Forbidden to the Duke

by Liz Tyner

  ‘I pity the man who you might marry.’ His fingers clasped over the leather, but she didn’t release it and he didn’t pull it away.

  ‘That is why I should not wed. I wish to be happy. I like to smile.’

  ‘I think you would like giving a man grief, too.’ He looked at the book they held. Defoe. Roxana.

  ‘Ochi.’ A definite no. ‘I do not want a man close enough to give him any sorrow. It would rebound double on me.’

  ‘Your choice.’ He slipped the book into his control and put it back on the shelf.

  This woman was no society miss. The ton would certainly not accept someone so different, so free of restraints. He spoke his thoughts aloud, puzzled. ‘Your sister cannot encourage your folly. She surely wants you to follow her example. I may not always agree with Warrington, but I believe he treats her well. Theirs is a good union.’

  ‘Warrington is kind to her. Her heart is filled with him and the children. They are of such a similar mind.’ Her eyes flicked up. ‘Similar to yours. I have considered this life in England for two years, and after being at Harling House I know I may be wrong for others, but I am right for me.’

  ‘You met me and decided marriage and society was not for you?’

  ‘I would not say that.’ He lips curved into a smile. ‘I have been away from my sister and the children. I have missed them, but it is them I miss. Not just any baby or child. I see your mother and I see the damage even good love can cause in a person.’

  ‘Your father. You are letting his actions rule yours. All your thoughts of marriage are coloured by the way he left you all.’

  ‘No.’ Her chin tilted and her lips thinned. She ducked her head, but not before he could read her face. Her next words didn’t match her expression. ‘I hardly knew him. I remember my mother crying more than I remember him. My uncle did what he could do to help when I was very young. But he died—killed for no reason. We had so little. I do remember that when my father came home, the food was better. Everything. But inside the house was not always better. Our life was a calm sea when he was gone even though my mother struggled so hard. But when he returned there was a storm inside our home. I only wanted the goods he brought. I did not care for him at all.’

  Then she made a gesture with her hand. He didn’t know what it meant, but he was certain it was not a suitable action for a lady. He’d noticed it before. Her wrist would turn quickly and her lips firmed and words formed in her mind, but her fingers executed the phrase he didn’t know.

  ‘You should not say such,’ he said, testing his theory.

  ‘A society woman would not,’ she agreed. ‘Another reason to remain as I am.’

  ‘I surrender,’ he said, moving to the desk. He caught her gaze and smiled. ‘I have a surprise for you.’

  He did not want to argue with her, but he did want to hear her voice. He had lost his mind somewhere among the pins in her hair, but as long as no one else knew and he recovered soon, all would be fine. He hoped.

  He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a book, holding it aloft. Cobwebs to Catch Flies. He brushed a hand across the leather cover. ‘I don’t know where it was or which servant found it, but they have all been rewarded.’ He smiled. ‘Geoff, my sister and I all read this.’ For a moment he was held by memories, all good. ‘Sit near me.’ He waved the book towards the cushions. ‘This one will have you reading.’ He opened it, moving to the section with the three-letter words.

  Bellona settled on to the sofa and he put the book in her hands and sat beside her. Spices flowed into the air. The memories and scent of Christmas around her made the present feel as good as the best of the past did. He could hardly wait for her to begin.

  She took the tome and her lips moved the barest bit, saying the words silently while she studied the page.

  Her mouth. He watched it, willing her to repeat the action. She didn’t, but she still held the book.

  A weakness plunged into him. He relived a memory that kept him strong.

  He’d written some bit of fluff to the girl who’d given him his first kiss. The moment had been…a surprise.

  He’d not really thought much about what a kiss could feel like. And he hadn’t meant to be alone with the girl. They’d happened upon each other by chance. She’d rounded a corner and he’d caught her just as she stepped into him and then she’d trounced his boot and he’d been worried about his boot being scuffed. She’d purposefully rested her foot on his other boot and he’d meant to remove her, but her waist had felt more important than any new boot had ever felt in his life and he’d not been able to budge the little wisp of her. He didn’t remember the conversation or how long they’d stayed there, but she’d reached up and kissed him.

  His world had changed.

  Later, he’d written to her about how her lips tasted—but the letter had been stolen from his chamber before he could give it to her and it had somehow ended up in his father’s hands—thank you, Geoff—and his father had called Rhys into the library, told him to shut the door and they had had another talk. The letter had been returned to Rhys and his father said it was Rhys’s choice whether he gave the letter to the chit or not, but to remember that words written could never be changed. He should consider how a wife might feel some day to read something which might concern her. Or how their servants might snicker to learn of such a thing about their master.

  Rhys’s father gave him the letter. Rhys threw it in the fire. He’d disappointed his father.

  Just as his father would be disappointed now if he’d walked into the room. Rhys shoved the thought aside.

  ‘Why don’t you read aloud?’ Rhys suggested, and she did.

  Initially, she stumbled over the words, but she could understand them, slowly at first and then more easily.

  She closed the book, but held the place with one finger. ‘I did not know books were like this. Cats and rats and dogs.’ She looked at him. ‘I would wager there will be a pig in it, too.’

  ‘I do not want to give away the ending.’ He leaned closer, pretending to look at the pages. ‘Keep reading. It is good for you.’

  ‘I do not like to hear something is good for me. That usually means I won’t like it.’ But she wiggled a bit, reminding him of a hen settling into her nest.

  Again she read the words aloud.

  He watched, half his vision on the book and half on her. The only other noise in the room besides her voice was the occasional sound of the page turning. He listened and then forgot everything else as her fingertips touched the paper.

  His thoughts were much safer when he imagined only her hair. Now he watched her hands, heard her voice and could not stop his fascination from growing.

  She reminded him of childhood and innocent times, and then she’d turn the page and he’d be ever so thankful to have left all that behind him and be alone with her. She made his chest feel broad and his skin vibrate just because her voice moved towards him through the air.

  Her head dropped a bit to the side and her words wearied.

  He wanted these moments. They were harmless. Nothing to be concerned about. Nothing he would remember later and feel guilty for, even when he was married to his duchess. No one would know that his mind wandered to places where it shouldn’t. This was just a simple moment between two people who happened to be in the same room.

  ‘I am tired of reading,’ she said, closing the book.

  He took it from her hands and put it on the other side of himself, causing him to move so close their sides brushed. Without her voice, it felt as if the whole world had ceased to have sound.

  Rhys spoke softly, not wanting to disturb even a dust mote in the air. ‘Tell me why you cannot tolerate dancing. Not the dance itself, but the holding.’

  ‘It has always been this way.’ The words were slow and barely reached his ears. She’d closed her eyes for a moment and she opened them when she answered. ‘Or at least for a long time.’

  ‘When did it start?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But I
know the dreams started on the ship to England. The first night I slept afterward.’

  Her eyes flicked to his face. He didn’t move, waiting.

  ‘I told you that when I was on Melos…’ The purr of sleepiness left her voice, but her lids dropped again. ‘Men woke my sister Thessa and me during the night. They forced us from our rooms and one was going to wed my sister Thessa whether she wished it or not, and the other was going to—wed me, and I…could not have survived marriage to him. Or he could not have survived marriage to me. Snake. Fidi.’

  ‘And…’ he said, barely speaking.

  ‘And Thessa and I swam to the English ship in the harbour. It left. We sailed here.’

  He didn’t want her to open her eyes, afraid if she did she’d pull back, taking him from this shared moment. He gave a soft sound of acknowledgement, looking at the shape of her face, and the skin, so delicate he feared even brushing his fingertip against it might be too rough.

  He slid further from her on the sofa so he could put his hand along the back. His fingertips could have easily held her shoulder or dipped a bit lower and touched the bare skin where her sleeve ended. In his mind, he could feel her. Perhaps he truly did because the warmth of her body flowed outward. He was so close it had to be wafting to him.

  ‘The island men pursued us, but the captain and his crew fought them off. I thought we were safe, but later on our voyage a man decided I was bad fortune.’ She touched her throat, slender fingers resting against her skin. ‘He tried to toss me overboard to drown in the seas. I couldn’t breathe I was so frightened. Thessa pulled him from me.’

  Spears of rage hit his midsection. Those words changed everything. They slammed into him as if his own body had been thrust hard against a wooden fortress. His temple pounded. He pulled back, not wanting her to sense the violence inside him.

  How dare someone touch her so? He would have killed him without hesitation. He forced his voice to be calm, but it took a moment. ‘I am pleased you were unhurt.’

  Her lips turned up, not so much in a smile, but in some sort of inner amusement. ‘I have a sword. I thought it would protect me, but I almost cut off my own nose.’ Her eyes opened and she looked at him. In that second, he felt the same intimacy he might when looking across bedcovers at a woman, only it wasn’t the same. This was more intense, deeper—something he hadn’t known existed. It was as if she’d just taken over his whole body. As if her spirit was twice his size and had wrapped itself around him, cradling him. He never wanted to lose this feeling.

  She leaned towards him, touching, perhaps not touching but brushing, just at the top of her nose, and he almost felt the sensation of her fingertips. The trail of her hand lingering against his skin in the same way she swept her hand above her own nose. ‘Can you see the scar?’ she asked, voice husky. She slid more towards him. He could not move.

  A tiny white line rested just at the bridge. ‘How did you do that? Was it that man?’

  ‘It wasn’t him. This was when I was living in England. I was taking the weapon from the shelf where I had put it to keep it from my niece. It fell.’ She shut her eyes again, only for a moment. ‘I didn’t know how I was going to tell my sister, since she’d already complained about the sword. But luckily, her babe chose that moment to be born and no one noticed my hand—’ she rested her palm over her nose and peered out at him from around it ‘—covering my face. By the time my nephew was safely tucked into the family, the scratch hardly showed.’

  She took her hand from her face. ‘He was so tiny. I did not see why her stomachi needed to grow so big to have such a little babe.’

  He studied her face.

  ‘Your nose is rather a pleasant nose.’ The words slipped from his mouth, sounding like a caress. If he raised his forearm just the slightest bit and moved just the merest bit forward, he could be holding her.

  ‘I didn’t expect to like the babe.’ She grimaced. ‘He’d caused my sister such discomfort already and he wasn’t a girl. Warrington already had a son and daughter, and I hoped the little girl would have a sister. I wanted another small Willa in the house.’

  She pulled herself straight on the couch. ‘I told Melina just a few days ago…about the mark. She thought it humorous that I could manage to sail from Greece to here, sleep when the pirates boarded the ship trying to take our other sister before being defeated in their efforts and have no marks to show for it. Then I wounded myself with the weapon I kept for protection.’

  She looked at him. ‘Let me try reading again. I like it much better when the words are small and the story is about children.’

  He moved, securing the tome without looking at it. Holding it in her direction. Her hands skimmed over his as she took the volume, slowly, from him.

  She turned the pages to the spot where she’d left off. ‘The words are getting harder, though.’

  His arm rested at her shoulders. ‘Just hold your finger to the word and I’ll help you.’

  She began to read, and at the first stumble she moved into the cradle of his arm and pointed for him to read the word aloud.

  She stayed where she was, and when she paused again he let go of the breath he’d been holding and helped her.

  The book wavered because she pointed to another word. He took hold of the other side of the cover and held it.

  As the words became longer and longer, he never realised when he became the speaker and she became the listener. His words lingered, so she could follow easily, and he read to her about the happy family of eight children and the merry-go-round.

  He read more slowly as he neared the conclusion, and when the story finished they closed the book together, then he pulled back and she straightened.

  ‘I did not want the story to end,’ she said. ‘I quite liked it.’

  ‘I did as well.’

  ‘A good tale,’ she said. ‘Better than Crusoe.’

  He nodded, holding it with one hand. ‘Though I enjoyed it as a child, I had not realised before how much interest it has.’

  ‘Sometimes things more scholarly are not always the most enjoyable.’

  ‘They are good for one, though.’

  The flicker of her eyes when she heard the words acknowledged his jest.

  ‘So true.’ She stood and leaned towards him again, taking the book. ‘Do you mind if I keep this in my room for a time?’

  He looked up at pale skin, a long neck, a wilful chin and lips that he wanted to touch in all the ways that he could.

  ‘As long as you’d like. It’s yours.’

  ‘Only for a short while and then I’ll put it back,’ she said and left the room.

  He wondered if he would be able to move again.

  Chapter Ten

  Bellona fought, inside the dream, pulling hands from her throat, her grasping fists closing over emptiness. She struggled for air—ale-scented breath suffocating her. His darkened pupils expanded so that she could see nothing else. She scrambled back as her own vision clouded into black, reaching for her weapon, the world of the ship fading, changing to the bedchamber. The image of the crewman fell away into the recesses of the room.

  Her eyes opened. She sat against the headboard of the bed, her heart pounding, fingers gripping the knife she’d had under her pillow. Her throat ached, the press of thumbs indenting her throat still choking her.

  She swallowed slowly, trying to get air, but keeping her movements still so she could be aware of the room. Shadows brushed her skin with the lightness of spider’s legs. Beyond the walls, something creaked.

  Slipping one foot from the bed, she braced for her ankle to be clutched. She had to escape from the room, yet the hallway would be dark and someone could be waiting.

  She dashed to the door, her back against the wood, the knife held close to her body. Listening. Watching. Waiting.

  Wind blew against the window. She forced herself calm. Over and over the dream found her in the night.

  Questions would throb in her head until morning. What if the pirates had
n’t been defeated by Captain Ben and his crew? What if they had continued to pursue the ship intent on making another attempt to capture Bellona and Thessa? Or what if the gamekeeper had got angry at her because she had been accepted into the house as a guest and he broke in to attack her?

  She touched the door latch with her left hand, gripping the cold metal. Listening. She had no reason to fear. None at all. But blood still raced in her veins.

  She leaned back, feeling a vibration as she painlessly thumped her head once against the wood. She could not traverse the room and reach the bell pull. Her feet wouldn’t let her.

  The room didn’t feel safe. She couldn’t stay long enough to summon a maid. The pirates would not go away. She could not make them leave her dreams and in her dreams she had nothing to fight with.

  Soundlessly, she opened the door and put one foot into the hallway. Nothing. Still darkness. No movement.

  She couldn’t shut the door behind her. Even though the room could trap her, she couldn’t close even one possible way of escape.

  Sliding her body out, she moved down the hallway. If she called from the library for a servant, the butler would arrive. He stood tall and she could ask him to check her room for a mouse. She’d heard something. She’d heard a squeak or a creak. A noise had stirred her from the terror.

  Or perhaps she’d only dreamed it. The figure of the man squeezing her neck had vanished as she woke, disappearing, as the nightmare always did, taking the stench of death with him. Leaving her room as quiet and still as a crypt covered in dust.

  Standing, she waited, making sure she heard nothing again. She forced her imagination away. Those endless fears that plagued her had merely returned, but she didn’t want to be alone.

  She clutched the knife close to her body, and ignored the chills seeping through her thin shift.

  ‘What—’ A gruff voice—behind her—right behind her. Her mind froze, but her body did not. She swirled around, bringing the knife up. His hand rose, clamping on her own, holding her clutched fist with the strength of a vise. In the same instant her hand was caught, he moved forward, pushing her, her right shoulder crashing into the wall. He trapped her with his size.