The Forgotten Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  He tipped the brim of his hat. “Good evening, my lady.”

  Regina swallowed. There was something about him she didn’t quite like. She’d felt it when she’d played cards with him too, but had chosen to dismiss the feeling as a natural response to the then unfamiliar surroundings and people.

  “I’m used to finding MacNeil out here,” she said, forcing a smile.

  Patrick gave her a head to toe look before meeting her gaze. “He’s busy right now, so I’ve been given the honor of seeing to your safety.”

  “Well, Guthrie’s here now so, um…”

  “My orders are clear.”

  “Right.” She forced another smile and he touched the brim of his hat once more, upon which she shut the door. For a second, all she could do was stare at it. And then she shook her head. Patrick was one of Carlton’s most trusted men. There was no reason whatsoever for him to make her uneasy since harming her in any way would mean crossing Carlton, and that was something that only a fool would do.

  With that settled, she returned to the sofa where she quickly pushed the books she and Mrs. Harding had been studying underneath it so Carlton wouldn’t see them. Partly because she was rather embarrassed by her interest in the subject the books addressed, but also because she didn’t want him to know what she hoped to achieve.

  But when he returned to the parlor wearing a robe that opened in a V to reveal a hint of dark hair, Regina’s mind went blank. All she knew was the pull he had on her body, the way he commanded her with no more than a look, compelling her to rise and to go to him as if he would be her salvation. Her hand cupped his cheek and the coarse, unshaven bristles there scraped her skin. Gently, so as not to hurt him, she slid her thumb carefully over his cut. It was too high up for her to kiss it, even though that was suddenly what she wanted to do.

  “You’ve been hurt,” she said instead and let her hand drop.

  The edge of his mouth quirked. “I had a bit of a run-in with an Irishman’s fist.”

  “I know,” she whispered while holding his gaze. “I saw it happen. Repeatedly.”

  His eyebrows dipped. “Ye watched the fight?”

  “It was more of a brawl if you ask me, but yes, I did. You’re quite good.”

  “I’m usually better,” he muttered in a low tone that vibrated through her. “But me mind was preoccupied an’ I couldn’t focus properly.”

  “I see.” She sounded breathless but it couldn’t be helped. The scent of him, of soap and bergamot right after seeing him caked in blood and dirt, was intoxicating. Clean or filthy, flamboyant or scruffy, Carlton Guthrie exuded virile masculinity in a way that threatened to overwhelm her. His close proximity, dressed as he was –the knowledge that she could part the robe with her hands and have instant access to his bare chest –caused heat to flare up inside her.

  Her fingertips itched to explore the torso she’d seen just an hour earlier. She wanted to trail them slowly across each rise and dip, to make his heart race as hers did whenever he was near.

  But she wasn’t given the chance to do any of that as he dropped a chaste kiss to her forehead and moved around her. “I’m ravenously hungry,” he said. “I don’t suppose ye’ve left a bit of food fer me?”

  Regina blinked. “N-no.” She coughed to mask the tremor in her voice. His dismissal of her was disappointing. She’d not expected him to be so standoffish, but at least kiss her as he had done on four previous occasions already. Saddened by the distance he seemed to be putting between them, she padded across to the door and began to push down the handle, her intention being to ask if Patrick could fetch some more food. But before she was able to open the door she was pressed up against it with almost violent force. With a yelp of surprise, her body went rigid, on instant alert while her brain tried to process what had happened and if she might be in danger.

  But then awareness settled, alerting her to the hands that now covered hers. Roughened and with raw knuckles fresh from a fight, the familiarity of them eased the tension that had briefly assailed her and allowed her to relax. At her back, solid warmth permeated her clothes and sank into her flesh. And then she felt the rough scrape of stubble against the side of her neck. A ragged breath brushed her skin and her body answered with a welcome shiver.

  “Where do ye think ye’re going?” His voice was like the velvet he so often wore: soft and smooth.

  A flare of excitement swept through her as heat pooled low in her belly. “To order a meal so you can eat.” She barely recognized her own voice, the sultriness like a purr in response to the headiness of his touch.

  He did not answer, but she could feel his chest rising and falling against her back with unsteady movement. His breaths grew increasingly labored as though he struggled to keep some magnificent beast in its cage. And as he pressed closer, sandwiching her more firmly between himself and the door, she experienced a desperate longing for him to touch her. Everywhere.

  It was so elemental and raw that it forced an unbidden whimper from deep in her throat.

  Without even thinking, she arched her back and pushed her hips back. A groan rumbled through him, the sound more erotic than any of the scandalous images in the books she’d been studying earlier. She knew what she could expect now and this resulted in eager anticipation. It freed her mind from worry and concern by filling her with desire.

  His hand went to her thigh, gripping her there and holding her to him with unrelenting force. And then, as quickly as he had grabbed her, he pushed her aside and opened the door himself. “Patrick. Can ye please bring me a plate of food?”

  A muffled response came from the hallway and then the door closed again. Carlton turned to face her, his expression hard and unyielding. Gone were all hints of the passion she’d felt seconds earlier, replaced by forced control. “Fergive me,” he told her crisply. “I didn’t intend to be so rough. I just wanted to stop ye from goin’ downstairs since the taproom is currently half-filled by drunkards.”

  “I…” Regina stared at him in baffled confusion. The way he was speaking, so curtly and precise, made it seem like the heated embrace they’d just shared had been but a figment of her imagination. Even though she knew it wasn’t.

  Her heartbeats stuttered as she stared back at him, this man who’d held her and kissed her as if she mattered – as if he might actually care for her as deeply as she cared for him. Hurt that he’d push her away as if she were some inconvenience he must avoid, she felt a lump rise in her throat. Her eyes started to prick and she turned away swiftly so he wouldn’t see the devastation he’d caused.

  “I wouldn’t be so foolish,” she managed to say in a tone far lighter than she’d believed herself capable of. “Not after all the warnings you’ve given me.”

  A knock at the door prevented him from responding. It was Patrick with a bowl of stew and a large chunk of bread which Carlton proceeded to devour with gusto the moment Patrick was gone and the two of them were alone once more.

  “What’s yer relationship like with yer father?” Carlton asked out of nowhere a few minutes later when he seemed to have appeased the worst of his hunger. “Do ye generally get on when he’s not tryin’ to marry ye off against yer will?”

  The question caught Regina by surprise. She was still attempting to come to terms with what had just happened – his heated response to her followed by swift rejection. And the way he was speaking to her now, as if nothing of consequence had happened between them, made something shrivel and die inside her.

  Feeling numb, she did her best to force the pain away by focusing on his question. “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “Just curious.”

  Regina watched him for a moment. If only she hadn’t developed feeling for this man so her heart would not be so vulnerable.

  Intent on appearing as calm and collected as possible, she folded her hands in her lap. “Hedgewick has always been very attentive toward me,” she began. “More so than most aristocratic fathers, from what I understand.” Spotting a momentary creas
e on his forehead, she hesitated briefly. But then it vanished and she continued. “When I was little and the weather was good, he and I would play hide and seek in the garden. Sometimes Marcus, my brother, would join in, but for the most part it was just me and Papa.”

  “What about yer mother?”

  “She’s always been very soft and delicate. Not the sort of woman who would ever wade between bushes in search of a hiding child.”

  “More of the ‘sit on a sofa with perfect poise’ sort of woman?”

  Regina smiled even though it saddened her to know that her mother had only ever tried to live up to the image she’d been raised to believe was expected of her. “I suppose so,” she agreed.

  “That must be awful,” he said, echoing her thoughts. She wondered if her mother had ever been truly happy. She’d always behaved so carefully, as if afraid one misstep would send her plummeting from the pedestal on which her strict upbringing had placed her. “Why do ye think she married yer father?”

  Startled, Regina blinked. What an odd question to ask. “For convenience. As most aristocrats do.”

  “So then it really shouldn’t ’ave surprised ye that yer parents expected the same of ye.”

  “It didn’t. But I never imagined the husband they’d choose for me would be no more than fourteen years old or that he would be frail and—” She stopped herself abruptly because she’d actually liked Stokes. He did not deserve her criticism. Not after he’d encouraged her to find a way out of their wedding.

  “Stokes is a child?” The disbelief in Carlton’s voice was so tangible she felt it like a lash to the back of her spine.

  “Yes.”

  A dangerous glint in Carlton’s eyes caused a tremor to dart through her breast. He looked more furious than she’d ever seen him before. And when he spoke again, his voice was sharp enough to cut through bone. “Seems to me that yer father doesn’t care about ye as much as ye think.”

  Instinctively, Regina opened her mouth to argue. But she couldn’t. Not when she shared Carlton’s opinion. And yet, she could not agree with a man who was glaring at her as if she’d committed some sort of crime.

  “I’ve always known him to be loving and caring.”

  Carlton snorted. “It’s in a man’s best interest to nurture ’is investments. Seems to me ye were nothin’ more.”

  Discomforted by the subject they were discussing and the loathing with which Carlton spoke, it came as a relief when another knock interrupted their conversation. Setting his fork aside, Carlton went to see who it was.

  He opened the door and MacNeil filled the frame. “Philipa needs you,” he told Carlton gruffly.

  “Has Scarlet been found?” Hope tinged Carlton’s words and Regina’s heart trembled as she wished that this was the case.

  “Nay. It’s not that.” An uneven shake of the Scotsman’s voice suggested that something must be terribly wrong. And then he said, “Ida’s been taken.”

  Carlton’s stomach dropped like a cannonball. In his veins he could feel his blood chilling, turning to ice. “Dear God.”

  “Taken?” he heard Regina ask while a hollow noise roared in his ears. “What on earth do you mean? Taken where?”

  “I donae know,” McNeil grumbled with the annoyance of a man about to lose his patience. “Philipa found her gone when she returned from here. The door to her room was wide open and a shattered vase could indicate a struggle.”

  “But what about the other women? Surely they would have heard if—”

  Guthrie didn’t wait for Regina to finish her panicked question. He marched straight into his bedchamber without bothering to ask for permission this time. If going in there bothered her ladyship somehow, then so be it. Furious, Carlton flung his robe on the bed before going in search of some clean clothes. Rushing to dress, he yanked on a shirt, a charcoal grey waistcoat with flowers embroidered on the front and a burnt umber jacquard silk jacket. Whoever had dared to encroach on his territory like this was either a fool or incredibly brave. Either way, he’d find the bastard, and when he did, he’d bloody well kill him for taking Ida.

  Returning to the parlor, he went to join MacNeil by the door before addressing Regina. “Stay in this room,” he told her tersely. “I’m lockin’ the door behind me.”

  “Carlton, I—”

  “If there’s a lady snatcher out there, ye could be in danger.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue with me now, woman. I haven’t the time.”

  “Romantic troubles?” Blayne queried as they left The Black Swan together.

  Carlton glared at him. “No.” He would not discuss Regina with him again. Doing so only led to severe discomfort and unfulfilled need. Along with a heavy dose of guilt. “And there’s more important concerns right now don’t ye think?”

  “You’re right. Ida going missing is disastrous.”

  Carlton wasn’t quite sure if disastrous cut it. Was there even a word that could aptly describe the failure to protect a woman who’d been placed in your care? Even though she’d initially been Philipa’s responsibility, Carlton had taken on the role of secondary protector years ago when he’d learned of Ida’s circumstances.

  Stalking into the slate grey night, Carlton headed straight for Amourette’s so he could figure out how, when, and why Ida might have been taken. If her disappearance was somehow connected to Scarlet’s, other women in St. Giles would be in danger. Including Regina.

  11

  Worried and with a sense of helplessness she’d never had to face before, Regina paced Carlton’s parlor with mounting concern. She couldn’t imagine why someone might want to kidnap Ida, and she feared that whoever had done it might also be linked to Scarlet’s disappearance.

  Clutching her hands, she tried not to fret over how easily they’d been taken from a place where they were supposed to be safe. A shudder raked her spine as she glanced at the door. She dared not imagine what they might be going through now at the hands of their abductor. All she could do was hope that Guthrie would find them as quickly as possible and bring them home.

  The thought of him put an unpleasant strain on her heart. His curt tone when he’d spoken to her on his way out the door made it feel as if a snowdrift had fallen between them. She understood that Carlton was angry on her behalf, and she appreciated that, but she sensed there was more to it – a reason for the deep resentment he’d shown for her father in particular that she couldn’t quite figure out.

  In spite of everything, Papa was kind. She might disagree with him when it came to her future, but he’d always been generous and supportive in other areas. Like when she was struggling to learn her sums. He’d dismissed her governess and taught her himself with exceptional patience. She wished she’d thought to explain this to Carlton. To make him see that he wasn’t in a position to judge when he didn’t have all the facts.

  A knot formed in her throat as she thought of how much she loved her father. She loved her mother too and Marcus, of course. And she’d treated them all abominably by running away, by forcing them to explain things to the Windhams and to put up a façade.

  It was selfish of her and totally thoughtless. But it had felt like her only option.

  Hoping to distract her mind, she retrieved Pride and Prejudice and settled herself on the sofa to read. Mr. Darcy was also a difficult man to deal with, she thought when she reached the scene at the ball. In fact, he was downright rude and too high in the instep for her liking. She could only hope that would change as the novel progressed because if it didn’t, she wasn’t so sure that she wanted him paired off with Elizabeth Bennet.

  Occasionally, she’d pause her reading to glance at the door. What if the building caught fire and she needed to get out? Carlton might have locked her in to protect her, but what if he’d put her in danger instead. Swallowing, she tried not to think about such a possibility. She also tried not to think of all the awful things that might have befallen Ida and Scarlet. Instead, she tried to hope for a positive outcome. Scarlet
and Ida both lived and worked at Amourette’s, so perhaps their disappearances were linked to a client.

  Making a mental note to mention this to Carlton when he returned, Regina kept reading until she heard the key scrape in the lock. The door opened and Carlton strode in, the tension in his features impossible to ignore.

  “Any luck?” Regina asked as she sat up straighter, closed the book, and set it aside. His bleak expression was answer enough. “I’m sorry.”

  He shut the door and turned the key in the lock. “It’s dark and foggy out there. I’ll continue searchin’ fer her in the mornin’.”

  “That makes sense.” Regina stood and just watched him a moment as he removed his hat and jacket with weary movements. “I don’t like the way we parted earlier. All I wanted was to wish you well but you wouldn’t let me.”

  “I was in a hurry,” he grumbled.

  “And angry.”

  “Not at ye.” His voice was getting rougher, his movements jerkier as he pushed his arms free from the sleeves of his jacket and flung the garment aside.

  She raised her chin. “No. It seems to me that you hate my father, though I can’t quite understand why.”

  His jaw tightened. “The man’s a bastard.” The word, spoken as vehemently as it was, made Regina blink. As if sensing her shock, he closed his eyes briefly and drew a deep breath before saying, “I don’t like the fact that he tried to use ye fer personal gain.”

  “He didn’t do anything other men of rank haven’t done for centuries, marrying their daughters off for alliances and wealth. It’s expected.”

  “Marryin’ a lady as lovely as ye to a crippled infant is not expected, Regina.” He almost shouted the words. “It’s bloody callous, is what it is and…”

  “And what?” she carefully asked when he failed to continue.

  “Nothin’.” He stared at her. “I’m tired and eager to end this discussion, so if ye don’t mind removin’ yerself to the bedchamber there, I’d be mighty grateful.”