Page 45 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

Penelope’s jaw went tight. Every wall she had built, every reasoned defense, was pressing against her teeth.

She couldn’t release a single one because he had just stripped her of her certainty. Nicholas had been deceiving her, and the realization that she couldn’t control her own son’s curiosity…

It hit her devastatingly.

“The boy is curious,” Malcolm said, as if knowing exactly what she was thinking. “He is curious and lonely, Lady Romwich, and we have a chance to help with both of those things for him.” His voice softened into something almost like a plea. “He should not be punished for his natural curiosity, I see that now. It is natural for his age. But his riding is poor because his instructor is a coward who will not let him feel the horse. While I did not give him a bow, I asked him one time to show me his archery stance, but even that is dangerous. He has the instincts of a hunter and the foundation of a house of cards. He is learning through his own means because he has nowhere to find guidance, and it can be harmful.”

He took a half-step forward. “If you permit it, I would like to be that guidance.”

Penelope’s anger tempered for a moment, simmering lower. Charles had all but demanded to be the guidance, pushing himself upon both her and Nicholas.

If you permit it.

She was being given a choice. It did not entirely feel like one because, deep down, she knew the Duke had a point. But she could still hold her head high and say no.

She could—and Nicholas would continue scampering off anyway.

Perhaps the Duke was right: perhaps it was better that she be there, supervising, ensuring nothing went awry.

Still, her stubbornness held firm. “Nicholas has a fine tutor for Latin, and I am certain I can find other, better tutors for⁠—”

“What I am offering your son is not Latin,” the Duke said gently, as if knowing she was trying to fight him. “It is the ability to stand on his own feet. To be independent—to know what he is curious about, and to learn it. If anything, you ought to dismiss that tutor, if he is anything like your son’s other ones. Save yourself the coin, and consider my help.”

Again, it was a choice. Consider. It was not something veiled in threat.

Penelope pressed her lips together, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She looked at the wall beside his head, unable to meet those piercing eyes. She realized just how close his eye color was to the paint splatter. Had she purposefully been trying to mix the exact blue-gray shade?

“Why?” She managed to say. “Why would you offer this? There is no gain for you, and men of your standing tend to do nothing without a price. What do you want in return?”

“Nothing.”

“I do not believe that,” Penelope said firmly. “I have spent my life around men who trade in favors. What is the cost?”

“I am not asking you to believe it. I am asking you to bring Nicholas to my estate three times a week so he can learn what I can teach him.” He took another step, his presence overwhelming the scent of paint, his head tilting to the side. “Lady Romwich, what makes you think I cannot be trusted with him? Truly.”

“You know very well your reputation,” she answered, but her voice was thin. “I have heard some stories of your… of your ways. The way that the war took you in, only to throw you out as a different man.”

“What else do they say?” he pressed, stepping closer.

Penelope flinched, knowing it was true.

The Duke took another step. “That I am angry? An untamed man who cannot control his temper? That I will inflict harm upon anyone who wrongs me?”

This close to him, Penelope’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t find the words, but she knew Amelia, at least, had warned her to stay away.

Yet there she was, almost chest-to-chest with him.

When she did not speak soon enough, the Duke asked, “Has he been in danger with me?” Penelope swallowed, unsure of how to answer. The Duke loomed closer. “Any time he has been in my company, has a hair on his head been harmed? Now that you know he has visited me, has he come home anything other than happy and full of questions?”

She searched for a yes. She searched her memory for a single bruise, a single tear, a single instance of the behavior the village whispered about. She came up with nothing but a boy who had started coming home with grass stains on his knees and a new light in his eyes that she hadn’t known how to kindle. That she had discovered kindling it could be cruel and repressive.

“No matter if he has been harmed or not, I do not trust you,” she said, her voice trembling despite the iron in her soul.

“I know.” He met her gaze without flinching, his expression immovable “Which is why you will be there. Every lesson. Every minute. If anything makes you or your son uncomfortable—a word, a look, a gesture—everything stops instantly. I do not need your trust, Lady Romwich. I need your presence.”

“Penelope,” she whispered, not quite aware of what she was offering up. But the thought of him kissing her, how his mouth had felt on hers, how he was now here, a man who rarely even showed up for ton events…

The allowance slipped out as she continued, “you may call me Penelope.”