The Forgotten Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “Very well,” she suddenly said. “The truth is that our conversation last night made me want to know more about you, to understand you better, that is. I mean, you’re known as a fearful villain and yet you fight for justice and—”

  “Don’t turn me into a hero.” His fingers tightened around the clippings. If she’d read them all, she’d know who he was, but nothing in her expression suggested she’d made such a shocking discovery.

  “But—”

  “Stay out of me things.” He shoved the clippings into his pocket and turned, intending to put some distance between them before he lost his temper. But as he stepped toward the door, something cracked beneath his weight.

  “I just wanted to get to know you better,” she said while he moved his foot to reveal the porcelain miniature of his father. “Your kindness toward me is so at odds with...oh dear...I must have dropped that when I—”

  “Get out.” A sharp ringing in his ears was accompanied by a pounding headache. His vision started to blur.

  “But this is—”

  “Just go!”

  The force of his words pushed her back toward the door. He heard her sharp intake of breath, could tell that his outburst had hurt her, but blood was rushing too fast through his veins and he could not seem to regain his composure. All he could think of right now was the ruined portrait. Crouching, he scooped the miniature up in his hand and considered the hairline cracks that traversed it, like tiny tributaries splitting off from a large river.

  With a sigh, he closed his fingers around the image and stood. Why the hell did she have to stick her nose where it didn’t belong? Because you made her curious. Because you told her just enough to make her believe there was more to you than met the eye. And so there was. But he didn’t want her or anyone else to learn about that. Not when he’d spent the last twenty years reinventing himself.

  Raking his fingers through his hair, he set his father’s portrait aside on the dresser and put his mind to clearing the bed. The mindless task would help ease the tension still gripping his body. So he pocketed the garter with the intention of seeing it returned to Amourette’s and placed his lap desk on the floor before finding spots for the rest of his things. When he was done, he felt calmer and more able to confront Regina again without losing his temper. But when he returned to his parlor, she wasn’t there. Only Ralph gave life to the room, which had to mean that Regina had taken his words more literally than he’d intended.

  He grabbed his hose and began to dress while unease pushed its ragged claws under his ribs. Dear God. If she’d left him… He jammed his feet into his shoes, flung his jacket over his shoulders, and exited the room. Why wasn’t anyone out here keeping watch? Damn! If she vanished, or worse, returned home, he wouldn’t be able to use her to taunt her father. He’d lose his best chance of making Hedgewick experience the fear and the pain he’d put Carlton through all those years ago.

  “Why isn’t someone upstairs keepin’ watch?” he called out to Blayne as he passed him on his way to the front door.

  “Her ladyship asked me to fetch her some food. Is everything all right?”

  “No, it bloody well isn’t.” Carlton didn’t stop to explain. She must have used the request as a means to give Blayne the slip. Which meant security would have to be strengthened when he got her back. And by all that was holy, he would get her back. If he could find her.

  But the street offered no indication of her existence at all.

  A fresh wash of panic spilled over his skin, causing the hair to rise at the nape of his neck. His heart was thumping loudly while blood churned through his veins to create a deafening roar in his ears. No. He would not think the worst. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to attempt navigating St. Giles on her own. Not after her last experience with the men who’d attacked her. Which meant she was still nearby.

  Expelling a slow breath, he felt the panic recede as soothing air rushed into his straining lungs. Right. Only a few options availed themselves: a cobbler, some private homes, a gin shop, and Amourette’s.

  A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he started toward the brothel. If she’d sought refuge there, he’d respect her all the more. Not because there was anything admirable about it per se, but because it would prove once again that she wasn’t a typical lady of breeding. Indeed, Regina was likely too kind to judge a woman for her choice of work. Which was confirmed moments later when he walked through Amourette’s front door, entered the parlor, and found her. Comfortably seated on a mauve velvet sofa, she was keeping company with Philipa and two of Amourette’s other residents.

  “Ah,” Philipa said. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to show up. Came in a rush, did you?” She tutted like he was a misbehaving boy. “Why, you’re not even wearing a cravat. How very unlike you, Guthrie.”

  She was right. He never left his rooms without being properly dressed. “I see you’ve met me houseguest,” he muttered right before offering a hasty greeting to the two other women present. Only Nicolette was a prostitute. The other, whose name was Ida, was something else entirely – a secret that Philipa guarded with her life.

  Without asking if he could join them, Carlton pulled up a chair and sat.

  “Indeed we have,” Philipa said with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “And we’ve taken quite a liking to her, haven’t we girls?”

  “In less than ’alf an hour?” Carlton asked when Nicolette and Ida both murmured their agreement. Regina, he noted, kept her gaze averted, and for some peculiar reason, that rankled. He wanted to be the center of her focus, just as he’d been when she’d opened the bedchamber door. He wanted to make her blush.

  “It doesn’t take more than that to judge someone’s character, Guthrie. You know that.”

  Indeed he did. Noting the glass set before Regina, he said, “A bit early in the day to imbibe, is it not?”

  She gave him a hesitant glance that allowed him to see the pain in her eyes, before turning her gaze away from his once again.

  “The poor girl needed it,” Philipa told him sternly. “Lord help me, I cannot imagine what you might have said or done to her, Guthrie, but she was in a state when she came here.”

  Carlton bristled. “I did not do anythin’, Philipa.” With one retort, she’d riled him. “She’s the one who decided to meddle with me things. If it weren’t fer her, me father’s miniature wouldn’t be broken.”

  “Ah.” It was a simple remark. Just one syllable. But it let Carlton know that Philipa realized how much this upset him.

  “I’m very sorry,” Regina said. She’d turned to face him, and in her gaze he could see the full extent of her torment. Liquid blue shimmered with regret as tears threatened to spill on her lashes. “I shouldn’t have gone through your things. It was wrong and I….” She swallowed as if she was struggling to speak. “You’ve been so kind to me and I abused that and now your father’s portrait is ruined and it’s all my fault.” She dropped her gaze and gave her eyes a quick swipe. “I can only hope that you can forgive me.”

  Forgive her? She looked as if her heart was breaking, and that alone caused his own to stutter a little. “Of course.” Even though she’d crossed a line, he could not resent her or remain angry with her for long. Not when she looked as miserable as she did. If anything, he wanted to pull her onto his lap and wrap his arms around her. He wanted to hold her close and fill her with endless assurance. “I’m the one who actually broke it.”

  She looked back up. “Yes, but you wouldn’t have done so if I hadn’t dropped it on the floor for you to step on.” An unhappy smile touched her lips. “I went looking for answers and—”

  “Just promise me ye’ll leave me things alone from now on, and we’ll put the matter behind us.”

  Her entire face lit up with gratitude. “I promise.”

  Guthrie’s breath caught and it took him a moment to find the right words. “I ought to ask yer forgiveness too fer the way I yelled at ye,” he said with a sudden need to make peace.
“I was angry.” Glancing at Philipa, he jerked his chin discreetly in the direction of the door.

  With a nod, Philipa stood. “It was lovely to meet you, my lady. I hope we’ll have a chance to further our acquaintance in the future. But right now there’s a matter that I must attend to, and I need Nicolette and Ida to help me with it. If you’ll please excuse us.”

  Regina wanted to beg them to stay. She wasn’t quite ready to be alone with Guthrie again. Not after violating his trust and then realizing the true significance of the miniature. It was very likely the only thing he had left of his father. Knowing that she’d played a part in ruining it made her feel like her insides were being ripped from her body and trampled on.

  The door closed behind the three women who’d welcomed her into their place of business, and a very uncomfortable silence filled the room. Acutely aware of Guthrie’s presence, Regina reached for her glass and took another quick sip of her sherry. The sweet heat warmed her throat and eased her overly agitated nerves.

  “I was worried about ye.” The low murmur stroked its way across her shoulders until it reached the top of her spine. There, it burst apart in a series of shivers that sank deep into her flesh. “Ye cannot run off like that, luv. Not in this part o’ town.”

  “I know. But you told me to go.”

  “I meant to the parlor, not into the street.” He’d risen and was now moving toward her.

  “I just wanted to get away,” she confessed. “From you.”

  Lowering himself to the spot beside her, he reached for her hand and turned it over between his own as if it were some rare gem that he wished to study in greater detail. “I hurt ye, Regina, an’ I’m sorry fer it. But ye also went an’ scared me ’alf to death.” Curling her fingers into her palm, he raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon each of her knuckles.

  “What does that mean?” The question just sprang from between her lips without warning. Was that even her voice? It sounded so breathy, like the words had been spoken on a sigh of pure pleasure.

  No touch she’d ever received had felt as lovely as this. Her stomach sucked itself inside out at the feel of his lips. Accompanied by the slight tickling of his moustache stroking her skin, the effect was rather...something she wasn’t quite able to describe, except to say that it sent hot shivers scurrying through her.

  “I’m not entirely sure.” The low timbre with which he spoke was like velvet. It wrapped her in comfort while filling her soul with a deep, innate yearning. “Would ye like to find out?”

  The promise of decadent sin burned bright in his eyes as his gaze held hers. Slowly, and without looking away, he pressed a kiss to the back of her wrist. The effect was immediate. A gasp went through her as tingles darted up through her arm to fill the rest of her body.

  She sucked in a breath. “I don’t know.” It was the most honest answer she could give him since it was the truth. She had no experience with this sort of thing, was completely unfamiliar with the myriad of new sensations he stirred in her. And she feared…she feared that if she said yes, he’d own part of her forever. Because while she might like him and perhaps even want him in ways that surprised her, her future could not be with him. As a lady, she would either have to marry a proper gentleman, or choose the life of a spinster.

  But since she lacked the will to pull away, she remained where she was and allowed him to close the distance between them.

  His mouth met hers, carefully and with far more tenderness than she had expected. Sensation rushed through her: his moustache softly tickling her skin, the sensual press of his lips against hers and the touch of his nose as the tip of it brushed her cheek.

  The entire experience lasted no more than a couple of seconds. It was over before she was ready, before she was able to fully enjoy it.

  “Fergive me,” he murmured, “but I could not resist.” Heat burned in his eyes, leaving her scorched. “Shall we return to The Black Swan now?”

  Somewhat dazed from the kiss they’d just shared, she nodded. For although she was sure that Philipa would give her sanctuary if she asked, Regina wanted to stay close to Guthrie. He’d reached inside her somehow and claimed a part of her heart that had not belonged to anyone else. Within only three days, she’d learned that she could rely on him more than she could on her own parents. That she mattered to him and that he would do all he could in order to keep her safe.

  And she craved that safety and the way that it made her feel, the way he made her feel, as if she was more than simply a pawn.

  7

  A week.

  That was how long it had been since Marcus had woken to the shocking realization that his sister, who’d always followed the rules, had fled the demands of their parents and run away from home. Which would have been fine with him if he’d known where she’d gone. But the thought of Regina out there in the world on her own had made him queasy. She was a proper young lady. How would she manage without a maid? Had she even thought to take any money with her and if so, how would she cope once her funds were depleted?

  These questions had plagued him day and night. He’d been sure she’d return the next day, not because she wished to, but out of necessity. When she hadn’t, he’d thwarted his father’s demand for discretion and had gone to call on her friends, Lady Teresa Bradshaw and Miss Livinia Kingsley. Both were surprised by his visit and claimed they hadn’t seen Regina since meeting with her for tea a few days earlier.

  But when he’d returned home, there had been a progression. A letter, written in an unfamiliar hand, had been delivered. His father had handed it to Marcus, who’d read it with rising dread. “At least she’s alive,” he’d said for no other purpose than to grasp at something optimistic.

  “She should have married Stokes.” Hedgewick had met with numerous Bow Street runners since Regina’s disappearance. None had delivered a solid lead yet.

  “This is all your fault,” Marcus had said. “You drove her to this by demanding too much.”

  “All I asked was for her to do her duty. She knew it would come to this. Your mother and I made sure of it.”

  “Your mistake was in thinking she’d throw herself off a cliff for you,” Marcus had shot back.

  “Don’t be so bloody dramatic. Stokes was an excellent choice for her.”

  Unwilling to argue with stubborn blindness, Marcus had walked away from that conversation and hadn’t spoken to his father since. The Windhams had been extremely displeased when they’d learned that Regina had changed her mind and refused to leave her room, which was what they’d been told. They had even threatened to tell the world that Regina had jilted their son, until Stokes himself had calmly reminded them both that doing so wouldn’t look good for him either. Reluctantly, they’d seemed to agree to this point and had promptly left the Hedgewick home with tight expressions and clipped words of parting.

  Marcus had spent every day since then prowling the streets and making inquiries. He’d visited every hospital and coroner in London proper. But there was no sign of her. Not one single clue as to where she might be. And if his father had learned anything new, he’d chosen not to share it with Marcus, which was why he’d enlisted the butler’s help. Keeping apprised of the situation was critical to gaining results, and Plath was a man of integrity whom Marcus knew he could trust. He wasn’t as confident when it came to the rest of the servants, which was why he’d promised them all ten pounds each if Regina returned without the truth getting out.

  Exhausted, he went home so he could eat, sleep and be ready to continue his investigation the next morning. “Good evening, Plath” Marcus said when the butler opened the front door for him.

  “Another letter has arrived.” Plath took Marcus’s hat and gloves from him and set them on a nearby table. Discreetly, he produced the letter from his jacket pocket and handed it to Marcus.

  “Thank you.” There were benefits to treating a servant well. Years of helping Plath pay for his widowed sister’s rent had earned him the old man’s loyalty. Of cours
e, there was also the fact that Plath was particularly fond of Regina and would do whatever he could to help her. So when Marcus had asked for the next unmarked letter that arrived to be delivered to him first, Plath had agreed. “Where is my father now?”

  “In his study, my lord.”

  Thanking him again, Marcus stepped into the parlor. A fire had been lit to heat the room for the evening and Marcus strode toward it. Withdrawing the pocketknife he always carried on his person, he heated the blade over the flames. Then, with great care so as not to damage the seal in any way, he used the hot blade to lift it.

  The page crackled between his fingers as he unfolded it and read.

  * * *

  My Lord,

  Your daughter is a remarkable woman. It stuns me to know that someone as lovely and kind as she can have you for a father. The time has come for you to reflect on your past, Hedgewick. And then you must ask yourself if you think you deserve to see your darling daughter again, or if I should keep her as payment for your sins.

  One way or another, justice will find you.

  V.S.

  * * *

  Marcus re-read the lines multiple times. Perhaps there was some hidden clue in the phrasing or in the words themselves that would lead him closer to finding his sister. But nothing stuck out, except for the fact that she lived. Closing his eyes for a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief. He then heated his blade again and used it to melt the underside of the seal so it would reattach to the paper.

  “You should deliver this to my father,” he told Plath when he found him waiting outside the parlor door. “He won’t know I read it.”

  Plath nodded and turned to leave, then paused and glanced back at Marcus. “Did it help you in any way?”

  “Not with finding Regina. But it has assured me that she is presently well.” It had also made it clear that the man who held her was seeking vengeance against Hedgewick.