Page 28 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“You were told to stay with the group.” She kept her voice low, but gentle, because while she was worried, she had always known his eagerness would get the better of him. She just had to get a soft word across. “Not near the group. Not within sight of the group. With the group. Do you understand what can happen in those woods? A stray shot, a startled horse… the ground alone is uneven enough to make you fall.”

“But the Duke was there,” Nicholas said, his chin lifting. “He found me. He kept me safe.”

“I am not discussing the Duke.” She held his gaze. “I am discussing your decision. Which was a poor one, and one that frightened me.”

He held her look for a moment, jaw set with a stubbornness she couldn’t identify. Then his shoulders slumped.

“Yes, Mama,” he said. “I am really sorry.”

“Thank you.” She smoothed the lapel of his jacket, her touch softening. “We will speak more about this at home.”

He nodded. A pause. “But the shot was really something.”

“Nicholas.”

“All right, I am finished, completely finished!”

She bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile. She was still composing herself when she heard the voice.

“Lady Romwich. Nicholas,” a man greeted from behind.

The warmth in it was careful and deliberate, laid on like paint over something harder underneath. She felt Nicholas go rigid beside her before she had fully turned.

Charles stood several feet back, hands clasped loosely behind him. His afternoon coat was immaculate. Not a speck of mud. Not a pulled thread. His cravat was as crisp as it had been at ten that morning, and his boots held no trace of the woodland floor.

It was as though he had not joined the hunting party at all.

“What a morning,” he said haughtily. “I managed a couple of shots myself in the second wood. Nearly had a fine one.”

Nicholas said nothing. He looked at Charles like a cat examining a mouse not worth pursuing.

“The second wood?” Nicholas’s voice was light, almost pleasant. “I was in the second wood the whole second hour. I did not see you anywhere.”

Charles’s smile held its shape, but his eyes remained cold. “You wouldn’t have, Nic. I was working a different line. Further in.”

“His name is Nicholas,” Penelope said insistently. Charles merely gave her a tight smile, but Nicholas stepped forward.

“Lord Chelworth said your horse was slow.” Nicholas looked up at him with unnervingly clear eyes. “He said you turned back before the first hour was through.”

A heavy silence dropped between them.

Charles’s gaze moved to her son and the warmth in it went thin. Not gone entirely, but thin enough that the outline of something colder showed through.

Penelope pressed her fingers into Nicholas’s shoulder. A firm, final warning.

Charles looked from Nicholas to Penelope, and the warmth rebuilt itself with practiced ease.

“Children hear all manner of things,” he said pleasantly.

“They do,” Penelope agreed, her voice like glass.

Charles advanced, narrowing the space until he was just within her personal circle.

“I was hoping that I might receive an invitation to Romwich Hall soon. As you know, I have been in the area a fortnight. It would do him good to spend time with me. A boy needs a father figure now and then.”

“I shall write when the calendar allows,” Penelope said. “I do believe I have mentioned this before.”

Charles’ eyes came back to hers. He held them one beat too long, his gaze traveling from her mouth to her throat. “I look forward to it.”