Hunted(20)

His thighs were trembling, he verified—hard.

Calmly, she stuffed his cock back in his pants and pulled the zipper up. He was incredibly impressed at her ability to move and think, let alone function at all.

He felt like a zombie. Standing like a wobbling statue of a man.

What was his name again?

He’d just been sucked dry by a vacuum and might keel over and die now.

The door jiggled as it was unlocked. People were shouting outside, charged up about the secret invaders hiding in the study.

A tinny of sound, a high-pitched frequency, resonated in his ear. It made all other noise sound as though it came from the long end of a narrow tunnel; far, far away.

Penelope didn’t stand from her kneeling position though she had time to. Instead, she looked up at him—and winked.

The door flew open hard enough to crack the wooden frame.

“What on Earth!” exclaimed the butler as he stormed into the room, then froze. His face paled. He first took in Ryon, recognition settling in, then to the back of the woman kneeling before him. A flush came over him. He surmised the situation fairly well.

Penelope spoke over her shoulder, but didn’t turn to reveal her face. She spoke using a false-girly voice, nothing like her own deeper, husky tone. “I’m sorry about all this. I was just giving the general a special thank you for all he’s done.”

The butler sputtered something of an apology and quickly backed up. The door slammed shut behind him. The crowd outside was hushed and escorted away.

“I think you scared him away,” Ryon said.

Penelope went to grab a towel from the attached bathroom to clean herself off. He didn’t want her to. He wanted her to keep wearing his seed. Such brutish thoughts she made him have. He smiled and she noticed it.

“How disappointing for them.” She smiled back. “I suppose I don’t have to ask what you’re smiling about.”

He laughed. “I don’t think you do.”

“Well, I do have to be going. Enjoy your speech. General.” She ducked out of the door.

By time he made sure his clothes were straight, she had disappeared altogether. Little devil. He didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.





Chapter 7





Duke Patrick of the House of Gaines watched General Ryon Amadeus steal away with the ballet dancer. The woman he intended to claim. Penelope Farris was her name. He knew her name well now, knew much about her. He had not only his personal accounts from his visits to the club, but from the investigators he’d paid to spy on her.

He knew she loved her sisters dearly but that all of them were rather secretive. They didn’t divulge all the mysteries in their lives as some sisters did. He found that particularly interesting about the dancing beauty.

She’d first stolen his eye six months ago when he’d finally broken down and went to Prima Donna’s to attend a show. It seemed he couldn’t go anywhere without hearing someone baying about the ballet hall with its fine dancers.

“Such graceful lines!”

“Such poise!” the aristocracy gushed.

They said the shows were outstanding and the music refreshing and lively. As Duke of Gaines House, his entertainment ran far more expensive—and dangerous, generally. He much preferred wild boar game hunting, duels with steel blades, and connivery. Oh, but that was his favorite. It filled him with feeling of wicked glee. It was quite pleasant and, as natural with all good things, he only wanted to do it more.

But watching General Ward steal Penelope away from the party did not sit well with him. How dare he? Ryon Ward may not realize it yet, but Penelope was his. He tamped down the anger that swelled—that always swelled.

Patrick never had been great at controlling his temper. His first natural inclination was usually to lash out, much as his father had at him growing up. Shoving his hand in his jacket pocket, he tightened a fist to ease the tensions.

Something unexpected happened then.

A flash of bright burgundy hair. A familiar figure. The king’s attending date tonight had just passed him close enough that he’d caught the scent of her rosy perfume. He spun on his heel as casually as any and strolled after the beauty. She was perfectly formed; tall for a woman but not so tall as to intimidate a man. She had a small waist that flared out to ripe, round hips, breasts ripe and small. She had a trim figure which she showed off well. The enticing blue gown she wore with matching top hat was wrapped with strands of white and blue lace that flowed behind her scurrying form.

He knew her form well, not from his cursory glance at her figure, but because he’d seen her wearing far less.

Lysse Karmine, an incredible beauty, whose sights were aimed as high as Patrick’s, if not higher, in her bid to marry the king. Unfortunately for her, a peasant, no matter how lovely, will always be just a peasant.