Page 74 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

Eager to put him to sleep so that he would finally stop torturing her, Penelope stopped turning the pages and just started reading.

She recognized this part of the story at once, it was when the sorceress Circe had tricked Odysseus’ men and turned them into pigs, forcing him to devise a plan to rescue them.

“You sound almost delighted at their plight,” His Grace accused, his brows frowning over his closed eyes.

“Of course not!” Penelope assured him, before resuming her reading.

In the next section, Hermes gifted Odysseus a portion of the herb moly so that he could resist Circe’s powers and charm.

“If only it was so easy,” the duke mumbled under his breath, interrupting her once again.

Penelope flashed him an amused smile, even though he wasn’t looking at her face. “You say that like the moly actually worked, Your Grace.”

“It did, didn’t it?” He frowned. “Odysseus escapes being turned into a pig like the rest of them.”

“True...” Penelope sighed, turning the page, “but I just meant that she charms him anyway. Here!”

She ran a finger below the words as she read. “‘A year with Circe all remain, And, then their native forms regain.’ She still becomes Odysseus’ lover, even if only for a year.”

“Ah... that’s right,” sighed the duke. “And then his men had to beg him to continue the journey homeward afterward, correct?”

“Exactly.” Penelope nodded, skimming over the rest of the page. “It’s not mentioned in this edition, but I remember reading it in Sir Alexander Pope’s translation that one of my tutors lent me. If it weren’t for his men’s outcry, Odysseus would have happily lived the remainder of his life with Circe without sparing a second thought for the wife that awaited him at home.”

A twinge of bitterness crept into Penelope’s words, and it did not go unnoticed. A movement in the upper corners of her eyes told her that the duke was propping himself up on his elbows.

“I take it that you are one of the few people who lament that Odysseus managed to get home in the end, then?” he asked, his eyes carefully searching her face.

“I wouldn’t say that Ilamentit.” She gently dragged her fingers against the book’s ragged edge. “But I wouldn’t have been too heartbroken if hehadn’tgotten home in the end. After all, I am quite sympathetic to Odysseus’ wife given how my father was a-”

She stopped herself in time.

His Grace shuffled towards the edge of the bed before swinging his long legs down so that his feet met the floor with a dull thud. “Do you... resent him that much?” he asked gently.

“No! Of course not!” Penelope answered immediately, making it sound as though she was certain. But as she wrung her hands together, she felt the need to clarify. “I don’t resenthim, I just resent that part of him, if that makes any sense at all,” she mumbled.

“Of course it does.” A moment of silence passed before he continued, “It was—and please excuse my frankness—absolutely abhorrent behavior from your father. If he were still here, I would have no problem telling him to be ashamed of the agony he brought to you and your poor mother.”

“Thank you.” Penelope sighed, “But Mother would never forgive you if you ever did such a thing. Her willingness to excuse his behavior used to infuriate me to no end, but she made a very good point when we reconciled that love isn’t anecessaryrequirement for a marriage to succeed, but at least Father had some measure of it for her even if he-”

“I’m sorry.” The duke raised a hand to stop her. “Are you... saying that you’re beginning to agree with her point of view?”

“Well...” Penelope shrugged, “It wasn’t a perfect marriage, but she says she still doesn't regret it at all. I think she understands that we must make do with the cards we are dealt and I’m beginning to see that that is a rather... practical view of the world.”

“It’s practical, but that doesn’t make it right,” pushed the duke, his features now devoid of the air of drowsiness that had hung over them earlier. “If you love someone enough to marry them, then it means that you love them enough to remain steadfast, loyal to them and only them.”

“I agree, of course, Your Grace, but-”

“But what?” he asked, his shoulders and back straightening, “Are you saying you’d tolerate the same contemptible treatment from Gloushire if he ever dared to pull it?”

“If he did, what other choice would I have?” Penelope challenged, her voice rising unexpectedly, surprised to find herself echoing her mother's sentiments. “Sometimes love is settling for-”

“That isn't love.” His Grace cut her off. “Love isn’t ‘settling’. Love is-” His eyes searched around the room, even as he inwardly searched his mind for the right word, “Love is... all-consuming.”

Penelope held back, curious to see where his argument was leading.

“Love is when nothing and no one else in the world matters,” he continued, a fist clenching the covers by his side. “Love is when you get the breath knocked out of you when they look at you, and then it’s struggling for air again the moment they leave.”

The sincerity of his words caused Penelope’s breath to hitch in her throat.

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