Page 83 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“And instead,” Charles’s face contorted into something vicious, his voice dropping into a harsh, venomous sneer, “you chose to spread your legs for the Duke of Brigrock.”

Nicholas gasped loudly behind her. Penelope’s face went entirely white, the insult striking her like a physical blow.

“Do not speak before my child like that!”

Charles’s smile sharpened into a jagged blade. “Why ever not? The boy ought to know what his mother truly is. A hypocrite who sells herself for a grander title.”

Charles crossed the remaining distance in two terrifyingly fast strides.

Penelope barely managed to move in time. She threw her weight backward, shoving Nicholas violently behind her just as Charles lunged forward, his large hand grabbing her upper arm with a brutal force that instantly wrenched a sharp cry of agony from her throat.

“You foolish, arrogant woman,” Charles growled, his face inches from hers.

A blinding pain shot from her arm straight up to her shoulder. “Let go of me, Charles!”

Charles didn’t listen. His free hand slid roughly, aggressively across her waist, his fingers digging into her ribs. Penelope jerked her body violently away, her heels slipping on the damp stone. Charles caught her harder, yanking her back against his chest.

Nicholas shouted at the top of his lungs, “Stop touching her! Leave my mama alone!”

Before either adult could react, the little boy launched himself entirely at Charles.

Everything happened in a chaotic, terrifying blur.

Nicholas slammed into Charles’s side with every ounce of force his furious body could gather. Simultaneously, Hector exploded into a frenzy of savage snarls, lunging at Charles’s boots. Charles cursed loudly, stumbling sideways from the unexpected impact, his boots catching on the edge of a large iron planter.

Penelope desperately grabbed for her son. “Nicholas!”

She was too slow.

Charles, recovering his balance, snarled and shoved the little boy away with brutal force. Nicholas flew backward, hitting the hard stone path with a sickening thud, letting out a sharp, frightened cry of pain.

“Nicholas!” Penelope shrieked.

Pure, unhinged rage twisted Charles’s face completely now, his aristocratic facade shattered. “You little bastard,” he hissed, turning his predatory gaze toward the fallen child.

He lunged toward the boy, his hand raised.

Penelope moved entirely without thinking, driven by pure, primal maternal instinct. She threw her entire body directly between them, shielding her son with her own flesh.

Charles collided with her instead. The sheer force of the impact sent Penelope crashing sideways into the sharp, rusted edge of a massive wooden tier of planters. A burst of agony exploded through her shoulder and ribs as the wood splintered beneath her weight.

“Run,” she gasped out, coughing as the breath was knocked from her lungs. She looked up at Nicholas, her vision swimming. “Nicholas, run!”

“No, Mama! I cannot leave you!”

“Run, get help!” Her voice cracked sharply, a desperate, commanding shriek that echoed off every pane of glass. “Go now, Nicholas! Run!”

Charles scrambled through the dirt, grabbing ruthlessly at Nicholas’s ankles again. Penelope threw herself forward, using both of her hands to shove Charles’s chest backward with a frantic, adrenaline-fueled strength.

“Run!”

Nicholas hesitated for one terrible, heart-stopping second longer, his huge eyes filled with absolute panic.

Then Hector barked savagely beside him. The massive hound lunged forward, his teeth fully bared, snapping inches from Charles’s face. Charles recoiled instinctively, throwing his arms up to protect his throat. “Get that damned monster away from me!”

“Go, Nicholas!”

Finally, the boy bolted. He turned and tore toward the back doors of the glasshouse.