea who dared to decorate the Black Mansion in anything other than black. 

“I–I am sure Betsy will know, Your Grace,” the older man disappeared but soon returned with the housekeeper, a petite woman in her late forties. 

“I am told you know who did this?” Betsy’s eyes zeroed in on the flowers, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. She recovered quickly. “It… it must have been the doing of one of the new maids, Your Grace.” She lowered her head, afraid of the fury she would see in his eyes if she looked up at him.

“Do I have to remind everyone in this household that I absolutely detest any kind of decorations in my home, especially flowers?” His words were as cold as ice water. 

“I apologize for my inadequacy, Your Grace; I shall give them all a stern warning.” Betsy bowed. 

When Rhysand spoke again, his voice was warm. “Take it away.” 

Betsy wasted no time in taking the forbidden decorations from the duke’s hands and scurried away.

Rhysand turned to Rufus, who stood a few paces away from him. “Has the new valet arrived yet? Surely, he has some sense of punctuality?” 

Rufus took a few steps closer and cleared his throat to respond. “Your Grace, forgive me, but the valet scarpered the moment he stepped foot into the mansion.” The duke’s jaw ticked as his brows furrowed. “His reason had been the darkness that plagued the place. Perhaps it is time to paint the walls a brighter shade?” 

Rhysand shot the older man a look filled with irritation at the subject. 

“I have told you this shall not happen. Double the salary offered and get me someone who can do his job!” He thundered, annoyed because it was not the first time Rufus suggested the change. Each time he did, Rhysand had turned him down, and this time would not be any different. 

“What is this clamor so early on this fine day?” Slurry words floated around them. 

Rhysand turned to see his uncle, clearly jolly from the few drinks he must have had so early on this fine day. Rhysand sighed as his uncle, Harold Patterson, inched closer. He reeked of whatever he had been drinking. Though he loved his uncle and it had been years since they had been living together, he was not used to the sight or the stench.

 “Today is a good day, is it not? We are to celebrate and be merry, for all our dreams have come true,” Harold staggered, but Rhysand was quick to hold him lest he fell on his arse like he had done a couple of times. 

Sensing the need to give his master some privacy, Rufus bowed. “Excuse me, Your Grace, sir,” he rushed and disappeared into a corner.

“Lighten up, my dear Rhys. We must discuss how we should celebrate.” Despite his disapproving groan, Rhysand let his uncle drag him to his study where he offered him a glass of whiskey.

 “Drink with me.” Rhysand took hold of the glass with long, tapering fingers and brought it to his lips, but he could not find it in him to take a sip. Rhysand, like every man in London, loved to drink. A glass or two of whiskey was a must after dinner, but day drinking had never been his forte. There was already a day drinker in the family, and he doubted they needed another one. Harold took a sip from his glass and dropped it on the large rectangular oak table, a frown on his face.

“What troubles you, my boy? You should be happy today, of all days, that your family’s killer is locked behind bars, and he shall be staying there for the rest of his miserable days.” 

It was the truth. After ruthless planning and years of patience, he had successfully punished the man who ruined his life in the only way that was legal. Left to him, a bullet or two in his head would have been far more fulfilling than sending him to prison for debt, but he swore never to stoop as low as his enemy. Societal ruin was a far better punishment since there was nothing Wilson Hislop loved more than his reputation. Without his reputation, the man was nothing. 

It had happened on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life, on his twelfth birthday. His mother had asked the maids to prepare a little picnic for the family of four and had been very eager to do it. It was all Rhysand wanted: to spend a little time with his family, laughing and eating until he appeared. Wilson Hislop. 

Rhysand shut his eyes and took a deep breath. It had been nearly two decades since then, yet the anger he felt was fresh like the incident had happened just yesterday. His uncle, since then, moved in with him and dedicated his life to taking proper care of him. Uncle Harold never got married or had children because, according to him, Rhysand was enough for him. 

He had planned his revenge, and finally, he could revel in it, but somehow, it did not feel as fulfilling as it should have felt. 

“I know what you need,” Uncle Harold cut into his thoughts. “You need a drink.” 

Rhysand’s lips tipped up a little, “I do not.”

“Perhaps a new property? We should take whatever property Wilson Hislop has left and–”

“I do not care about that, Uncle. It is clear you do not know what I need. You should give up trying.”

“I am your uncle; I shan’t do that.” 

Rhysand said nothing and a beat passed.

 “You should get married and produce an heir then. Surely, raising your heir will take your mind off things.” Rhysand considered his uncle’s words. 

“I have had my fair share of women, Uncle, but nothing can be done about the emptiness I feel inside. A child will not be any better,” he chuckled darkly. “Perhaps it is my curse, the incapacity to feel or long for something, for surviving that afternoon.” Uncle Harold dropped the glass on the table. 

“You are not cursed. You just simply underestimate the power of having your own family. A new Season is upon us. Use it to find yourself a proper bride and produce an heir, or heirs, if you wish.” 

He shook his head at the older man. 

“Finding a lady desperate enough to marry the Cruel Duke will be no easy feat, no matter the number of balls I attend.”

Chapter Three

With a deep breath, Penny flattened out her pink dress. The color had been vibrant in its time. It was one of the dresses she had dumped when its Season passed but now dusted off to wear since she was lacking in dresses. She sighed.

Oh, how low our family has fallen.

“You can go in, Miss, but not for long,” the prison guard urged, and with a nod of her head, she entered the room where her father awaited her. It had been three days since her visit to Eleanor had put her in her place, but she had to see her father.

The place reeked of old irons and piss, dark with barely opened windows, and she had almost tripped on her foot from the darkness. If she knew any cuss words, that would have been the right time and place to unleash them. The stench of the place triggered an ache in the front of her head, but she knew it was more than just the stench. It was the fact she was to meet with her father.

 Despite his lack of a title, the Ton had respected her father, for he was an avid businessman who rose to wealth in his craft. His father had a title, Earl of Brimsley, which was unfairly passed to his older brother. It was why her father worked hard, to prove he could surpass his brother even without a title. Now her uncle, the Earl of Brimsley, after claiming he wanted to mend his relationship with his brother, was nowhere to be found, renouncing every relationship with them. Penny gulped hard.

Then her father appeared.

 Penny hid her hands behind her immediately and bowed her head.

“Are you well, Father?” He did not look well. He looked as though he had aged a few years in the two weeks he had spent there. A stubborn bush of hair surrounded his chin, and a flare of despair coursed through her. The Duke of Huxton was at fault for this, he had reduced her father to… this. A criminal.

“I should ask you that,” her father responded, a gruff edge to his tone. He did not look her in the eyes as he spoke. He could not bear to.

“I am well, Father. Aunt Augusta, Lydia, and I are just scraping through,” she responded, unsure if she should tell him just how different and difficult life was without him or Patrick around.

“As expected, women have their ways of surviving.”

Penny did not understand her father’s words or the implications behind them. Instead, she nodded.

“Patrick, however, fled the country, and took with him whatever was left,” Penny could not leave without telling her father what Patrick had done. The older man sucked in a breath, and with a little pout, he nodded.

“I am sure he thought thoroughly about it. He had to save himself,” he said.

In the list of outrageous things Penny had heard since her father had been imprisoned, this was by far the worst one. It sat undefeated at the top of the list.

“Father, he left us with nothing?” Her statement had come off as a question instead. Perhaps her father thought she and her sister were truly well because she said they were? She merely wanted him to feel at ease instead of worrying for them, but he could not take Patrick’s side in this matter.

“And now you must make something of yourself to help your sister.”

Penny felt as though a bucket of ice water was doused over her head. Surely, there was nothing her father could do for them from prison, but was he going to shamelessly drop all the responsibilities on her shoulders instead of finding a way to have Patrick return?

“Father…” she stressed, but the man was unwavering in his stance.

“The Duke of Huxton and his drunkard of an uncle are to blame for this,” his voice grew dark. “The Cruel Duke is truly despicable to his business rivals. I still marvel at how low he stooped to ruin me.” Penny could feel her father’s anger as it came down on her like a heavy coat, blanketing her in the fierceness of it. She sighed and a long awkward silence stretched for several minutes. “Patrick had to save himself. And you… you must return now, Penny; these parts are far too dangerous for a woman like you.”

She nodded, and as she left, her heart broke into tiny pieces at seeing her father escorted away. The anger that she had suppressed for days returned, and with it came a stinging pain of hunger. She recalled she had not broken her fast, and the sun sat high up in the sky, shining down ruthlessly on everything in its wake.

The Duke of Huxton could be lounging around in his drawing room, eating a fine piece of ham, while she and her family wallowed in despair while wishing for some savior to whisk them away and provide for them. All because of him.

I will give that beast some piece of my mind!

It was unfair. The duke was unfair. No, he was cruel! A wicked, evil soul that deserved no good thing, and she had to let him know, demand an explanation. With full determination, Penny marched to the hill, where a lonely mansion sat. Large and gloomy it was, but it did not deter her until she called on him.

Inside the mansion, the butler wiped beads of sweat from his face as he pondered on what to do. The duke had been in a foul mood since he arose. He went about breaking things in his room, and no one could tell what angered him so. For this reason, Rufus paced back and forth until Mr. Patterson appeared.

“What is the matter, Rufus? You look like you have seen a ghost.” Harold approached him, and Rufus could not be happier. He quickly explained the situation at hand and how Miss Hislop stood outside, seeking an audience with the duke.

“Let her in; I will inform him myself.” With a bow, Rufus thanked the older man and went out to meet the young lady, letting her in.

The doors opened, and Penny sucked in a harsh breath as she took the seven stairs that led to the heavy black double doors.

This was a mistake. She sighed, but she could not get her legs to turn around. But I cannot back away now, she thought as she made her way to the duke’s study with the old butler leading the way. She was going to face the man who had brought misfortune to her family.

Or that had been the plan.

Something about the mansion reminded her of the prison house. The darkness. Only that the duke’s mansion was far worse than the prison house. Everything in her line of sight was black. The walls were painted the darkest shade of black she had ever seen. She did not know there was such a paint as dark as the night sky without stars or the moon. She had passed by windows with heavy black damask drapes covering them.

How does one even breathe in such a place?

The duke’s study was no different. A black pedestal desk greeted her the moment she stepped into the room, with a matching chair behind it. To her left sat two settees, the same color with sophisticated designs; she could only wonder where he had gotten so much black furniture from. The room lacked life, like all the other parts of the mansion she had passed. It seemed the Duke of Huxton detested any form of color or light in his life. She shuddered and bit her lower lip as a chill ran up her spine.

“What brings Miss Hislop to my doorstep so early this morning? Are you not aware it is quite improper for a lady to call upon a bachelor, nonetheless, in broad daylight?” The voice startled Penny as she had not heard any footsteps prior to his voice thundering behind her. She turned around and faced him. Had she not been burning with anger, she would have given in to the thrum of her heart at the sight of his wet, dark hair and stormy blue eyes. Or was it the slit of his exposed chest through his shirt with the first two buttons undone?

“Would you rather I call upon you at night then, Your Grace?”

Her boldness surprised her.

It seemed it surprised the Duke of Huxton as well as he took long, intimidating strides toward her, erasing whatever space was between them. She took one step back quickly to keep a safe distance from him. Despite her boldness, she knew she should not stand too close to him lest he burn her with the fire he harbored in his eyes.

“Brazen and shameless. That foul tongue will land you in trouble,” his voice hardened ruthlessly.

“In more trouble than you have landed my family in, Your Grace? I highly doubt it,” she spoke with light bitterness.

Rhysand raised a dark brow, peering at her with surprise and curiosity. The sheer audacity of her to walk into his home and speak to him in that manner! She bit her lower lip, forcing the dimples in her cheeks to deepen far more than they did when she spoke. He took note of this.

Penny took the duke’s silence as a sign to continue speaking.

“You ruined my family on a whim, and now my sister and I suffer daily with no male protection!” Her chest heaved, and his eyes caught the movement.

“I can assure you; I never do anything on a whim, and your father’s punishment was due after years of reasoning and proper calculations. Justice was served,” he said tersely.

“My father never did anything wrong! Did you forget that you and my brother were friends once? How could you do this?” At this, Rhysand leaned dangerously close to her to make sure she heard clearly what he was about to say.

“I do not have friends, Miss Hislop, and you will do well to remember that,” he pulled away. “Your father is guilty of those crimes and many more. Now, if that is all, I suggest you take your leave. I have more pressing matters I must attend to,” he turned away. One step forward, and he heard a thud. He whipped his head so fast he feared he broke a bone in his neck, and his lips fell into a flat line at the sight.

Penny fell to the floor on her knees. She had wanted to keep her dignity, to show him that she had a fire in her that he could not quench no matter what, but he simply did not care. He saw her father as a criminal, and it seemed nothing could change his mind from that prospect. She wondered what her father could have done to the duke that made him plan his ruin for all these years.

“Please,” her voice broke as her vision blurred. “Patrick abandoned Lydia and me. He fled with what money was left, and I have strived to make ends meet with everything I could. We are out of funds, food, and every basic necessity.”

His brows drew together in an angry frown. Throughout all his years as an acquaintance of Patrick Hislop, he had known him to be far from bright, but taking off and leaving his sisters with no protection to save himself was the height of cowardice, and it repulsed him. He watched her lips quiver, and his frown intensified.

“My sister, Lydia, is about to step into society, but I fear a hope for a plausible match is out of the way because of our situation. I would not have come here… to you, Your Grace, if we were not in dire need of help…”

The duke’s brows shot up in obvious amusement as he peered down at her.

“Pray tell, why would I go out of my way to help you or your sister?” A drop of water emerged from his hair and dropped to the floor. Penny stared at it like it was something of great importance. Then she swallowed and looked up at him, full of angry determination.

“Your Grace, I am willing to do whatever it takes for Lydia to marry well and escape this miserable life. I made a promise to her, and I must follow through with it.”

Sudden interest in the lady before him flowed throughout his body at her words. “Your Grace, I am willing to do whatever it takes.”

Such bold and unbecoming words from a lady. Unconsciously, the talk he had with his uncle the day before danced at the forefront of his mind and sparked him with an idea.

“Whatever it takes, you say?” He took a step forward.

 “Yes,” she replied with a step backward. They continued this dance until her heels hit a hard surface, and there was nowhere to run to. The duke did not stop at this; he closed the distance between them, pressing the hardness of his body softly against hers. Her cheeks flushed immediately, and alarms set off in her head.

Suddenly, the air became incredibly warm, too warm, and her dress felt bothersome and constricting. Unintentionally, her gloved hand went to rest above her quickening heartbeat. The duke’s gaze had followed her hand to her chest, but his eyes rose to hers. His fingers, which were still hovering over her face, reached out and softly began to stroke her jaw.

Penelope’s heart was racing with a mixture of emotions as she felt heat spike through her body. His gaze was full of heat, attention, like a predator stalking its prey. She suddenly wondered what exactly it was that she had gotten herself into.

“What are you doing, Your Grace?” Her voice expressed her shock and anger. Did he think she was a lightskirt or on her way to becoming one all because she asked for his help? She raised her neck from his exposed chest, keeping her gaze on his face, and then she parted her lips to tell him to kill whatever thought of impropriety he envisioned, but he beat her to it.

“I have just the proposition, but can you handle it?” He was teasing her. The duke was trying to scare her away, but she had already made the promise to leave only after she had secured help from him.

“Try me, Your Grace.”

His arched brow indicated his humorous astonishment at her boldness.

“I will make sure that your sister is happily married to a fine gentleman before the end of the Season…” he watched her brown orbs widen. “… if you agree to marry me and give me an heir.”

A breath Penny did not know she had been holding exited through her mouth, and her brows creased. She had always dreamed of marrying for love but this? Marrying the very man who put her father in prison was beyond absurd.

“Are you in jest, Your Grace?”

He smirked at her question. “I do not possess the time nor patience to jest, Miss Hislop.”

“Surely you jest, Your Grace, for I fail to believe that a sane man would make such a proposal to a lady whose family he ruined.”

“How do you dare to call me insane?” His words were harsh, but his eyes were far from it. They were amused. Penny went silent. “I will take your lack of response as your refusal to heed my proposition, then?”

Penny did not reply, blink, or breathe. She pressed her back further against the wall. But with nowhere to go, the duke only leaned in closer, his head dipping to the curve of her neck, right above where his hand rested. She was too focused on the smell of him—fresh and oh-so masculine. How improper of her. But she was not to be blamed for he did cage her between his large body.

“I must say, it is too bad. For I thought your bravery was a part of you and not the cause of your nerves,” his voice was low as his lips placed soft kisses on her neckline.

“Accepting my proposal…” he raised his hand and settled it on her neck, his long fingers tracing a vein at the side of her neck. Slow and temptingly vile. “Will pull your family out of ruin and secure a match for your dear, dear sister…” It was as though every functioning nerve in her body was attuned to him, to his touch. A droplet of water from his hair fell to her face. It seemed to wake her.

“It is an absurd proposition, Your Grace. You do not know me, neither do I you, besides your reputation, for it precedes you.” At the mention of his reputation, or perhaps it was her notion that he wanted to court her, Rhysand’s jaw ticked.

“I assure you, Miss Hislop, that this proposal is not one in search of love or romance. It is strictly business. I am incapable of love, so I will pay no mind to you as long as you provide me with an heir. And when it is confirmed you are with child, you will have a house of your own, where you will live at your will as the duchess. You shall not lack a thing.”

Penny heard the words and registered them in her head and heart, but by God, he was too close. He had leaned toward her again, and she feared their lips would touch if she all but spoke.

“So, what is it going to be?” The duke probed and sunk his head to the crook of her neck. Heat spread through her body, followed by a stillness when his lips parted and nibbled on her flesh.

“I… all right,” she gasped as he continued kissing her.

Suddenly, the duke’s lips left her neck, his eyes blazing as he looked at her.

“Say it,” he commanded softly as he held her tightly against him.

Penelope moistened her lips. As she did so, the duke’s burning gaze pierced her, silently demanding her to obey.

“I will marry you.”

“I thought we would come to an agreement.”

Gently, he let her go and stepped back. He ran a hand through his dark hair and fixed his coat as he eyed her possessively.

“Now, let us begin.”