Page 23 of My Cruel Duke

Penny scoffed at her sister. What a baseless rumor. “The duke has no friends,” Penny said confidently, but she watched them. Her husband had a scowl on his face as usual, but when the marquess spoke, a ghost of a smile appeared on her husband’s face. Penny’s eyes widened at the exchange.

And he claimed he had no friends.

The marquess must have seen them, because he tapped Rhysand and said something to him, and in the next second, the men started moving. Slowly but surely, they made their way to where Penny and her sister stood.

“Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Penelope Patterson, Duchess of Huxton,” Rhysand introduced with a glint of boredom in his voice. It had only been an hour since their arrival, and he was already acting out. But Penny did not miss the way her heart did a little jump at her new name and title from her husband's lips. It was the first time he had said it, and by God, she wished he would say it over and over. As if to seal her thoughts, she placed a bright smile on her face, the brightest she had ever smiled.

“Philip Keats, Marquess of Angleton. Pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” The marquess smiled and Penny stretched forth her hand to him.

“Likewise, my lord. I hear you and the duke are oldfriends,” she emphasized the word to get a reaction out of Rhysand, but it did not seem like he cared. His attention was somewhere else.

“We are. I am the only friend the duke has.”

Penny laughed. “How did you manage such a feat?” Penny was genuinely interested in the marquess’s answer.

“My abilities are beyond me, but if the duchess is in need of a lesson, I am sure I can make up a few points.” Penny watched her husband quirk his brows questioningly at his friend.

“Lovely. You are welcome to Thornbury Hall at any time.” From across her, Penny heard the deep clearing of her husband’s throat, but that was the least of her concerns, at least now. From the corner of her eyes, Penny saw Lydia’s eyes light up as she stared at the marquess with a small smile on her face when the marquess turned to her. Penny noticed it was the first time her sister looked a little pleased, perhaps she looked very pleased.

“Miss Lydia, I believe you owe me a dance?” Lydia smiled shyly.

“Indeed, I do, my lord.” She offered her hand and the marquess took it eagerly, leading her away from Penny’s side to the dance floor.

“Would you like to dance with me?” Penny turned to her husband. His mouth was tight and grim as he stared back at her.

“I do not dance, dear wife,” his words were hard as if they were supposed to be a warning.

“You do not or you cannot?” Just a little more teasing would not hurt, plus it was Penny’s right to ask. Not everyone was blessed with great legs for dancing, some were for walking, and riding horses only.

“I will have you know there is hardly a thing I cannot do.”

“And yet we will never truly know if you can dance or not.” She placed a hand on her chest and dipped her head in a fine bow. “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

Rhysand watched her retreating backside but all he could think about was how he would slowly peel every layer of clothing she had on until there was nothing left, and she laid bare before him. Her buttery skin was glimmering in the soft moonlight, promising a night of pure pleasure. Oh, how he would love to sink into her soft flesh and never let go. But he could not do that, at least not yet.

Instead of taking his wife home and doing with her what he pleased, he watched her whisper a few words to her aunt, and then a finely dressed man approached them. It seemed like a joke at first, the way Penelope offered her hand to the gentleman who was too eager to take it and lead her to the dance floor, an annoying smile on his otherwise reddened face.

Worst of all, Rhysand could not recognize the gentleman bold enough to take his wife in his arms and wrap said arms around her as though he wanted to possess her. Was he new to the Ton? Was he among the many gentlemen who had returned from far and wide to take a London bride at the request of his mama? Seemed like it. Everyone in town knew the Cruel Duke had married Penelope Hislop, so much so that some still had different ideas about what their love story was.

The music started and the gentleman held her closer, smiling down at her like she was the most perfect thing he had ever set his eyes on. And Penelope smiled back, shyly, as her sister did earlier to Angleton. In the corner where he stood and watched them, Rhysand’s mouth took an unpleasant twist. The nerve of her to do all of that in the presence of her husband.

I do not care about her or what she does,he told himself as he took his eyes away from them. She could do whatever she wanted, but onlyaftershe had produced an heir for him. His eyes found them immediately and he rubbed his hand over his face in obvious frustration.

He had warned her of this behavior before they got married; of dancing with other men, unmarried or not.

But you refused to dance with her,a small voice in his head reminded and he seethed. His refusal to dance with her meant no one else could dance with her. She washis wifefor Christ’s sake.

The gentleman released Penelope, and with a fine twirl, she landed into his firm open arms again. His fingers, which were begging to be cut off, circled around her tiny waist, and Rhysand had just about enough of his wife’s display.

He marched to the dance floor, ignoring the surprised looks he got from the titled members of the Ton, with one destination in mind; where his wife stood.

The gentleman saw him first, but he turned his face away as though Rhysand did not exist. His anger flared and he went dangerously close to them.

“That is enough dancing for tonight. I need to speak tomy wife.” The gentleman’s eyes widened and he looked between them before taking a step back. Penelope turned to him with a slight frown. The audacity!

“Rhysand, what is wrong?”

“You are coming with me; we need to talk.”