Curves for the Secret Duke (Busty Bodice Club #7)

Chapter One

“What have you done?” Lady Penelope Harrington murmured to herself as she stared at the ceiling.

Could her papa even hear in heaven? She lowered her gaze and reread the parchment in her hand.

Was it the third or fourth time she’d read the blasted thing?

Really, what difference did it make? If she read it a hundred times, she doubted it would make sense even then.

The words were simple enough. Before she could inherit from her late father, she had to marry and live humbly for a year. Whatever did that mean? Why would her father decree such a thing? Penelope closed her eyes and willed her broken heart to slow its beat.

“My lady, Lord George Draven.” John, the footman, announced from the doorway of the study. His stoic face was in direct contrast with the disdain tinting his voice.

“Thank you—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the viscount burst through the doorway and hurried to her side, where he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Lady Penelope, I had to come to you as soon as I heard the tragic news about your father,” he murmured against her skin.

Penelope tugged her hand from his clammy grip.

“Thank you, Lord Draven.” She gestured for him to sit across from her, but the audacious man sat right beside her on the sofa.

Their thighs were nearly touching. Discreetly, Penelope shifted away as best she could from his side, a difficult task as she was no small wilting flower.

“When did you hear of his passing?” she asked.

Lord Draven’s eyes glanced at everything around the room as if taking inventory. “When everyone else did. But it was my duty to see you.”

Well, he didn’t hurry very much. Her father had passed away months ago.

It had been announced in London within days.

She had just put her mourning clothes away last week.

Perhaps Draven was trying to make amends for the last time they met.

Like spiders dancing across her skin, the memory sent shivers skating down her spine.

Last year, when she had arrived at the harvest ball county assembly, her gaze had met his. Without any doubt, he’d given her the cut direct when he’d abruptly turned his back on her.

“What a worthless bastard,” her brother Charles, the new Duke of Kenbrooks, had whispered in her ear. “Ignore the sop,” he had added when he twirled Penelope as they danced a spirited country dance.

She did until later, when her friend, Lady Emmaline Hughes, had brought Lord Draven to Penelope’s side.

When Lady Emmaline had suggested Lord Draven dance with Penelope, he’d cried off, saying his leg bothered him.

Within fifteen minutes, he’d found another friend of hers, and they were dancing a lively reel.

Lord Draven had always treated her as if she were horse excrement on the sole of his hunting boots. She had no doubt he considered her entirely too loud and too much of a Harrington. She and her sisters had all been endowed with endless curves and generous bosoms. Most men didn’t appreciate them.

Yet her sisters had found their true loves, men who all relished their individual curves. Even her brother, whom she affectionately called Charlie, had found true love with a curvy woman and had made her his duchess.

Just thinking that gave her hope for her own future.

“Lady Penelope, since you’re the youngest child in the family, I feel a responsibility toward you. I don’t want you to worry about your future.” Lord Draven puffed out his chest like a barnyard rooster.

Responsibility? Seriously?

He couldn’t even look at her. He still seemed to be taking inventory of the room, as if claiming his favorite pieces.

Under any other circumstances, Penelope would be thrilled with the attention of such a handsome man. With his dark hair, brown eyes, strong chin, and confident demeanor, George Draven could entice many a woman to swoon.

That is, until he opened his mouth.

“I shall seek your brother and ask for your hand in marriage.”

Of all conversations, she thought they might share, marriage was not one of them. She should be ecstatic that the solution to one of her tasks sat next to her. Instead, she felt nothing.

“Your late father’s solicitor is friends with our family’s solicitor. I know that you must marry soon.” He took her hand and patted it, as if he were talking to a child.

Clearly, that was his rationale for calling upon her. The man’s solicitor had obviously shared that for her to inherit from her father, one of the stipulations was that she marry.

“This is rather sudden, Lord Draven,” Penelope said with an arched brow. “Over the last year, we haven’t spoken more than ten words to each other.”

“Nothing to worry about, my dear,” he assured her. “We shall suit. I’m sure of it.”

This whole conversation was preposterous, and it would be in her best interests to put a stop to it immediately.

“I’m not inclined to accept your offer.”

His eyes widened as his mouth fell open. He looked like a baby bird begging for a worm.

She had shocked him. Naturally, he had come waltzing in today expecting her to fall to her knees in gratitude.

“My lady, it’s best not to look at a gift horse in the mouth.

There is a dearth of eligible bachelors on the marriage mart this year.

You may be an heiress,”—he waved a hand in the direction of her body—“but even an empire waist can’t hide that you are more of a classical beauty than a typical English rose. ”

She bit her tongue to keep from lashing out. The pure arrogance of the man to say she should be grateful for his proposal because of her appearance.

But what was the alternative? Living alone?

For her, that would be a fate worse than making a fashion faux pas.

She had been raised in a household with seven sisters, whom she adored, and in turn, they adored her.

She was never without company The truth was she had never been comfortable with her own company.

Yet, she had too much self-respect to marry a man such as Draven. If need be, she would find a way to proceed without marrying.

Edward would help her and ensure that she was never alone. She was sure of it.

She stood, and Lord Draven followed her.

“Again, I’m inclined to say no.” If she could reach around and pat herself on the back, she would. She was not jumping to agree with the proposal.

“Take as long as you like.” He nodded slightly, looked out the window, and took a deep breath.

“However, it would be in your best interests not to tarry with your answer.” When he faced her, he wore a smile that could make a honey badger cower.

“You and I both know you’ll eventually accept.

Don’t worry your pretty head. I’ll talk to your brother.

” He took her hand and bowed over it gracefully.

“We men know what to do in these situations.” He strolled toward the door, then hesitated.

“There’s no one else, is there? Like Mr. Edward Thornton, for example. ”

“Good morning, sir,” the footman called out before Edward came to a complete stop in the circular drive of Penelope’s home.

“Good morning, Harold,” Edward said with his customary smile as he quickly dismounted and handed him the reins. Edward didn’t wait for any further conversation as time was of the essence. His best friend had sent him an urgent note that she needed him.

No matter where he was or what he was doing, Lady Penelope Harrington was always his highest priority. When she said it was urgent, nothing and no one could keep Edward away from her side.

He raced up the entry steps, where the butler held the door open for him.

“Good morning, Mr. Thornton. She’s waiting for you.”

Edward took his hat and gloves and gave them to the family butler. “Where is she?”

“In the library, sir.”

Edward continued on his way. He could find the library in the dark with his eyes closed. He had been to the Kenbrooks’ London home thousands of times.

As he raced down the corridor, he stopped suddenly as the leering visage of Lord George Draven came into view.

“I should have known that you would be lurking here, trying to muddy the waters,” Draven mocked. “When are you going to learn your place? You’re a tutor, a nobody, and not someone she should be interested in as a friend, let alone husband.”

Those last words brought Edward to a stop.

Never once had he thought he was good enough to marry Lady Penelope Harrington, but that wouldn’t stop him from being the very best friend he could be.

Pen, as he affectionately called her, had been through the worst time of her life after losing her dear father.

“My lord,” Edward said calmly. “I assure you that I have nothing nefarious planned for Lady Penelope. She’s my dearest friend, and her entire family has been extremely kind to my family and me. If you’ll excuse me,” Edward said as he stepped around the arrogant viscount.

Lord Draven grabbed his arm. “One more moment of your time.”

Edward glared at the man’s hand that was attached to his arm, then slowly lifted his gaze to Draven. He towered over the viscount and lowered his voice. “Remove your hand from my person.”

Knowing he’d overstepped his authority, the viscount immediately stepped away, but his haughty demeanor returned straightaway.

He looked down the hall in both directions, then regarded Edward. “Listen to me well, Thornton. You are to quit sniffing around, Lady Penelope. I’m off to Surrey on an urgent matter where I will speak to her brother. Understand?”

“You can speak to her entire family if that will help matter. But if Lady Penelope requests my presence, then I shall do everything in my power to see her.” Edward’s voice reverberated with the quiet challenge. “Even if it is against her brother’s wishes.”

Draven laughed. “We’ll see what the new duke has to say about that.” He leaned near and locked his gaze with Edward. “She’s mine, and nothing and no one, not even you, will keep her from me. I missed the rest of the sisters. Penelope is the last unmarried Harrington sister, and she’s mine.”

“She’s not a personal possession that you can acquire,” Edward pointed out. “If you’re trying to woo her, you’re failing dreadfully.”

“I don’t need to woo her. I just need to marry her. Even if it means a trip to Scotland, you, witless naif.” Without another word, Draven swept through the passage without a look back.

As the man left, Edward shook his head in disbelief. The viscount always possessed a histrionic flair. Edward had always thought him a master of comedic buffoonery.

Being a dreadful villain was not his forte.