Chapter 18 #2
“I changed my mind.” His eyes flicked toward the ballroom doors behind her. Toward Malcolm. Rage flashed openly across his features. “Now,” he said again.
People lingered nearby in the corridor, her spine stiffening, her pride rising. “If you make a scene…”
“You are hardly in a position to lecture me about propriety after what I just witnessed.”
Her cheeks burned instantly. “Lower your voice.”
“Come.” He turned sharply down the corridor without waiting, dragging her slightly until she was forced to follow. Her pulse hammered harder with every step.
Charles led her into a small, dark side room away from the ballroom. The moment the door shut behind them, cutting off the music, he rounded on her.
“What in the world do you think you are doing?”
Penelope recoiled slightly at the venom in his voice. She smoothed her skirt, forcing her hands to stop shaking. “I do not answer to you.”
“You danced with the Duke of Brigrock.”
“Yes.”
“In front of everyone.”
“It was a dance only, Charles.”
Charles laughed once. An ugly, sharp sound. “You looked at him as though you were lovesick.”
Anger flared through her chest, replacing the fear. “You have no right to speak to me this way.”
“No right?” he snapped, stepping closer, invading her space.
“I have spent years protecting your reputation. Years cleaning up after your foolish husband died, leaving you humiliated after he sunk into his own demise of gambling and mistresses, of debt and the wife he could not bear to go home to? This is how you repay me?”
Penelope stared at him in disbelief. “Protecting me?”
“You think society has been kind to you?” His lip curled, revealing his teeth. “A widow with a child and no husband to control her? Do you imagine people do not talk?”
“They always talk.”
“And now they shall talk more.” He moved closer again, his chest nearly brushing hers. “You were nearly swooning in the Duke’s arms.”
“That is enough,” she gritted out.
“No,” Charles hissed, his eyes wide. “It is not enough. You parade yourself around a ballroom and expect me to remain silent?”
Penelope’s heart began to pound harder. “You are behaving irrationally.”
“Irrational?” His face twisted into a mask of pure spite. “You shame yourself for a man who would ruin you and discard you afterward.”
“That is none of your concern.”
“It is entirely my concern.” His voice dropped lower, turning dark. “You belong to this family.”
Revulsion crawled beneath her skin like insects. “I belong to no one.”
Charles grabbed her wrist suddenly, and pain shot up her arm. She tried to pull free immediately, twisting her hand, but his grip was iron. “Let go of me.”
“You think he wants you?” Charles spat, his face inches from hers. “That animal? Men like him do not marry women like you. He wants a woman warming his bed for a few months until he tires of her.”
“Stop this!”
“You should feel ashamed.”
The words hit like a physical slap. Penelope’s chest rose sharply. “No,” she said quietly, her voice cold. “I shall not. I have done nothing wrong!”
She saw something dangerous flickering across Charles’s face then. Jealousy. Pure, ugly, and unchecked.
“You would spread your legs for him after everything I have done for you?” he huffed. “You have mistaken my restraint for weakness, Penelope.”
She forced herself not to retreat further, though her back was near the wall. “I owe you nothing.”
Charles adjusted his linen cuff leisurely, right where she had struck him. “No,” he said softly. “But Nicholas does.”
Fear sliced through her instantly, sharp and cold. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, looking up, “that I am done waiting.”
Her stomach dropped.
Charles stepped closer again, lowering his voice to a malicious whisper. “I saw the way the Duke looked at you tonight. I saw the way you looked back.” His eyes hardened into flint. “And I will not permit it.”
“You cannot control who I speak to.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “But I can control your son.”
Cold spread through her limbs, paralyzing her. Charles watched her face carefully, taking in her sudden paleness. Satisfied.
“I have already spoken with my solicitor.”
Penelope’s breath caught in her throat. “You would not dare—”
“I absolutely would, for it might be decided a young boy requires stronger masculine guidance than a hysterical, wanton widow.”
Her pulse roared in her ears, deafening. “He is happy with me.”
“He is the heir to my brother’s estate.” Charles’s eyes glittered with malice. “And heirs are not raised by sentimental women.”
Panic clawed at her throat, choking her. “You cannot take him.”
“I can petition for full guardianship.”
Her knees nearly weakened. She reached out, grasping a nearby chair. “No.”
“I can send him away to school immediately. Somewhere strict.” His mouth curved slightly. “The sort of place that beats softness out of boys. He could leave as soon as next month.”
Penelope stared at him in horror, images of her sweet, adventurous boy broken by cruelty flashing through her mind. “You would destroy him.”
“I would make him useful. A worthy heir of the Romwich title.”
Tears burned suddenly behind her eyes, hot and angry. She hated that he could see her fear. Hated that he held this power.
Charles stepped closer once more, until she could smell the heavy scent of brandy on his breath.
“I waited for you,” he said quietly. “I gave you time. I tolerated your coldness. Your pride. Your ridiculous independence.”
Penelope backed into the sharp edge of a writing desk. “You are insane.”
He raised a hand, his fingers brushing roughly against her jaw. She flinched violently away from his touch.
“You force my hand.”
Penelope’s chest tightened so painfully she could barely draw oxygen. “You cannot separate me from my son.”
Charles’s expression did not change. It remained dead. “Watch me.”
The room seemed suddenly smaller. Airless. Penelope gripped the mahogany edge of the desk behind her to steady her shaking frame.
Charles leaned closer, his voice dropping to a foul purr. “Submit to me,” he said softly.
Her stomach turned with violent nausea.
“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?”