Page 64 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“Become mine willingly, and Nicholas remains exactly where he is.”

Penelope stared at him. Horror spread slowly, deeply, through her chest. “No.”

His face hardened immediately, the mask of patience shattering. “Then you lose him.”

Terror slammed through her so hard her vision blurred. “Nicholas is all I have.”

“And yet you still chose another man over your duty.” The raw jealousy in his voice made her skin crawl.

And in that heavy silence, she knew she was right. This was punishment. Possession. A man furious that she had looked at someone else, that she had felt something for someone else.

“You vile man,” she said shakily.

His expression turned cold as stone. He stepped back at last, straightening his cuffs calmly, as though they had merely discussed the weather.

“You have one week.”

Penelope’s heart lurched. “One week?”

“One week to remember where your loyalties belong. One week to come to me and accept my terms.” He turned toward the door. “If you refuse me, Nicholas leaves for school before the month ends.”

He paused, his hand on the brass doorknob. He didn’t look back.

“You should pray the Duke grows bored of you quickly,” he said quietly. “Because if he does not, I shall make certain you regret ever meeting him.”

Penelope stood frozen as the door started to creak open. Her whole body trembled, a violent, uncontrollable shaking. For several long seconds, she could hear nothing except the blood pounding in her ears.

Then, her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob.

Nicholas. My little boy.

She squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to hurt, her nails digging into the wood of the desk. She could still feel Malcolm’s warm, protective touch at her waist, but it was completely eclipsed by the echo of Charles’s threat.

Charles’s hand was still on the brass door latch when the heavy oak panel swung inward from the other side.

He stumbled back a step, his boots scuffing the carpet.

Malcolm stood in the doorway.

“What did you say to her?”

Chapter Nineteen

For one breathless second, the room went entirely still. Penelope’s hand remained pressed hard over her mouth, her eyes wet, wide, and dark with terror. Charles’ face was a mottled crimson from his unchecked temper, his jaw locked, one linen cuff half-twisted where his nervous fingers had been tearing at the threads.

Malcolm looked at Penelope first. His eyes tracked the tear tracks on her cheeks, the frantic rise and fall of her chest, and the way her fingers dug into her own skin.

Then his gaze shifted to Charles. The temperature in the room dropped instantly.

“I asked, what did you say to her?” he repeated.

Charles recovered first, letting out a sharp, breathless laugh. “Your Grace. How very convenient.”

Malcolm stepped inside. He reached behind him and shut the heavy door.

Penelope flinched at the sound of the latch clicking, her shoulders drawing inward. Malcolm’s eyes caught the shiver of movement. His left hand curled into a massive, tight fist at his side.

“I asked you a question.”