The Duke's Forbidden Love (Book 4, Age of Innocence)

by Debra Elizabeth

  “Whoa, boy. We’ll be home soon,” he said as he grabbed the reins. He gently laid the woman across his horse and vaulted into the saddle, then pulled her onto his lap, his arm around her middle to keep her from falling, and galloped for home.

  Tom came running out of the stables when he heard the pounding of hooves. His look of surprise rooted him in place.

  “Tom, help me,” Warwick yelled.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Tom said, rushing to Mercury’s side.

  Warwick let the woman slide down the horse’s side into Tom’s waiting arms before jumping off the stallion. “I’ll take her.” Tom passed the young woman into Warwick’s arms, and the duke hurried to the front door.

  Gresham opened the door wide as Warwick carried the young woman inside. “Your Grace?”

  “Have Mrs. Spencer come to my study,” Warwick said as he strode down the hallway. “And send for Dr. Winston.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Right away.”

  Warwick lowered the young woman onto the leather settee in his study. He lifted strands of wet hair from her face, trying to find the site of the bleeding. When he gently removed her bonnet and turned her face to the side, he saw the nasty gash near her temple, which ran down toward her cheek. He pulled his cravat off and pressed the linen against the wound.

  Mrs. Spencer came rushing into the room. “Your Grace, Gresham said you needed—oh my goodness. Who is she?”

  “I don’t know. I saw her fall into the ravine after a bolt of lightning struck the road near her.”

  “I shall return in a moment with warm water to clean the wound,” the housekeeper said.

  While Warwick waited for Mrs. Spencer, he wondered who this young woman was. He was sure he’d never met her before. Even soaked to the skin, she was strikingly beautiful, with delicate features and perfect rosebud lips. She was not wearing servant’s clothing. Her dress was plain, but finely woven, so what was she doing walking alone down a little-used road?

  Within moments, Mrs. Spencer came back with bandages and warm water. “Your Grace, shall I clean her wound?”

  “Yes, of course,” Warwick said, standing and letting the housekeeper see to their unconscious visitor. He shrugged out of his soaked greatcoat and hat.

  “This is a nasty gash, which will require stitching. And if we don’t get her out of these wet clothes, she may die of a fever.”

  “Have one of the maids set a fire in the yellow bedchamber,” Warwick said, then scooped the young woman into his arms again and strode from his office. He raced up the stairs and into the yellow bedchamber, where he gently laid her down on the bed.

  Mrs. Spencer was right behind him with the water and bandages. “Your Grace, I’ll take care of her now.”

  Warwick was reluctant to leave the room, but he couldn’t very well stay while his housekeeper undressed the unconscious woman. He had no idea why he was so invested in her wellbeing. He did not know her, for certainly he would not forget such a beauty if they’d been introduced. He left the room, closing the door behind him. He was pacing in the hallway when one of the maids rushed past him, giving him a quick curtsy before entering the bedchamber.

  It seemed an age before Dr. Winston arrived. Warwick was still pacing the hallway. “Warwick, I was told there was an emergency here.”

  Warwick nodded. He pointed to the chamber door. “I found a young woman out on the road who was startled by the lightning and tumbled into the ravine. She has a nasty gash on her temple.”

  Dr. Winston knocked on the door before entering. Warwick wanted to follow him in, but the door closed behind the doctor. He resumed his pacing while waiting for the doctor’s report. Who was she? And what was she doing walking alone in such a storm?

  The doctor finally emerged nearly a half-hour later. “I’ve stitched up the wound and given her laudanum to help her sleep. It’s quite a nasty cut and will most likely leave a scar.”

  “Will she live?” Warwick asked.

  “It all depends on whether she develops a fever or not. No one should have been out in this horrid weather. Do you know who she is?”

  Warwick shook his head. “I thought perhaps you’d have a clue to her identity. Is she from the village?”

  “No. I’ve never seen her in Ipswich before and I know most of the villagers. I wish I could offer you more.”

  Warwick nodded. “I had hoped you knew her.”

  “Unfortunately, there’s nothing more I can do at the moment. Have someone sit with her through the night. I’ll be back to check on her in the morning. If she worsens at all, send for me.”

  “Thank you,” Warwick said, then entered the chamber. He pulled a chair from the dressing table and dragged it over beside the bed. “I’ll sit with her.”

  “Your Grace, you must change out of those wet clothes or else we’ll have two patients for Dr. Winston to tend to,” Mrs. Spencer said. “I’ll stay with her until you return.”

  Warwick reluctantly agreed. “I’ll return shortly.”

  MRS. SPENCER CONTINUED TO pat dry the young woman’s hair. She’d pulled a night rail from the armoire, saying a silent prayer to the late duchess for having essentials available for guests. The gray dress was in a heap beside the bed. She would have one of the maids shake it out and hang it to dry.

  She pulled the night rail over the young woman’s head and smoothed it down her body. “You poor dear. Who are you, and more importantly, who are you running from?” she whispered.

  Mrs. Spencer had shared her opinion with Dr. Winston—she thought the young woman was fleeing from something or someone. She wore a dress and cape of quality, but had nothing else with her except a few shillings. As Mrs. Spencer had peeled the clothes from her body, she was shocked at the bruises she found. Cruel fingers had left nasty purple bruises on the delicate skin of her elbow, and her slender waist showed not only fresh bruises, but older ones in yellows and greens as well.

  Someone was hurting her, but who would do such a thing? Was there no one to protect her from this evil abuser?

  Mrs. Spencer sighed. There was nothing more to do now. They would have to wait until the young woman woke up and told them who she was and, more importantly, who was hurting her. She was sure Warwick would help. He had the most generous spirit of any man she’d ever known.

  Now it was a waiting game. She sat in the chair beside the bed and prayed that their guest would wake soon.

  Chapter 5

  WARWICK RAN HIS HAND THROUGH his hair as he gazed down at the young woman lying in the bed. She had not stirred at all since he found her yesterday, and a deathly silence reigned in the room.

  She looked so small in the bed. Who was she? Why was she in the area? Was she on her way to the village? Her clothes were quality and he was sure she wasn’t a servant, so why was she out alone? Against his better judgment, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. It was small and dainty and easily fit within his. A small crack appeared in the armor around his heart. “Why were you out in such a storm? Please wake and tell me who you are so I may help you,” he whispered.

  A knock on the door had him sitting up straight and releasing her hand. “Come.”

  Mrs. Spencer walked in carrying a bowl of water. “Your Grace, I’ll sit with her. I’ve brought fresh water to cool her. Cook has prepared a tray for you in your study.” She put the bowl on the table beside the bed. “Has her fever broken?”

  Warwick shook his head. “Not yet,” he said, standing. “I shall return shortly. Call me immediately if there’s any change.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  SHE STIRRED, HER EYES fluttering open. Sunlight streamed into the room from a gap in the drapes and fell across the bedcovers. Where was she? She tried to move her head, but a sharp pain made her gasp for breath.

  “Don’t try to move. You’ve got a nasty gash on your temple,” came a deep baritone v
oice. It soothed her momentary panic, although she could not understand why. She did not recognize the voice.

  “Where am I?” she croaked out.

  “Blythe Castle.”

  As her eyes focused, a handsome man came into view. His dark hair was tousled, like he’d been raking his hand through it, while expressive gray eyes watched her intently. He was dressed only in shirtsleeves, and she could not help but admire his broad shoulders, which tapered to a trim waist. “Who are you?”

  “The Duke of Warwick, at your service. I’ve been waiting for two days to ask you that exact question. And what were you doing out in that horrid storm?”

  She closed her eyes, trying to remember. To her horror, she found that her memory was blank; not even a shred remained of the how and why she came to be there. Why couldn’t she remember? “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself now. Can you at least tell me your name?”

  Again she closed her eyes, but no memories came forth. “I cannot.”

  Warwick frowned. “If I’m to help you return home, I must at least know your name.”

  Tears leaked out of her eyes. “I wish I knew,” she whispered.

  After a soft knock on the door, another man walked into the room. “How’s the patient today?”

  “She is awake but claims to have no memory,” Warwick said. “What do you make of that?”

  The man who’d just come in was medium height, with light-brown hair and kind brown eyes. “Good day, miss. I’m Dr. Winston. You suffered a terrible blow to the head when you fell into the ravine. It could account for your memory loss. It’s a good sign you’re awake now; we were beginning to worry. May I check your bandages?” he asked, walking to the bed.

  She pulled the sheet up to her chin. They’d shown her nothing but kindness—why was she so terrified? She had no idea, and that frightened her even more.

  “How foolish of me. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable with another woman in the room?” Warwick asked.

  She nodded.

  Warwick left the room and returned with a kindly-looking older woman moments later.

  The woman came to her bedside. “No need to fret, my dear. I’m Mrs. Spencer, the housekeeper. These gentlemen are honorable and won’t hurt you. I’ll hold your hand while the doctor checks your wound. Will that do?”

  She nodded again.

  “I promise to be gentle,” Dr. Winston said. “I need to check the stitches to make sure they’re not festering. May I?”

  The doctor had a careworn face and talked to her in a soothing voice, but she was still reluctant to trust him. It would seem she had no choice—she was hurt and needed help. She squeezed Mrs. Spencer’s hand and tried not to wince as the doctor unwound the bandage from around her head. Once the bandage was gone, he gently prodded the wound.

  “You’re frowning, doctor. Is something wrong?” she asked.

  Dr. Winston smiled at her. “I do apologize, miss. There’s no need for concern. I’m told I have a tendency to frown when I’m concentrating. The stitches are healing well, and there’s no sign of infection. I’m pleased to see that.”

  “Why can’t I remember my name?”

  Dr. Winston began to wind clean bandages around her head. “Sometimes, memory loss happens after a head injury, but that doesn’t mean your memory won’t come back. It may start slowly, little things reminding you of something from your past. Try not to worry about it overmuch. I need to check your arm as well.”

  “My arm?”

  “Yes. It will only take a moment,” he said, pushing up the sleeve of her night rail.

  She was shocked to see purple bruises just above her elbow. Were they from the fall as well? Her head was pounding and it could be why she did not notice the tenderness in her arm.

  “You’re healing well. I shall return again tomorrow. I suggest as much rest as possible for now; try not to overtax yourself.”

  She pulled the covers back up to her chin. The doctor hadn’t hurt her, but she felt exposed nonetheless.

  Warwick stepped forward. “Thank you, Dr. Winston. I’ll see you out.”

  The doctor nodded and followed Warwick out of the room.

  “What do you make of those bruises?” Warwick asked once they were in the hallway.

  Dr. Winston rubbed his chin. He’d been a doctor for more than twenty years and knew exactly what the bruises meant. “I hate to believe it, but someone has been abusing her. The bruises are consistent with being held too tightly, like in a vice grip. There are also bruises along her waist, not more than a few days old.”

  Warwick started to pace as waves of anger assaulted him. “It’s unacceptable for anyone to hurt her, or any woman for that matter,” he growled.

  “Unfortunately, I’ve seen too many of these types of cases, especially at the hands of disgruntled husbands and fathers. Too many woman have no protection against such abuse.”

  “Any idea when she may recover her memory and tell us who this scoundrel is?” he asked. “I have a mind to thrash him. Let him endure some of the pain he’s inflicted on her.”

  Dr. Winston shook his head. “As I told the young lady, there’s no way to tell how long it will be before she remembers anything. Sometimes it takes days or months. Sometimes it never happens. From everything you told me about how you found her, it could be that she was running from her abuser. It would take a brave woman indeed to escape such a situation.”

  Warwick stopped pacing and stared at the doctor, trying to comprehend how evil someone would have to be to do her such harm. His hands clenched into fists. “I hardly know what to say, except that if I ever find out who has done this to her, they will feel my full wrath.”

  “Obviously, the young lady does not remember what happened, and I think it best not to enlighten her at this time. I see no purpose until her memory returns and she can tell us who’s been hurting her.”

  Warwick nodded. “Of course. That makes sense.”

  “MY DEAR, I’LL RETURN shortly,” Mrs. Spencer said. “Try to rest.”

  When the door closed behind Mrs. Spencer, she sank back into the pillows, not sure she could follow the doctor’s orders to relax. How could she when she didn’t know her name or where she came from? Was someone looking for her? How did she get here? She glanced at the ring finger of her left hand and was somewhat relieved to see that she wore no wedding ring. She assumed she wasn’t married, but did that mean no one would care about her welfare? She’d been here two days, according to Warwick. How long would it be before someone came looking for her? As hard as she tried to stop them, tears leaked out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. The yawning emptiness inside her where her memory should be was overwhelming, filling her with wordless terror.

  Mrs. Spencer came bustling back into the room carrying a tray. “I thought you’d enjoy some tea and broth.” She put the tray on the table and turned toward the bed. “Oh dear, please don’t cry. No one will hurt you here.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the tears.

  “Thank you. You’re very kind. May I ask a favor?”

  “Of course, dear. What do you need?”

  Color flooded her cheeks. “I need to use the necessary,” she whispered.

  Mrs. Spencer nodded and pulled back the covers. “Let’s have you sit up first and see how you feel,” she said, helping her into a sitting position.

  Dizziness threatened to overwhelm her, and she nearly fell back on the bed, but Mrs. Spencer’s strong arms held her in place. “Give yourself a minute or two to steady. You’ve been in bed for two days, and you’re weak.”

  “I’m better now,” she said after a few moments.

  Mrs. Spencer put her arm around her waist, and she struggled to hide her wince. Was she bruised there too? “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” Mrs. Spencer said as she helped her stand. “Slowly now. I’ll help y
ou behind the screen. Do you need help using the chamber pot?”

  She shook her head. “No. I can manage.”

  After a few moments, Mrs. Spencer helped her back to bed. “Would you like your tea?”

  “That sounds delightful. Thank you.” She was relishing her tea when Warwick came striding back into the room. Even without her memory, she thought he had to be the most handsome man she’d ever seen. With his muscular arms and strong thighs, he could rival Michelangelo’s David in his male perfection. She gave herself a mental shake and lowered her eyes. She shouldn’t be gazing so intently upon this stranger. She knew nothing about him and wasn’t sure if she wholly trusted him yet.

  “I glad to see you sitting up,” Warwick said.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace. How did I get here?”

  Warwick took a seat beside her bed. “I was riding home through a terrible storm when I saw you walking along the road. Before I could come near you, a bolt of lightning struck nearby and you took a nasty tumble down into the ravine. It was lucky I was there; otherwise, I’m not sure how long it would have been until you were found.”

  Mrs. Spencer cleared her throat. “Your Grace, I’ll sit with our guest for a bit. You’ve been attending her for two days now, and I’m sure you have things to do.”

  Warwick looked at Mrs. Spencer a long moment before nodding. “I shall see you later, miss.” He lingered a few moments longer before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

  “You’ll not find a kinder man than his grace,” Mrs. Spencer said, taking a seat in the chair Warwick had vacated.

  “Have you been with him long?”

  “Yes. I’ve been here at Blythe Castle since he was in leading strings.”

  She finished her tea, and Mrs. Spencer took the cup and saucer. “Would you like some broth, dear?”