Chapter 4 #2
He may have been kind to her son earlier, but there was something about him that set her on edge.
The way he stood there, commanding the dog with such authority, the coldness in his eyes as he assessed Nicholas, made her stomach churn.
She couldn’t let her son be left alone with someone like him, no matter how affectionate the dog might seem.
Penelope’s breath quickened, a surge of maternal fear rising in her. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew deep in her gut that she wasn’t safe with him. Not here. Not now.
Amelia’s warning echoed in her thoughts once more.
“Nicholas,” she said, her voice tight but firm. “Come away from Hector. Now.”
But Nicholas only laughed, oblivious to the rising tension. He crouched down beside Hector, his hands stroking the dog’s head as Hector licked his face with eager affection.
Penelope’s pulse spiked with frustration, but she held herself together. She forced a smile, despite the cold knot in her stomach.
“Come, Nicholas, we’re leaving,” she repeated, taking another cautious step forward.
But before she could take another breath, the Duke’s voice rang out, interrupting the fragile peace she was trying to maintain.
“Hector!” he growled, low and sharp.
The command was firm, like a soldier’s order. Hector paused mid-lick, ears perking up at the tone, but didn’t budge immediately.
The Duke’s jaw clenched as he strode forward, his boots crunching softly on the grass. The dog slowly retreated to his side, tail drooping slightly in submission.
Penelope’s chest tightened, watching the dog obey so effortlessly.
The image of the Duke standing there—domineering, his body tall and broad, exuding power with each step—made her heart race for all the wrong reasons.
She could see the way he carried himself, how much he relied on his sheer presence to command respect, to bend things to his will.
And she hated it. She hated that he could hold that much control over something so simple, so innocent as his dog. But Nicholas wasn’t a dog. And she wouldn’t let him fall under that spell.
She couldn’t trust him. Not like that.
Her voice came out sharp, almost too sharp, when she spoke.
“Watch your dog, Your Grace. He’s too close to my son.”
The words hung in the air between them like smoke. Her eyes flashed to his, locking in a tense moment.
He paused, brow furrowed, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his gaze, a flicker of surprise, perhaps, mixed with a stubbornness that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
The Duke didn’t respond immediately, his lips pressing into a thin line. He was studying her, his eyes dark, almost contemplative. A shift seemed to happen in the air, like a storm cloud gathering just above them.
“You’re worried about Hector?” he asked, his voice gruff but calm.
The low rasp in his tone sent a shiver down her spine, but she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or something else. Something dangerous she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Of course, I’m worried about Hector,” she snapped, unable to hide the tension in her voice now. Her fists clenched at her sides, fingers aching with the need to grab her son and pull him to safety. “I am worried about you, too. The way you are looking at him. He does not belong to you.”
Nor did he belong to Charles. To anyone who would try to change her son into a heartless, controlling version of himself.
The Duke raised an eyebrow, his gaze turning more curious, more… incredulous, as if he was not used to being accused like that. “Looking at him? How am I looking at him?”
Penelope took a step closer, her jaw set as she glared at him.
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
She had been careful not to overreact, but the way the Duke spoke…
how every word and movement was careful, as if he never did anything without thinking it through efficiently first… it enticed her.
“You look at him like he is an object,” Penelope said, her voice rising slightly, each word sharper than the last. “Like he is something to be taught, to be controlled. He is a child, not a pet!”
Malcolm’s lips parted for a moment, as if to respond, but no words came out. His expression tightened, a flicker crossing his features. Perhaps anger, perhaps realization, before he masked it again.
“And what about you?” she continued, her voice cracking a little with frustration. “Did you think I did not see the way you size us up, too? That I cannot tell you do not care who gets in your way, as long as you get what you want?”
The Duke’s shoulders stiffened, and he stepped forward, closing the gap between them just a little more. The scent of him, of earth and wood, a primal, dominant scent, clung to the air, pressing on her chest.
“I don’t want anything from you,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still carrying an edge.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” His voice was low, almost gentle, as if he were suddenly, unexpectedly, probing for something.
“I trust you as much as I imagine you trust me,” she countered.
“Then that indeed makes two of us.”
Penelope’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt a pulse of heat flare across her skin.
Before she could react, Hector suddenly barked, his tail wagging wildly as he ran over to Nicholas, his excitement palpable. The sudden distraction broke the tension between them like a thunderclap. Penelope let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“Hector! Sit!” the Duke commanded sharply.
Hector, now almost frantic with playfulness, ignored him, running around Nicholas again, jumping up to lick his face. Nicholas laughed and tried to calm the dog down.
Penelope’s focus immediately shifted back to her son, the overwhelming surge of protective instinct taking over once again. She quickly moved toward Nicholas, grabbing his arm.
“Enough, Nicholas,” she said, her voice firm but laced with exhaustion. “We are leaving, now.”
Nicholas, still holding onto Hector, looked up at her with wide eyes, confusion etched on his face. “But Mama, Hector still wants to play.”
“No, Nicholas,” Penelope said, cutting him off. Her voice softened just enough to show her concern. “Not today. We’ve overstayed our welcome.”
She turned toward the Duke, giving him one last glance, her lips pressed tightly together. There was so much she wanted to say, so much that should have been said. But the tension between them, the way their eyes locked with such unspoken words, made it impossible to form a coherent thought.
The Duke stood there, watching them, his face unreadable. She didn’t know if he was angry, indifferent, or… something else. But one thing was clear: he was waiting for them to leave, and his patience was likely running out, if it hadn’t already.
“And once again, Lady Romwich, try to see to it that this is the last time this happens.”
She didn’t even answer him, only urging Nicholas back the way she had come, truly hoping she wouldn’t have to endure another situation like it again.