by Liz Tyner
She had made a promise to Melina not to speak of it. She said the things people whispered about, they overlooked. But if their suspicions were publicly confirmed and indiscretions admitted openly, then the ton could no longer ignore them. Nobody wanted to be seen as approving an open scandal as everyone wanted to uphold their place in society.
Bellona thought of a gasping fish lying in the sand, eyes wide, breathing air, but not truly breathing. That was how the dance instructor’s hands made her feel. That was how she always felt when a man stood close enough that his hands could seize her neck.
Three quick raps on the door sounded.
Bellona forced herself to her feet, knowing the duchess would be on the other side.
The duchess stood there. ‘I do not blame you for this, Bellona. I have explained to Rhys that he must mind his ways. The dancing master—I do not think he has even read Thomas Wilson’s book or looked at the drawings. He does not know the correct method of dancing. He’s left now and I’m sure—’
‘He’s left?’ Bellona interrupted.
The older woman nodded. ‘No loss. His posture was not good. Return and I will see that you learn properly.’
Bellona did not ever wish to attend another soirée—she hated them. Even the country dances caused her insides to ache when many people were together. Everyone moved this way and that and anyone could grasp her from behind. Breathing became impossible.
Almost before her thought was completed, the duchess fastened her hand on Bellona’s arm and marched her out through the door. ‘You must do this. Mothers need children. You must marry in order to have babies. You must attend soirées and dinner parties to meet the men. Even a vicar will expect a dance with his wife on occasion.’
Bellona walked back into the ballroom. Movement caught her eye. The duke stood at the side, talking quietly with the musician.
His gaze locked on her. He studied her—just a blink, but all the same, he’d already had too many thoughts she couldn’t decipher. Too much intensity in his gaze.
The touch of the duchess’s hand on Bellona’s arm freed her to move again. ‘Now, dear, don’t be awed that you’ll be dancing with a duke.’
Bellona paused, unable to take another step forward. He did not make her fear him as the other men did, but when his eyes raked over her, her strength waned.
Bellona spoke to the duchess. ‘You must show me.’
She could feel the duke thinking about her, watching her.
‘Nonsense,’ the duchess said, waving Bellona’s words away. ‘Rolleston is a wonderful dancer. He knows what he’s doing. With his height you might think his legs would get in the way or his feet would crush you, but he’s quite graceful.’
Bellona moved her head sideways in refusal, as he stepped forward, movements slow.
‘Miss Cherroll.’ His words, rumbling just louder than a murmur, barely reached her ears above the sound of her heart beating. He stopped two arm lengths in front of her. His hands were at his side. ‘I would be pleased if you would give me the honour of a dance.’
She could not speak.
‘Child.’ The duchess, all smiles, reached out to nudge Bellona forward. ‘Do not be afraid you will step on his feet. He’s quite able to withstand it, I assure you.’
‘Mother.’ Rhys raised his arm the slightest bit. His voice was quiet. ‘I can help her. Why don’t you ring for tea? Or some wine, perhaps? I’m parched.’
‘That would be lovely.’ She turned, signalling the musician to begin, before she moved to summon the tea.
‘Listen to the music,’ the duke said to Bellona. ‘Just listen for a bit. Let it get into your thoughts.’
She nodded, unable to move her eyes from his and trying to slow the roar in her ears. His mother stood near. The duchess. All was safe. Bellona knew it. But her body did not feel safe.
He raised one hand into the dance pose, but the other remained at his side. ‘Step forward and put your hand in mine.’
She drew another breath into her lungs and looked into his eyes. They were not harsh or threatening or angry. They had softened at the edges, guiding her, and his head leaned forward the merest amount. Now she couldn’t escape. She was trapped. But the snare was the velvety hue of his eyes and the rumble of his voice curling into her with the richness of a covering being wrapped around her on a cold day after the cloth had been warmed by the fire.
She moved towards him and put her fingertips in his palm, waiting for the moment when his hand would tighten over hers. The movement in his hand signalled to her that his fingers had flexed, but he didn’t close them against her. He hadn’t realised she wasn’t scared by him, but was trying to keep from letting her life be changed in a way she’d never believed possible. This weakness she’d fought against because she’d seen her mother deserted by the man she’d loved.
‘Now put your hand on my shoulder and I will rest my arm at your back, but I will not hold or clasp you tightly. It will be just the barest bit of my hand resting against you.’
Her throat tightened, and she tried to keep her breathing calm and the world from fading so that the only remaining thing was him.
‘You will be safer than you’ve ever been before. I will let nothing hurt you. Mother is here. She’s looking at the music and she is telling the man how she wishes to hear him play the piece.’
He stood, as if he were the one who couldn’t move.
Bellona put her hand at his shoulder—wool soft beneath her fingers. The scent of shaving soap touched her nose.
He hadn’t moved. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
She nodded.
She felt the flex of his shoulders and the slightest touch of his hand near her back.
‘Pretend I’m not even here.’ His words barely reached her ears over the tune the pianist just started playing. ‘It will be simple as a stroll around the room.’
She nodded and he took the first step of the dance.
Bellona stumbled, managing to find Rhys’s feet. He tensed his arms, but he didn’t try to right her or gasp at her.
When she moved back into the dance, he looked beyond her and hummed a rich, soothing sound.
She listened to his voice, and thought of the music. She could still move. His eyes weren’t on her and his thoughts looked far away. She forced herself not to move closer to him. The distance would save her.
The pianoforte music wafted inside her body and it was the same as being in the forest, free and alone—the moment of the leaves in the trees brushing the air over her and being safe, held by the forest.
Her arm barely contacted with his coat—a mountain of man moved beneath her touch, but instead of causing cold breaths inside her, the world invited her. She tightened the fingers of her raised hand, feeling his palm, and he responded with the merest pressure, silent reassurance passing between them.
She wanted to see his face, but she didn’t dare raise her eyes. She didn’t want to ruin anything about this moment.
The music stopped and their feet ceased at the same step. He did not move at all until he spoke to the duchess. ‘I think she has the grasp of it.’
Then he ushered her to his mother and left the room.
‘You did well enough,’ the duchess said. ‘I knew you could learn. Rhys is a much better dancer than the tutor, if I do say so myself. You should see the ladies at soirées beam when he asks them to dance. I’m sure it quite goes to his head, but it doesn’t show. The dance is not so hard, is it?’
‘No.’
She appraised Bellona’s face. ‘You need not concern yourself about the dance again. All it took was for Rhys to show you. Don’t expect your next dancing partner to be like my son, though.’
Bellona nodded, and left the room. She didn’t expect any man to ever be like him.
Chapter Six
Rhys stood just inside the open window. He’d had one of the servants move Bellona’s target closer to the library window again. He suspected she’d lugged them away before because they’d slowl
y migrated from under the windows. He’d just wanted the arrows going away from the direction of the fields. True, he told himself, and the thwack of the arrow both irritated him and pulled him like a siren’s song. Liar, he admitted.
A carriage rolled up. Warrington’s.
The door opened, and Warrington stepped out, then turned to help Bellona’s sister from the vehicle. His hand lingered in his wife’s until a blonde bundle jumped from the opening and both parents turned to her in caution.
The little one dodged her parents and ran screeching to Bellona. Warrington reprimanded her, but his wife placed a gloved hand on his arm and then Warrington moved from view.
Bellona’s bow and arrow slid to the ground and Willa bounded into her aunt’s arms. The dark head and the light one bumped together. Bellona moved, hugging the little one in a swirling movement.
‘Willa insisted her aunt is out with her bow and arrows slaying dragons. She claims you are doing so to rescue her.’ Melina’s voice carried through the open window.
‘Only six dragons.’ Bellona’s excited voice was no quieter than her sister’s.
‘You killed six,’ the little one insisted. ‘But I killed ten for you.’
‘What with?’ Bellona asked.
The girl laughed, jumping back from her aunt. ‘I stomped on them. They squished.’
‘That is ugly, Willa,’ her mother said.
‘Yes,’ Bellona agreed. Her hair had half-fallen from its pins. ‘You must save them whole so we can have a feast. Dragon’s meat is very tasty and is already cooked from the dragon’s breath.’
‘Bellona, stop adding to her imagination,’ Melina said.
Willa shot an imaginary arrow into her aunt and Bellona was putting more drama into the play than any actress he’d ever seen at Drury Lane.
He wanted to join them. He wanted to hear the laugher around him, especially Bellona’s.
‘Sir,’ a voice behind him interrupted. ‘The Earl of Warrington did not bring a card, but suggested I tell you—’
‘—To roll yourself out of bed—’ Warrington stepped behind the servant ‘—because you are so tired from staying up late looking at your face in the mirror and wondering why the heavens have been so cruel to you.’
Rhys’s quiet response would have earned him a fortnight of prayers from the vicar. The butler’s lips quirked and he slipped out through the door.
Warrington walked to the other side of the window and looked out, viewing the same scene Rhys saw.
‘Have you gambled away the inheritance yet?’ Warrington asked.
‘No.’ Rhys turned to the earl. ‘Do you need me to lend you some funds?’
‘Like hell.’
‘If you throw the first punch, you should be prepared with another one.’
‘So how is the duke?’
Rhys tapped his boot toe at the base of the wall. ‘It’s been difficult managing the properties around London through my man of affairs instead of seeing for myself. I have had to depend on Simpson completely because the duties are so new to me and the duchess has been so distraught. I believe Simpson quite capable, but I need to take responsibility myself at some point.’
‘It gets easier,’ Warrington said. ‘I was fortunate to have my brother Dane to help me after my father died. If you need anything, just ask. I’ll send him.’
‘Much better than having you around, I’m sure.’
‘True,’ Warrington said.
Both men stayed at the widow. All three females chattered and seemed to be having no trouble following every word spoken, mostly in Greek.
‘So how are things here?’ Warrington said. ‘The duchess?’
‘Mother is better.’
Warrington nodded, his voice soft. ‘Bellona doesn’t like quiet. My wife, fortunately, does. Hard to believe they are sisters sometimes.’
Rhys didn’t speak, just watched the gestures down below. Bellona unstrung the bow. The little girl wore the quiver. The women moved with each word they spoke.
‘You’d think it’s been years since they’ve seen each other,’ Warrington said, moving away from the window.
Rhys still watched the scene. ‘At least they get along.’
‘They do. For the most part.’
Rhys stepped nearer the bookshelves, and considered his words while he looked at Warrington. ‘Is Bellona truly nothing like her sister?’ He waited for the response.
Warrington chuckled. ‘Night and day. It’s odd how they disagree on things, but never seem to argue. My brothers and I argued even when we agreed.’
‘How did their father die?’
Warrington walked away from the window, and stood at the unlit fireplace. ‘He’s actually alive and I would prefer that to remain between us. I’ve been concerned word would get out concerning the pompous goat. That’s what they disagree over. Melina wishes to keep him from all aspects of her life. Bellona has visited his wife secretly several times, though she doesn’t like the man either.’
‘Where does he live—in Greece?’ Rhys knew her mother was dead and he’d thought her father was, too.
‘On St James’s Street in London. He’s actually Lord Hawkins.’
Rhys relived the words in his mind. Yes, he’d heard correctly. Bellona’s father was an English peer.
Warrington gave the smallest nod and studied Rhys. ‘In his youth, he visited the island, married their mother and forgot to tell her he had a wife here. The second marriage was probably a farce to him, but still, the women didn’t know of each other. Two families. Two sets of children. He sailed back and forth a few times. The children’s ages are near the same.’
‘Lord Hawkins?’ Rhys could hardly stand to be in the same room with the man. His voice usually carried to all corners when he talked of the great art of the past and no one else’s opinion on any painting came close to Hawkins’s self-professed judgement skills.
‘It’s best that people think Melina’s father is dead,’ Warrington said. ‘Better than the truth and having to acknowledge him. Better for the women. For everyone.’
‘I can see how that would be.’ Rhys watched the women laughing. He could not connect them in his mind to Hawkins.
‘My wife thinks Bellona wants so much to be different from her father that she almost becomes him. Hawkins has that nose up in the air, thinking he is above society’s ways. Bellona can be uppity, too, around society. Can you imagine Bellona making morning calls or indulging in polite conversation at a house party? She’s more likely to be asking the servants how many eggs a day the chickens are laying.’
‘She’s been a boon with the duchess, though. They have even looked at fashion plates together.’
‘Bellona? That is not her normal way. My wife finally reached an agreement with Bellona so that at least her gowns are acceptable. I’m fortunate Hawkins spent more time with his eldest daughter. He insisted Melina act like a lady. When Bellona was growing into a young woman and should have been learning the same skills, Hawkins returned to England for several years. Probably hoped they would starve. I doubt he cared much either way as long as he didn’t have to think of them. It’s a wonder they survived into adulthood. I saw how they lived when I went to the island. I saw how hard it was for Melina to leave her two sisters behind, believing coming here was the only way to save her family.’
‘Bellona has helped Mother think of something besides her grief.’
‘That really doesn’t surprise me.’ Warrington stepped back to the window. ‘One day, I smelled a stench in the hallway, but I ignored it, thinking a chamber pot had been dropped. Then I heard a strange noise and discovered Bellona had been keeping an orphaned pig in her chamber because she thought no one else could keep it alive. A pig. In the family quarters. Willa cried when I said little Snowdrop had to be removed. It was not leaving snowdrops in its wake. I was the only one in the entire household who didn’t know of the creature.’
‘Still, Bellona has something that…’
Her laughter trickled in th
rough the window. Rhys head turned towards the sound.
‘You need to watch yourself Rhys.’ Warrington shrewdly studied the duke’s face. ‘Don’t make an error which might cause us to kill each other.’
Rhys didn’t answer. London. He would have to go to London immediately. If even Warrington could sense his interest in Bellona…
Rhys couldn’t even step away from the window.
*
Homesick. Heartsick. Bellona touched her stomach, before resting her hand on the fabric of the chair in the library. Seasick on land. She missed Melos, but she could not return. She missed her sisters, but they both had wed—Melina to the earl and Thessa to Warrington’s brother, Captain Ben.
In the past, Willa and her brothers had always taken Bellona’s mind from the feelings of sadness. Today, seeing her niece again had only heightened her loss. Her mana and sisters had laughed together so many times. Mana was gone for ever.
Now, instead of having her peaceful mother, she was sitting every day with a woman who could have tackled Zeus and made him leave the heavens. Bellona could not go back into the duchess’s chambers right now. She had told the maid so—twice—when the duchess summoned her.
Bellona had chosen to sit in the library because it had the largest windows, but now the evening shadows lengthened in the room, darkening everything. The duchess was suffering a fit of irritation. The older woman always became more cross as the sun set. She could sit it out alone this time.
Rhys walked into the library. He held a half-full glass of amber liquid. He sat it on a table, but his eyes met hers. ‘My mother has asked me to collect you.’
Her chest constricted. She didn’t know why she did not have the strength to make her body unaware of him whenever he walked into the room.
She was in the duke’s chair. The arms of the chair seemed to grow bigger and the back taller. She rose. She had to free herself from the confines. ‘Your chair.’
