Page 43 of My Cruel Duke

Penelope did not respond. He angled her head correctly, parted her lips, and pinched her nose close. He had never performed the resuscitation on command, and it had been a while since he practiced it, but he said a short prayer before he set his lips atop Penelope’s. However, before he could blow air into Penelope’s mouth, she coughed with a strong force that sent water flying out of her mouth in an unladylike manner.

Rhysand leaned away in time to catch Penelope’s eyes flutter open. Pulling her up to a seated position, she coughed harder, and more water trickled out her mouth and nose.

Rhysand’s head dipped forward to watch her closely, instant relief flooding his features when he saw she had coughed out all the water she took in and was no longer at risk. But Penelope was not well. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, but not from shock, and with a quivering chin, she took shallow breaths, rubbing her arms repetitively as though to warm herself.

“Sunshine,” he called, but Penelope did not acknowledge him, and when he raised his arm to touch her, she flinched as though his touch was flame. His face twisted into a distasteful frown as he watched her. Just what the hell happened to her?

“His Grace has found her!” Rhysand heard a familiar voice cry out from a distance. He stood up from his crouched position and saw Lydia and her aunt running toward them with his uncle and Angleton behind them.

“Oh, my dear Penny,” at the sound of Aunt Augusta’s voice, Penny raised her head, but no words fell from her lips, even as the older woman wrapped her arms around her wet body.

A wave of anger burned through him as he watched them. It was not anger directed at Penny or her aunt but at the entire situation, and the longer they stayed there, the more he burned. With a barely audible “Excuse me,” he fetched Penny into his arms, holding her tight as if to assure her that he was right there and he would not let go of her until she was somewhere safe, until she washome.

Rhysand said nothing in response to the questioning looks his uncle and Angleton sent him as he walked past them. Quite frankly, at that moment, he did not care for anything that was not Penelope in his arms.

Despite Penelope's protests, Rhysand had wasted no time sending for a doctor when they arrived in Thornbury Hall. It seemed she found her voice after changing into warm clothes, but she had not said much. Her response to the questions asking if she was well had been an undecipherable “I am well,” with a small smile accompanying it. If anything, it showed she was, in fact, not well.

They were now alone in her room, and Penelope cradled a hot cup of her favorite tea in her tiny hands, but Rhysand noticed she had not drunk from it in all the seven minutes she had been holding it. He reckoned the tea would be warm now, but he did not say a word to her about it.

He wanted to know what happened at the park; he had not yet asked because he was being considerate, but his curiosity doubled with each passing second he spent in her room, pacing back and forth in the heavy silence between them.

Rhysand bit his lips as his eyes came down on her small frame for the umpteenth time, and he had just about enough.

He leveled her with a frank gaze and asked, “What happened to you out there?”

Penelope’s brows rose a fraction as though she was unaware of what he was asking, and then she sighed.

“Nothing happened, it was an accident. I simply… fell,” she was lying. She did not meet his eyes when she spoke; that pause clearly indicated her lie. Something happened at the park, and he would find out what it was.

“Do you, for a second, think I would believe that?”

Penelope met his eyes, and her tired gaze softened a tiny part of his heart.

A knock came in, but before Rhysand could respond, the door was pushed open, and his wife’s family walked in.

“Pardon us for the interruption; we did not think you would be in here,” Aunt Augusta cleared her throat. Her eyes moved from him to her niece, who smiled softly as they approached her, sitting on either side of the bed.

It was an invitation for Rhysand to see himself out and let the women have their private time, but he had yet to get the answers to his question. Or the response he desired.

“What happened to you at the park, Penelope?” Her eyes widened a little at using her given name.

“I believe I have already told you what happened, Rhysand. I slipped and fell into the lake.” It became challenging for Rhysand to quell his anger. He balled his fingers into a fist behind him, fingers biting into his palm.

“That is a blatant lie. I would prefer you tell me the truth this instant,” his brows creased.

“I am telling the truth,” Penelope cried while her family silently watched the exchange.

A bitter scoff escaped Rhysand’s lips.

“It seems to me that you are trying to protect the perpetrator of this crime!” Her eyes were as wide as saucers at his claim. “Who did it? Tell me who pushed you into the lake. I will teach them a very stern lesson they will never forget for the rest of their life,” Rhysand could not stop the harsh words from falling out his lips.

Penelope sighed, clearly frustrated, which only fueled his anger.

“No one push–”

“I happened to see my sister with a certain black-haired lady. I did not see her face, but she was well-dressed and slender. The lady pushed her.” All heads turned to Lydia.

“Lydia!”

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