What a Duke Dares Read Online Free PDF Page B

shutters.
    Sarcasm tinged his response. “That was apparent when I arrived.”
    The tilt of her chin lacked defiance. “That’s never happened before.”
    Any fool could see that she was near breaking. “I just wanted to say that we’ll go on together.”
    He knew he’d said the wrong thing the moment the words left his mouth. Her eyes flashed with anger. It was an improvement on dumb grief. “Still giving orders, I see, Your Grace.”
    “Don’t cross me on this, Pen,” he said steadily.
    She cast him a look of pure dislike. “Go away, Cam.”

Chapter Three

    T he problem with small inns in the back of beyond was that one had a devil of a job finding somewhere private to observe comings and goings. Particularly during an ice storm of Biblical proportions.
    Even after weeks of rough lodgings, this shabby inn was the worst Cam had encountered. He was reluctant to intrude upon Pen’s grief. But nor did he want to sit outside in the snow, turning into an icicle. He couldn’t retreat upstairs to his room for fear that the bandits might return. The villagers had rallied, but he couldn’t entrust Pen’s safety to people he didn’t know.
    Now he roamed the rooms like a lost dog, hungry and cold and unaccountably depressed by his reaction to Pen. And by her unenthusiastic reaction to him.
    When she finally appeared, Cam was in the kitchen, suffering a glass of the pungent local red. The landlord’s wife cooked dinner and the savory smell made Cam’s stomach grumble. Confounding malefactors gave a man a powerful appetite.
    “Good evening, Pen,” he said evenly, standing. “Would you like some wine?”
    “Perhaps later,” she said without venturing inside.
    She’d tucked her torn bodice into the neck of her shift. It reminded him, should he need reminding, that she’d faced down violence. It also reminded him, sod it, of her sweetly curved body. This continual, itching awareness of Penelope Thorne was tiresome. It wasn’t the response he’d expected—or wanted. “Are you looking for me?”
    “I want Maria. I’d like to wash and change.” Her tone was almost as frigid as the weather.
    “If you aren’t using the taproom, let’s bring our guardians inside for a meal. It’s a perishing night.”
    “ Noblesse oblige , Cam?”
    He tried not to prickle under her mockery. Care for those who served him was bred into him. “If you wish to put it like that.”
    “Poverina, poverina.” Their landlady abandoned the stove and bustled forward to place her arms around Pen. Pen sagged against her substantial bosom and Cam caught unguarded vulnerability in her expression.
    No wonder she’d skulked in the doorway. She’d made a valiant effort to hide her grief, but he immediately saw her red eyes and spiky eyelashes. While he’d cursed the inconvenience, she’d been crying her heart out. He felt like a rat.
    He watched, admiring her strength, as she gathered herself and straightened, towering over the dumpy, gray-haired woman. Their landlady gently led Pen to the table. Within moments a glass of wine and a bowl of steaming soup sat before her.
    “ Grazie .” Pen’s thanks were husky. She stared at the meal as if expecting poison.
    “Eat it while it’s hot.” Cam cut her a slice from the hearty loaf in the center of the table.
    Pen dipped her spoon in but nothing more. “Isn’t eating in the kitchen beneath the superb Camden Rothermere?”
    “Stop trying to skewer me. You’re giving me indigestion.” Despite her bristling hostility, he touched her hand. The contact shivered through him, even as he told himself he offered comfort. “Eat, Pen. It will work out.”
    “To your advantage, you think.”
    Silence fell, thick with animosity. Such a pity. He and Pen had always got along famously. Until he’d proposed.
    “I’m sorry about Peter,” he said quietly. He spoke in English to create some privacy. Around them, the business of the inn continued with maids carrying trays to the taproom.
    “So am