Chapter 23 #2
Hector stepped forward, his thick hackles rising completely erect against his spine. He bared his teeth, letting out a growl that was low, deep, and vibrating with pure canine aggression.
Charles’s eyes flicked toward the massive hound with sharp, aristocratic annoyance. “Control that wretched beast, Penelope, or I will have it shot.”
“Hector, heel,” Penelope said quietly, her heart breaking with terror.
The dog stayed directly near Nicholas’s legs, his dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on the intruder, his throat still rumbling with a low, protective growl.
Charles began walking down the narrow central path, his muddy boots clicking rhythmically against the stone.
“You look exceptionally lovely as a duchess, Penelope,” he murmured, his gaze tracing over her form with a sickening, possessive intensity.
“Though I must confess, as much as your new, grand title suits my tastes far less, there is an exquisite thought of you writhing beneath that scarred brute. A woman stooping so low, when she could have a far easier choice. A choice that has been right there this whole time.”
“Stop it.”
“I warned you in London what would happen if you crossed me.”
“You threatened my son, Charles! You are a monster.”
“I offered you a perfectly civilized choice. You could have been mine.”
Nicholas pressed harder against her side, his small body shaking. Charles stopped a few paces away, looking down at the boy with open, unadulterated irritation.
“The bastard boy should have been sent away to a strict boarding school years ago. He clings to your skirts like a pathetic little girl.”
“Do not dare speak about my son that way!”
“Why not?” Charles laughed, a sharp, ugly sound.
Nicholas stiffened violently behind her. Penelope felt the sharp, agonizing contraction of her son’s heart through his small hand.
A sudden, blinding fury flashed through Penelope so violently that her hands shook. The fear evaporated, replaced by the lethal instincts of a mother protecting her cub. “You vile, disgusting creature,” she hissed.
Charles laughed softly, a low, breathy sound that made her skin crawl. “Ah. There she is. There is the fiery girl I remember the day I was introduced to you on the eve of your wedding to my late brother.”
He took two predatory steps closer. Penelope immediately backed Nicholas farther into the shadows behind her, her arm extended like a shield.
“You are trembling,” Charles observed, his eyes sliding slowly, greasily over her pale face, her exposed throat, and the heavy curve of her body beneath the dark green silk. “Are you cold?”
Revulsion, thick and suffocating, crawled over her skin like insects. “You never had any claim on me, Charles. Not then, and certainly not now.”
“I could have given you everything you ever desired in London! Wealth, society, a proper gentleman’s bed.”
“You tried to blackmail me into your bed using my son’s legitimacy!”
“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.