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The sleeves of his shirt were drawn up to his elbows, exposing his powerful forearms. One arm rested on his stomach, the other hung with what looked like a letter held between his index and middle fingers. His long, muscular legs were resting wide apart, and she swallowed hard as her gaze crawled up his thighs and landed on the place between them…

She swallowed and drew her eyes away. This felt wrong. It felt like an intrusion, like she was taking advantage of the duke when he was so vulnerable.

And yet, she couldn’t look away.

Gone was the scowl from his face. Gone was the ever-present expression of disdain and distaste he wore when he looked at her.

She drew closer to him, stepping softly against the wooden floor. Treacherously, it creaked. Her heart leapt, but the duke didn’t move. His chest rose and fell slowly and evenly. As she stood right next to him, her skin tingled.

She felt like she was the one in charge now…in control, frozen in fascination watching a sleeping predator.

He looked so young and at peace, his forehead smooth and relaxed, his mouth soft and his lips full. So handsome, with those high cheekbones and straight features, the eyebrows so long and thick and angled, his closed eyelashes casting dark shadows under his eyes.

This must be his study. She broke her gaze away from him and looked around. There was one large window with closed curtains of a royal blue color. Three paintings hung on the walls. Two of them were of landscapes, but she barely gave them a glance because all her attention was swallowed by the third.

It was a painting of Danaë. Penelope knew of it because she had studied Greek mythology, but also, this painting was in her mother’s book about art. Danaë was naked and glowing, lying in a daybed. A shower of gold coins rained over her.

According to the myth, Danaë’s father had held her captive because he’d heard a prophecy that Danaë’s son would kill him. For years, Danaë was in a dungeon, imprisoned and alone for something that hadn’t even happened yet.

One day, Zeus heard about her imprisonment and came to her in the shower of gold, and he freed her. Of course, it was Zeus who fathered her son, Perseus, who then eventually did kill Danaë’s father.

Penelope swallowed hard, her breath rushing in and out as she gazed at the smooth, voluptuous curves of the woman as Zeus rained coins over her, the hope in her face as the gold cast light into the darkness that must have surrounded her for years. Zeus had come to free her from her unjust imprisonment.

She couldn’t look away, imagining how Danaë must have felt, having a god make love to her and knowing she was going to be free thanks to him. Did she love Zeus? Did she hate her father for imprisoning her?

Did Penelope imagine there was someone like Zeus who would help her break free from the tyrant sleeping in the chair?

She turned to her jailor, who was still asleep.

Before him, brown folders and papers sat in stacks across the desk’s surface, with a bright red folder in the middle. Interesting. Then her gaze was drawn to the piece of paper in his hand again. What was he reading? Carefully, she walked to him and gently tugged the sheet from between his fingers.

Bringing her candle closer, she saw it was a letter.

She shouldn’t pry. It was someone’s correspondence. How could she invade their privacy—Preston’s privacy? She sighed and tore her eyes away from it. She really wanted to know what it was.

But her fingers shook with the knowledge that she could peer behind the iron wall into something that Preston may never reveal to her. This man was a mystery, and she wanted to know more. Perhaps she could even learn something that would set her free.

And so, she read…

London, 3 September, 1813,

Brother,

I know we do not see eye to eye on many things. Including the subject of Miss Beckett…

She looked at Preston. Miss Beckett—her? Why did Spencer write to his brother about her? She returned to the letter…

“…I know you do not think highly of her…”

Right, of course he didn’t!

“…but she is not the manipulator and flirt you think she is. I’d like to explain to you once and for all why I am so fond of her.”

Manipulator! Flirt! Her? She scoffed and shook her head. So Spencer knew how his brother thought of her. She continued reading.

Grandmama is right. We fight over nothing. Mama was always disappointed in me for being too prideful to ever let you win. As you were prideful, too. I suppose, in that sense, we are more alike than we wish to admit.

It was my fault, after all, that you were sent to boarding school, and not yours. And yet you never told on me. You took my fall.