Page 75 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

“Love is-” His fury faltered when his eyes clashed with hers. “It’s just- It's a lot of things,” he concluded. “But it isnotsettling.”

A myriad of questions swirled inside Penelope’s mind.

Where did those tender assertions come from? How was it possible for someone to be a rake while clinging to such naive notions of love and attachment? How much of this was just his illness talking?

In the end, Penelope won the battle against her curiosity and decided against asking any of them.

“You’re right, Your Grace,” she acquiesced with a nod. “And of course, whowouldn’twant to be loved as you say? But given the circumstances, I would be perfectly all right in a more... cordial—less romantic—marriage.”

“Aren’t you certain that Gloushire loves you?” The concerned inquiry hung in the air.

“I... honestly don’t know.” Penelope flashed him a weak smile, “But I also want to be careful that I’m not expecting too much of him. After all, it hasn’t even been two months since we started courting.”

He gave her an understanding nod. “But he treats you well, yes?”

“He's a perfect gentleman.” She nodded in return.

The duke exhaled what appeared to be a sigh of relief, warming Penelope’s heart that he had been so concerned for her despite it all.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “If he ever, erm...” he cleared his throat, “If he ever hurts you, be sure to tell me, all right?”

“I will,” Penelope promised. “But I don’t think he would. He isn’t exactly the adventurous type.”

“Even so, make sure you’re always careful,” he warned her regardless. “Don’t you remember Fernside from the Sunbournes’ ball? It isn't uncommon for the timid ones to turn out to be some of the biggest troublemakers.”

“Yes, but Lord Gloushire has the advantage of being somewhat older. He's got the adventure and mischief out of his system by now.”

His Grace placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt. “I beg your pardon? I’ll have you know that he’s only about five or six years older than me, but you’re making him sound like some kind of tired old man.”

Penelope laughed along, the long-forgotten book shaking in her lap as she did so. “I meant in comparison to Lord Fernside, who I believe is around my age, which would make him about ten years Lord Gloushire’s junior.”

She stifled a yawn before continuing, “Besides, one can hardly blame Lord Gloushire for being a bit worn out. By your age, he was already married and had a daughter. While you on the other hand...” her voice trailed off teasingly.

“Just because your own marriage is imminent doesn’t give you the right to heartlessly bully the rest of us lonely souls,” he tutted, pretending to be hurt once again.

“But didn’t you say you never wanted to get married at all?” she reminded him. “You said you didn't want to get hurt.”

“That is still true.” He pursed his lips, falling onto his back against the bed. “But it’s only natural for one’s mind to sometimes wander to scenarios—no matter how incredulous or impossible they might seem.”

“So, you’ve imagined yourself married then?” Penelope asked, propping her head up with her elbows as she leaned forward on her lap.

“Many times,” the duke sighed lazily, eyes towards the ceiling. “And then I thank Providence that I’m not because otherwise, I would only end up spoiling her.”

“Is that so?” Penelope raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “So I take it that you wouldn’t torment her the way you tease and torment me, then?”

“I’d torment her double.” He tilted his head to face her, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Then I’d have an excuse to make it up to her and smother her in everything she could ever ask for.”

“Perhaps youshouldget married, after all, Your Grace.” Penelope smiled. “Because that sounds absolutely wonderful.”

“Do you know what else I’d do?” he asked, his voice airy, his gaze direct and unyielding.

“What else, Your Grace?” her voice taking on the same breathless quality.

“I would make sure she knew everything.” He raised a hand to run through his hair as he clarified. “I would spend every waking moment telling her—showing her—exactly how much she deserves, exactly what she does to me, exactly how terrified I’d be to ever lose her. On my life, there wouldn’t be an ounce of doubt left in that beautiful mind of hers.”

Penelope faltered under the steadiness of his gaze, unsure why it was causing her cheeks to flush a deep red and her knees to buckle beneath her—thankfully, however, she was sitting so he hopefully wouldn’t have noticed.

Penelope mustered the little strength she had left to say, “Your wife would have been a very fortunate woman, Your Grace.”

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