Page 38 of My Cruel Duke

Heavens! That had been the highlight of the night. The idea of it was too indecorous to think of, but he had spoken about it and worked her body so hard as though it was a normal occurrence. She had wiggled and writhed her entire body until she felt her release.

“Penny?” Penny jolted with the rapid blinking of her eyes, and then she paused and took in her surroundings.

“Is anything the matter?” Lydia asked her, brown eyes peering intently at her, searching her face for some answers. Penny looked down at herself. A basket of leaves she had been cutting off from the fresh flowers sat on her lap. She blinked again.

“Pardon me,” an awkward smile left her lips. She cleared her throat, dropped the flower cutter in the basket, and used her hand to fan herself. “Is it just me or is the weather quite humid today?”

Lydia watched her sister, astonished at her actions. There they sat in the drawing room, in front of a wide-open window with fresh air seeping in, but beads of sweat marred her forehead, with flushed cheeks.

“It is quite chilly today, sister. You said so yourself.”

Penny met her sister's eyes. “I did?”

Lydia nodded.

“You also seem out of it, dear sister. You have cut off the petals and not the leaves from that stem,” Penny followed her sister’s eyes down to the flower she held in her hand. True to Lydia’s words, Penny found she had cut off the petals from the flowers, and not the leaves.

“Are you well, Penny? Do we need to send for the physician?”

Penny shook her head.

“I had a– I am well. No need to worry.” But Lydia could not help but worry. “I am certain of it, Lydia. I just had a hard time sleeping last night.”

“You also had a hard time sleeping two nights ago. You resembled a ghost yesterday, and Aunt Augusta told me you were fine.”

Penny knew she should convince her sister of her wellness soon before it morphed into else like…

“Does it have anything to do with the duke? Is he still angry about the decorations? Did he say something hurtful to you?”

Penny smiled and shook her head. How could she tell her sister the reason for her absent-mindedness was her husband’s tongue on her?

“I swear to you, that I am well. The duke has nothing to do with it.”

“The duke has nothing to do with what?” Aunt Augusta peered into the room.

“Nothing, Aunty. Lydia was only worried for my well-being,” Aunt Augusta narrowed her eyes at Penny, considering her words, and then with a slight nod, she exited.

“Aunty is the same as you.”

Penny raised a brow in question.

“She did not come to wake me up this morning as she usually does. And see how quick she was to run away, like someone who has something to hide?” Lydia smiled.

“I know nothing of Aunt Augusta’s behavior, but I can assure you of mine. Nothing important is being hidden from you/”

Lydia trusted her sister, so she nodded, believing that truly, nothing was being hidden from her.

Except, Penny only grew worse as days passed. She could barely concentrate on the renovations for the house, or on matters that concern her. One fine afternoon, Lydia stood before Penny, asking for her opinion on the next dress she should wear for an upcoming ball. Penny held one of the dresses to her chest and claimed it was soft, and then she went blank. There was a faraway look in her eyes, but that was all there was.

Lydia contemplated telling the duke or not, for she had not the slightest idea why her sister’s behavior had changed so drastically, and for all she knew, the duke might be the cause for it. As Lydia noticed, Penny stared longer at the duke when he appeared in her line of sight. Her eyes darkened dangerously when she watched him, and Lydia hated that she could not discern what those looks meant. Perhaps she should ask the Marquess of Angleton. She would if she saw him as frequently as the other gentlemen who paid call to her.

“Pray tell, what is that sound?”

Penny had been taking an innocent stroll around the house that afternoon when she heard grunts. Hard grunts emerging from the garden. In an attempt to check what or who was making those sounds, she met with Wayne, the gardener, who told her it was the duke who was working on the garden.

How had Rhysand gone from utterly hating flowers and decorations to working in the garden? What was he doing? She gathered the bottom of her dress in her hands and hurried to the garden to see for herself, and true to the gardener's words, Rhysand was there in all his shirtless glory, working on the garden.

“Besty!” She called immediately and the older woman came running.