What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

As he returned to the sofa, Richard studied Cam. “That must have rankled.”

Cam nodded before he thought better of it. He rushed into the rest of his story. “We pretended we were married and avoided places where anyone might recognize us.”

“Until?” Jonas asked.

“Until the ship went down, I imagine,” Richard said. “Good God, Cam, talk about destiny taking a hand.”

“Pen wore the Rothermere signet. The people who fished us out assumed we were married. There was no way to keep the story quiet.”

“So no passion-fueled wedding in an Italian chapel?” Jonas asked.

“No.” Cam resented Jonas’s amused superiority.

“No wonder you didn’t wait to invite us to the wedding. I must admit to being rather… piqued.” He paused. “I worried you’d taken our last discussion to heart.”

Cam’s laugh held no humor. “I was ready to shove your ill-considered opinions down your gullet. But not enough that in normal circumstances, I’d neglect to ask you to my wedding.”

“That’s good to know,” Jonas said without a trace of irony. “I’m not so flush with people I trust that I can afford to lose one.”

Cam’s resentment faded. And his jealousy. Jonas had eyes for only one woman, and it wasn’t Penelope Rothermere. “You spoke with good intentions—and your usual need to run the show.”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” Richard laughed and drained his glass. “Life has been adventurous lately, my friend.”

“Indeed.” Cam finished his own brandy.

Richard was his friend. So was Jonas. After the recent hiccups, he was relieved that the bonds they’d formed at Eton hadn’t weakened.

It was time to return to Pen. Especially if Jonas was right about her becoming a focus for male attention.

Chapter Thirty-One

After the Matlock ball, Pen waited in Rothermere House’s hall while the footman took her cloak. Cam glanced back at her from the doorway to his library.

She was always aware of his arresting male beauty, but something about the way the chandelier cast a sheen across his black hair and set his green eyes gleaming made her heart swoop. She became briefly the innocent girl who had pined after him, instead of the woman of twenty-eight who knew his body better than her own.

Especially after last night.

Anticipation sparked at the prospect of testing his resolve again. All day, their battle had been in abeyance, but his intent expression now hinted that he too contemplated pleasure.

Her eyelashes flickered down, not altogether with shyness. Guilt itched like ants crawling over her skin. In the ball’s retiring room, she’d passed Sophie a message from Harry. A message whose contents marked Pen a conspirator against her husband’s wishes.

The marble statues lining the hall stared down in disapproval. She hated those cold, white Romans with their supercilious expressions to rival Cam at his most ducal.

“Will that be all, Your Grace?” the footman asked.

“Thank you, Thomas,” Cam answered. “Her Grace and I will have a brandy in the library before we go upstairs. You may finish for the night.”

“Good night, Your Grace.” The young man bowed and left.

Surprised, Pen turned to Cam. “Ladies don’t drink brandy.”

“You do.” He paused. “Or at least you did.”

“I wasn’t a duchess then.”

Weariness bracketed his mouth. Weariness or irritation. “Pen, if you want a brandy, bloody well have a brandy.”

On the way home, she’d wondered whether she’d displeased him. He’d been quiet and he hadn’t touched her. His bristling tension had convinced her to keep her distance. “I don’t understand you, Cam.”