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

by Debra Elizabeth

  When that day came and went, it didn’t take long for gossip to spread through the ton like wildfire. Once it began, there was no stopping it, and soon, it took on a life of its own. No one was surprised when it became the juiciest scandal of the Season and showed no sign of slowing.

  Amelia Beckwith would rather disappear than marry the Earl of Lincoln.

  Is marriage to the Earl of Lincoln such a scary prospect?

  Even Lincoln’s wealth and title couldn’t tempt her.

  Has Lincoln lost his mind over being jilted?

  Who will marry him now?

  He tried to ignore the gossip, but with each new rumor, his planned punishments for Amelia multiplied tenfold. He vowed to make her regret ever crossing him and turning him into a target for gossip. He still planned to marry the chit—that is, when he found her—his reasoning hadn’t changed on that score. She was the prettiest this Season, and he wasn’t about to invest any more time and energy into finding another chit to marry. He vowed that Amelia Beckwith would be his wife and that was all there was to it.

  A knock on the study door drew his attention. “Come.”

  The door opened, and the Bow Street Runner he’d hired to find his wayward bride walked in. The man’s appearance was non-descript: medium height, medium build, clothing in shades of black and gray—perfect for blending in while he gathered information.

  “Have you found her?” Lincoln asked with no preamble.

  The Runner shook his head. “No, my lord. I’ve tracked her to the Two Swans Inn. The hackney driver remembers dropping her off there, but no one at the inn took notice of her. There’s no way to track her following movements without some idea which mail coach she boarded.”

  “Someone must have seen her. Keep questioning everyone until you find a lead,” Lincoln said.

  “Of course, my lord,” the Runner said. He turned on his heel and quickly left Lincoln’s study.

  “Damn her!” Lincoln roared, picking up his glass of brandy and throwing it against the fireplace. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces—the perfect analogy for his life at present.

  Too many mail coaches stopped at the Two Swans Inn for the Runner to be able to track Amelia’s whereabouts easily. Lincoln almost admired the chit for her cleverness.

  Almost.

  Until there was another sighting of her, the Bow Street Runner was unlikely to meet with any success in locating her. He didn’t care how long it took to find Amelia; he would keep the search going. She wouldn’t escape him, and when he found her, she would rue the day she ever defied him.

  Lincoln’s mind was churning with ever-growing punishments for Amelia as he continued to pace his study. Of course there could be no outward marks or bruises for anyone to see. He would install her in his country manor, where there would be no visitors, no letters in or out, and no unescorted walks on the property. He would control her every movement. His servants were loyal to him and would report everything Amelia did and anyone she tried to talk to. But first, he had to find her.

  He was determined to make Amelia his wife, and he looked forward to the day he broke that rebellious streak of hers. He’d broken many difficult horses with a crop, and Amelia would feel its sting over and over. When he finished with her, she’d lick his boots if he commanded her to. She would pay for her defiance every day until she gave him an heir and a spare. Maybe by then, his rage would have cooled.

  Maybe.

  Maybe not, especially with all the trouble and embarrassment she’d caused him.

  “You will not escape me, Amelia. Mark my words. I will find you.”

  THREE DAYS LATER, WARWICK stood near the fireplace in the parlor, talking with his sister’s husband, George, the Earl of Fulton. “It’s good of you to come, Fulton. I know you have estate business of your own to take care of.”

  Fulton nodded. He was nearly as tall as Warwick, with light-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a strong jaw, and his broad shoulders filled out his jacket to perfection. “Of course. Meredith’s note said she would be here for a fortnight or more. Wherever my wife is, I shall be as well.” He slid a heated gaze to Meredith, love clearly written on his face. “She’s told me of your house guest, but I have not had the pleasure of an introduction. Will she be joining us for dinner this evening?”

  “She seemed better when I visited her earlier today, so I hope she will feel strong enough to come downstairs.”

  As if Warwick’s words had conjured her, Clara stepped through the doorway wearing a light-pink silk dress that complemented her complexion to perfection. The simplicity of the design, with only a white ribbon under her breasts, enhanced her natural beauty. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a simple chignon, and her green eyes shone bright. The only thing that marred her beautiful face was the bandage wrapped around her head.

  Warwick walked toward her, and she took a moment to admire his attire—a black superfine jacket, silver waistcoat, and superbly tied white cravat.

  “Are you feeling well this evening, Lady Clara?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a curtsey.

  “You look lovely.” He extended his arm, and when she placed her hand on his sleeve, a delightful shiver raced up her arm. She had no way of knowing if that had ever happened to her before with other gentlemen, but she wouldn’t worry about it tonight. She wanted to enjoy the duke’s company.

  Meredith linked her arm with her husband’s and pulled him forward. “Lady Clara, may I make known to you my husband, George Kent, the Earl of Fulton.”

  Clara curtseyed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.”

  Fulton bowed. “I’m most pleased to meet you, Lady Clara, but there’s no need to be so formal. Please call me Fulton.”

  “Would you care for a glass of sherry or claret?” Warwick asked as he led her to the settee.

  “Claret would be lovely. Thank you,” she said, taking a seat.

  “Meredith, Fulton, may I pour you one as well?”

  When they both nodded, Warwick grabbed four glasses and the decanter and brought them over to the low table in front of the settee.

  “I’m so pleased you accepted the dresses I sent to your chamber. You look lovely this evening,” Meredith said.

  Clara smoothed her hands down the gown. “This is such a lovely dress, and I can’t thank you enough for your generosity.”

  “No thanks necessary. It’s my pleasure.”

  Warwick poured four glasses of claret and handed each of them a glass.

  Clara took a tentative sip, unsure if she even liked claret. She had no idea why she’d asked for a glass—her answer had popped out of her mouth before she could think about it. Evidently her subconscious knew her palate well. As she sipped, she couldn’t help but wonder what to expect at dinner. The topics she could participate in were severely limited by her memory loss. Would the meal be awkward? Should she just remain quiet? It was her first time having dinner downstairs, and the last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself or Warwick, especially after all the kindness he had shown her thus far.

  Meredith whispered to her husband, who nodded. “We weren’t going to say anything yet, but tonight is the perfect time to tell you our happy news.”

  “News?” Warwick asked.

  “I am increasing,” she said, squeezing Fulton’s hand.

  Warwick nearly choked on his claret. “Pardon?”

  Meredith laughed. “Come now, Warwick. The news is not so unexpected, is it? We’ve been married for nearly a year now.”

  Warwick stood and shook Fulton’s hand. “I’m very pleased at your news and will relish being an uncle.” He hugged Meredith and kissed her cheek before taking his seat once more.

  “My congratulations to you both,” Clara said.

  “Thank you. We’re most pleased,” Meredith said. “We’ll welcome our child, and hopeful
ly Fulton’s heir, by late fall.”

  “Whether it be a boy or girl, it matters not to me,” Fulton said. “As long as you and the babe are healthy, I will be happy.”

  “You’re the best of men,” Meredith said, gazing lovingly into her husband’s eyes.

  Gresham walked in and announced dinner. Warwick extended his arm to Clara. “May I escort you in to dinner?”

  Clara smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  They walked into the dining room, and he pulled out the seat to his right for her. The delicious smells made her stomach grumble As it turned out, dinner was pleasant, even if Clara didn’t have much to add to the conversation.

  Warwick and Meredith shared some childhood memories, and Meredith was happy to share how she and Fulton met. “I wasn’t impressed when we were first introduced. You were so stiff,” she said.

  Fulton chuckled. “Rightly so, my dear. I was quite anxious to make your acquaintance, and by the time the introductions had been made, I was mostly tongue-tied.”

  It was Meredith’s turn to chuckle. “Seems there was something about you in the end, and after dancing the waltz in your arms, my opinion most assuredly changed.”

  Clara smiled and wondered if she would ever have the kind of love the Fultons’ enjoyed.

  When the meal was finished, Warwick asked, “Lady Clara, may I interest you in a walk in the garden?”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I’d like that very much.”

  Warwick flashed a brilliant smile full of straight white teeth, and her insides fluttered. He was more handsome than any man had a right to be, and Clara was glad of his attention this evening.

  “Would you care to join us?” she asked, turning to Meredith and Fulton.

  Meredith shook her head. “Thank you, no. I’m more tired these days, so I believe I shall retire early this evening. Enjoy the garden. If you’ll excuse me?”

  Fulton stood. “Allow me to attend you, my darling,” he said as he pulled out her chair and escorted her upstairs.

  “It appears that it will just be the two of us,” Warwick said as he led Clara out the French doors to the balcony and gardens beyond.

  The May evening was warm, and the moon cast bright beams across the space. The garden was lovely, and Clara inhaled the scent of freshly tilled earth as they walked along the path. She would make a point of visiting the garden during the daylight hours as well, now that she was feeling better. “It’s such a beautiful garden.”

  “My father designed it for my mother. With the roses in bloom, it reminds me of them and a happier time in my life.”

  Clara didn’t want to ask any prying questions. If he wanted to share more about his family with her, silence would prompt him more than anything else. She reached out and touched the velvety soft petals of a yellow rose just beginning to bloom.

  “Those were my mother’s favorite,” he said.

  “They’re truly beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you, Lady Clara.”

  Clara swung her gaze to Warwick. Had she heard him correctly? Had he called her beautiful? She wasn’t sure. His voice had been quite low, and she could have imagined the words. Not wanting to embarrass herself, she switched topics and looked skyward. “So many stars tonight. I can’t remember seeing them so clearly before.”

  Warwick stepped closer and caressed her cheek before brushing his lips against hers. “You are the brightest star of all, my dear. So very beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her again.

  Clara shivered at his nearness. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever been kissed before, but Warwick’s kiss was perfect and she longed for more—more closeness, more kisses, more Warwick.

  “Are you chilled?” he asked, shrugging out of his jacket and placing it on her shoulders.

  She pulled the jacket closer around her, relishing the warmth of him and inhaling the lingering sandalwood scent. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Forgive me,” he said, stepping back. “I should not have kissed you.”

  Clara stared into his lovely gray eyes, darkened with desire. “No apology necessary. I enjoyed the kisses very much.” Would he kiss her again? She wished he would, and she took a step closer.

  “Perhaps we should return to the parlor. I would not like you to catch a chill,” he said.

  Clara wanted to stay close to him, but nodded before taking one last look at the stars. She would always remember tonight whenever she gazed at the stars—the night the Duke of Warwick kissed her.

  What was happening to her? Was she developing feelings for the duke? She hadn’t known him very long, but a lot of time wasn’t necessary for her to realize he was a very special man. She wanted to know him better and explore these new feelings, but time was against her. Her wound was healing, and she had no idea how long she could expect to remain a guest at Blythe Castle. It was such a scary prospect, leaving the comfort of the castle, made doubly hard by the fact that her memory had not returned, not even a little bit.

  Warwick escorted her up the stairs to her bedchamber. “I wish you a good night, Lady Clara.”

  Clara slipped his jacket from her shoulders and handed it to him. “Thank you, Your Grace. Good night.” She waited a moment to see if he would kiss her again, but when he made no attempt, she opened the door and went inside.

  Gertie was in the room. “Did you enjoy dinner, Lady Clara?”

  Clara couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “It was lovely, Gertie. Just lovely.”

  Chapter 9

  LATER THAT EVENING, AFTER Gertie had left her, Clara snuggled into the soft pillows, replaying the scene in the garden with Warwick over and over in her mind. She wanted to believe that he’d called her beautiful, especially after he kissed her, not once but twice. She hadn’t known him long, and yet, she felt entirely comfortable with him now.

  “Don’t be foolish. The duke couldn’t possibly choose a woman with no idea who she is or where she comes from,” she said, chastising herself for thinking about him at all. Her life was unsettled and in shambles. She had no idea where she’d go or how she’d live once she fully recovered. It would be best not to dream of anything to do with the Duke of Warwick. However, as much as Clara tried not to think about Warwick’s intentions, she fell asleep thinking about the handsome duke and his delicious mouth.

  More than a week slipped by in a pleasant routine as Clara recovered her health. Meredith was great company, and she came to enjoy their interactions immensely.

  There was a knock on the door, and Meredith swept into her bedchamber. “I apologize for abandoning you this morning, but I wanted to go into the village.”

  “I would like to see the village when I’m recovered. Perhaps you would accompany me?”

  “I would love to,” Meredith said, handing Clara two boxes. “I saw these and thought they were perfect for you.”

  Clara’s eyes widened. “You bought me gifts? You’ve been so generous already; I cannot possibly accept anything more. How will I ever repay your kindness?”

  “Nonsense. Do not think on it.”

  Clara opened the small box and fingered the pair of tan kid gloves inside. “Meredith, you’re too kind. These are quite beautiful.” She opened the larger box and pulled out a straw bonnet. “It’s lovely.”

  “With your other bonnet ruined in the rain, I wanted you to have a new one.” Meredith handed her a small package wrapped in brown paper. “One more thing.”

  Clara shook her head. “This is all too much,” she said, opening the paper to reveal a variety of ribbons. “Oh, these are beautiful.” Something fleeting flashed through her mind. Ribbons. What was it about ribbons? Did they play a significant role in her past?

  “I thought we could decorate the bonnet together,” Meredith said.

  Tears glistened in Clara’s eyes. “I would enjoy that very much,” she said, standing and hugging Meredith.


  “Shall I shall return after luncheon?”

  Clara nodded. “That would be perfect.”

  With that, Meredith took her leave, and Clara turned her gaze back out the window. She could hardly believe her good fortune. Warwick and Meredith had been so welcoming to her, and she had no idea how she could repay their kindness. She would miss them immensely when it was time for her to leave. Perhaps if she still hadn’t recovered her memory by then, they could direct her to her next destination and help her secure a position. But how could she secure such a position when she didn’t know who she was and didn’t have any references? Perhaps Warwick would consent to give her one. It was time to visit Warwick’s library and find out what kind of knowledge she possessed. Was she qualified to be a governess, or perhaps a lady’s maid?

  After a light luncheon, Meredith and Clara walked to the blue parlor. “I had Gertie bring down the bonnet and ribbons,” Meredith said. “The light in this room is so much better for sewing.”

  “I agree. This is a lovely room,” Clara said, walking to the table by the windows.

  “Do you have a preference for ribbon color?” Meredith asked, pulling the ribbons apart.

  Clara fingered the ribbons before choosing a spring green one. “I don’t know if green is my favorite color, but I’m drawn to this ribbon.”

  Meredith picked up a cream ribbon. “These will compliment each other nicely.”

  “I appreciate your help, but please do not overly tax yourself.”

  “I promise I won’t. After we sew on the ribbons, I shall retire for an afternoon nap,” Meredith said.

  Clara smiled. “Good.”

  ANOTHER THREE DAYS WENT by. She didn’t see Warwick much during the days—he was mostly tied up in his study with estate business—but while he joined them for dinner each evening, there were no more invitations for strolls in the garden. Whenever she cast a glance at him, his eyes were on her, but he quickly looked away. What did that mean? Were his looks full of longing or was she seeing what she wanted to see? It made Clara doubt the words he’d said to her. Did he regret calling her beautiful? Did he regret their shared kisses? She hoped that wasn’t the case because they meant the world to her. Was that her first kiss? Though her memory was blank, she had a feeling that Warwick’s kiss was her most memorable. Would she want anyone else to ever kiss her again? She had a feeling she would not.