Page 62 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“Come.” He turned sharply down the corridor without waiting, dragging her slightly until she was forced to follow. Her pulse hammered harder with every step.

Charles led her into a small, dark side room away from the ballroom. The moment the door shut behind them, cutting off the music, he rounded on her.

“What in the world do you think you are doing?”

Penelope recoiled slightly at the venom in his voice. She smoothed her skirt, forcing her hands to stop shaking. “I do not answer to you.”

“You danced with the Duke of Brigrock.”

“Yes.”

“In front of everyone.”

“It was a dance only, Charles.”

Charles laughed once. An ugly, sharp sound. “You looked at him as though you were lovesick.”

Anger flared through her chest, replacing the fear. “You have no right to speak to me this way.”

“No right?” he snapped, stepping closer, invading her space. “I have spent years protecting your reputation. Years cleaning up after your foolish husband died, leaving you humiliated after he sunk into his own demise of gambling and mistresses, of debt and the wife he could not bear to go home to? This is how you repay me?”

Penelope stared at him in disbelief. “Protecting me?”

“You think society has been kind to you?” His lip curled, revealing his teeth. “A widow with a child and no husband to control her? Do you imagine people do not talk?”

“They always talk.”

“And now they shall talk more.” He moved closer again, his chest nearly brushing hers. “You were nearly swooning in the Duke’s arms.”

“That is enough,” she gritted out.

“No,” Charles hissed, his eyes wide. “It is not enough. You parade yourself around a ballroom and expect me to remain silent?”

Penelope’s heart began to pound harder. “You are behaving irrationally.”

“Irrational?” His face twisted into a mask of pure spite. “You shame yourself for a man who would ruin you and discard you afterward.”

“That is none of your concern.”

“It is entirely my concern.” His voice dropped lower, turning dark. “You belong to this family.”

Revulsion crawled beneath her skin like insects. “I belong to no one.”

Charles grabbed her wrist suddenly, and pain shot up her arm. She tried to pull free immediately, twisting her hand, but his grip was iron. “Let go of me.”

“You think he wants you?” Charles spat, his face inches from hers. “That animal? Men like him do not marry women like you. He wants a woman warming his bed for a few months until he tires of her.”

“Stop this!”

“You should feel ashamed.”

The words hit like a physical slap. Penelope’s chest rose sharply. “No,” she said quietly, her voice cold. “I shall not. I have done nothing wrong!”

She saw something dangerous flickering across Charles’s face then. Jealousy. Pure, ugly, and unchecked.

“You would spread your legs for him after everything I have done for you?” he huffed. “You have mistaken my restraint for weakness, Penelope.”

She forced herself not to retreat further, though her back was near the wall. “I owe you nothing.”