The Forgotten Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  He actually grinned, which made all the stupid feelings she’d started having for him swirl up inside her like autumn leaves caught in a storm. Nitwit. That’s what she was. She was falling for a man she had no hope of ever, ever, sharing her life with permanently. A renowned criminal who’d actually told her he’d killed people.

  Good God, she had to be mad.

  He eyed her as he went to collect a bottle and a couple of glasses. “Sherry?” he inquired.

  “Yes, please.” She desperately needed something to numb her senses and lull her brain so she could stop thinking about what he’d said. After all the times he’d kissed her as if he wanted to rip the clothes from her body and claim her, now he’d taken a giant step back and put up a wall.

  “If ye could have crafted the life of yer choosin’ when ye were little,” he said while filling their glasses, “where would ye be right now?”

  He placed her glass on the table before her, right next to the tray that contained the remains of her dinner. Regina frowned at it while considering her answer. The question was without a doubt the most interesting one he’d ever asked her. Biting her lip, she reached for her glass and sipped her sherry while Carlton went back to his armchair. This time he sat leaning forward, his knees slightly bent as he cradled his own glass between them. Genuine curiosity brought a sparkle to his eyes.

  “Does it have to be realistic?”

  He shook his head, then set his glass to his lips and drank. “Yer perfect life can be as fantastical as ye want it to be.”

  “In that case, I’d be living in a house with a view of the sea. Outside, there would be a wide terrace and beyond that, lavender.” A wistful smile played on her lips. “Bees and butterflies would be the only insects. And ladybirds. I like them too. And the sun would shine each day. Not too hot, but warm enough to make the outdoors pleasant. There would be a cat, perhaps two. Freshly baked scones would be waiting for me each morning along with clotted cream and raspberry jam. The beach between the house and the sea would have the whitest sand, so fine it would feel like silk between my toes…” She trailed off, allowing herself to be swept away for a moment.

  “Who else would be livin’ there with ye?”

  “My children. Two boys and two girls.”

  “And their father?”

  Silence filled her as she tried to picture the man of her choosing. When only Carlton came to mind, she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she lied, unwilling to let him see how important he was to her life after he’d all but told her they’d never be together. So she met his gaze with defiance and shrugged off the sadness that slid toward her like water licking its way onto shore. “Perhaps they won’t have one.”

  His lips quirked even as a dark shadow fell over his eyes. “An immaculate conception?”

  “You said yourself that it is my dream and that it can be as fantastical as I want.” She smiled in an effort to hide every trace of what she was really thinking – the longing that pulled at her soul and made her wish things were different. “Your turn.”

  He hesitated briefly, then said, “I’d travel the world with me wife and children.” He gave her a knowing look and she sucked in a breath. It was almost as if he knew this was her dream as well, even though she had not said it. “We’d swim in the bluest lagoons an’ explore places other people only read of in books. Our experiences would be just as vast as the love we would feel fer each other.” Eyes, so intense that they pierced her and held her captive, warmed with emotion. The edge of his mouth drew upward. “We’d dine beneath the stars and…there would always be a home fer us to return to whenever we’d want to experience dry land. It would be warm an’ cozy an’…safe.”

  Something about the way he said that made her heart twist with pain. She wasn’t sure if she could speak without the uncomfortable lump now lodged in her throat destroying the words. So she nodded, took a sip of her drink and allowed a moment to pass.

  When she finally whispered, “That sounds perfect,” her voice didn’t crack as she feared it might.

  He inhaled deeply, his eyes still riveted upon her in a way that made her feel slightly self-conscious. “I’ve seen ye read romance an’ more provocative forms of literature.” Fire erupted in her cheeks and she briefly averted her gaze. “Are there any other types of books ye enjoy? Poetry perhaps?”

  She shook her head, relaxing a little. “I’ve never been able to appreciate it much. Accounts written by explorers or biographies of people who’ve led remarkable lives are far more intriguing. Benjamin Franklin’s memoir is just one example of such a book. It was most compelling.”

  An almost incredulous look captured his gaze. “Just when I think I know what to expect from ye, ye surprise me again.”

  “How so?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a lazy gesture. “Ye’re more complex than the average romantic. Ye enjoy tales of happily ever afters and dream of a life that’s perfect without complications or challenges. But ye also strive to enrich yer mind in a way I believe to be rare among ladies of yer age and rank.”

  “My entire upbringing has been centered around my becoming as accomplished as possible. My parents hired a piano instructor when I was three. They also hired French, Latin, and German tutors, an artist who showed me how to paint, and a music teacher to help me develop my voice. I have been taking lessons ever since, eight hours a day every day without fail so that when I eventually made my debut, I would be able to make the best match. Because men don’t want wives who think and who speak their minds and who might interfere with their opinions. They want one who can entertain, who will carry herself with perfect poise, and not cause embarrassment. But becoming such a person was never enough for me. I wanted to expand my horizons and discover the world, even if I could only do so from the comfort of my home.”

  Carlton’s chest rose and fell with even movements, but his gaze was intense. “Ye’re perhaps the most impressive woman I’ve ever ’ad the pleasure of knowin’.” His gentle tone dove to the bottom of her soul and lifted it up. “It’s a shame that yer life is bein’ wasted by the few choices ye have been given, fer ye could have been so much more than a step up the ladder fer yer father.” His expression hardened and his fingers curled into his palms. “I’m sorry, Regina.”

  She forced a smile that didn’t feel genuine. “It’s nothing less than I expected. And there are people in this world who are much worse off than I.” She thought back on some of the people they’d passed the first day she had come here, of how desperate they’d looked. “I have no reason to complain.”

  His eyes widened for the briefest of moments before hiding whatever response he’d just had. She wasn’t sure she could pinpoint it exactly. “Would ye sing fer me if I asked ye to?”

  “Maybe.” Performing in front of others had never disturbed her before, so why did it suddenly make her feel shy and uncertain?

  Because his opinion of you matters more than any other ever has.

  She gripped the edge of the sofa with one hand to steady herself. How had this happened? How on earth had this man she’d just recently met impacted her so?

  Drawing a ragged breath, she let it out slowly while knots began forming deep in her belly.

  “Please?”

  One word, so softly spoken it could barely be heard, drifted toward her. And the tender sincerity of his plea undid her completely. “Very well.” With her hands clasped together in her lap, she opened her mouth to the first notes of “Robin Adair” with an increased pace to compensate for the lack of a pianoforte.

  Carlton watched, his expression so serious she was forced to look over his shoulder in order to calm her nerves and slow her racing heart. When she finished, it was with the utmost relief. Silence followed, so thick and resounding she started to speak just to fill it.

  But Carlton cut her off. “I’ve never heard anythin’ so exquisite,” he murmured. “Thank ye, Regina, fer bringin’ heaven to earth.”

  Her throat closed completely and all she could do
was nod. Because if she tried to speak, she feared she might choke and that the hot burn that now pressed at the back of her eyes might evolve into tears. Nobody had ever complimented her on her singing, or on any of her other achievements for that matter. She’d been expected to do everything well so when she did, it was simply the norm.

  But Carlton’s appreciation for her and his willingness to get to know the person she was behind the façade her parents had crafted meant more than she’d ever be able to put into words. All she could do was feel. And what she felt the next morning when she entered the parlor and found him already gone could only be described as deep disappointment. Until she spotted the tray that waited for her on the table in front of the yellow velvet sofa.

  It contained a plate on which two hot scones awaited, along with a small pot of clotted cream and…raspberry jam. Regina’s mouth stretched until her smile grew so wide that it almost hurt. She covered it with one hand as she took a step closer. There was also a cup of tea covered with a lid in order to keep it warm. And next to the plate were three sprigs of lavender tied with a silver bow and a note which she picked up with trembling fingers.

  * * *

  Women like you are few and far between. You deserve the breakfast of your dreams.

  C.G.

  * * *

  Rounding the table on shaky legs, Regina lowered herself to the sofa and swiped the dampness from her eyes. Dear God in heaven, what was she to do? Staring at the food he’d so thoughtfully prepared and the lavender which wasn’t even in season any longer, Regina surrendered to the myriad of feelings expanding her heart and acknowledged the truth.

  She was no longer falling for Carlton Guthrie. She already loved him. More than she’d ever imagined she would ever be able to love another person. He was everything to her.

  13

  Two weeks. Marcus let the reality of time settle heavily at the front of his mind. If Regina had been all right, then surely she would have written to him by now. But all he had were letters written by an unknown hand.

  Frustrated and angry, Marcus swiped his forearm across his desk, scattering paper and books and making a mess of the ink when it spilled from the inkwell. With heavy-lidded eyes burning from lack of sleep, he hung his head and took a stuttering breath. They’d received no word about her for the last week. Not from the man who held her or from the runners. She hadn’t turned up dead yet. He’d checked. But that didn’t mean she was still alive.

  Emitting a rough sound of utter despair, he scrubbed his hand across his jaw and was met by the beard he’d let grow. Shaving and looking his best was not a priority right now. Nor did he have the energy for it. Even though his valet continued insisting he make the effort.

  For what, Marcus wasn’t sure. The only places he frequented right now were White’s and Gentleman Jackson’s. And he couldn’t care less about what anyone there might think about his appearance. They could all sod off if it bothered them.

  His fingers flexed. None of the men he’d spoken to since discovering his father was hiding something had offered any clue as to what it might be.

  “He’s always been a good friend,” most would say. “I cannot imagine him not being liked,” was another frequent comment. “He’s one of the most respectable peers there is.”

  What Marcus had learned was that his father and the previous Duke of Windham had been like brothers. Right up until the duke’s tragic death in that fire that had burned down most of his home. It had also taken the life of a maid and of Windham’s son, who’d only been thirteen years old at the time. Marcus wasn’t surprised that his father had never mentioned the attachment. It was probably still a difficult thing for him to discuss.

  Grumbling beneath his breath, Marcus stood and went to the sideboard where a pot of hot coffee awaited. He poured himself a cup and drank it as it was, savoring the bitter flavor. His father’s connection to Windham wasn’t going to help Marcus find Regina. Neither was walking the streets every day, aimlessly searching for her.

  He added a splash of brandy to his coffee and took another sip. There was something he was missing – something the runners were missing too. He could feel it like some elusive presence creeping up behind him. If he could just grasp it and…

  Voices echoed from the front of the house and Marcus groaned. His father’s nerves were more frayed than his, his irritation growing from day to day, making him impossible to be around, never mind talk to.

  Easing his door open, Marcus glanced toward the foyer where Hedgewick stood. His rigid body leaned forward, as if he was getting ready to lunge at the man to whom he was speaking.

  “Find her!” Hedgewick bellowed. “It’s what I’m paying you for!”

  The man he addressed muttered something and departed. Hedgewick cursed him to perdition before retreating to the stairs. Marcus waited until he was gone before crossing the hallway and stepping inside his father’s study. He’d not searched it yet, but decided to do so now, dismissing the breach of trust as a necessary one since he’d exhausted all other efforts of figuring out what his father was hiding. And if he discovered something that might help him save Regina, he’d have no regrets.

  But rather than finding hints of Hedgewick wronging someone, Marcus was stunned to discover the opposite – a collection of letters suggesting that Hedgweick was the one who’d been crossed. Apparently, his wife had once had an affair. With none other than the previous Duke of Windham.

  Marcus quickly returned the letters to where he’d found them and left the room. Infidelity wasn’t uncommon among the aristocracy, but it did make Marcus wonder why Hedgewick was so eager to tie himself to the Windham title. It made more sense that he’d want to distance himself from it as much as possible. Not that any of this was very helpful. When it came to finding Regina, a decade’s old love affair wasn’t the answer.

  Widening his search for her, though, might be. He stopped to think. Regina had run away in her wedding gown. Marcus reflected on that for a moment. A bride racing through London would have been noticed. Unless she’d climbed into a carriage or…

  He drew a sharp breath as a new possibility struck him. In all the areas of London where he’d looked and questioned people since she’d gone missing, he’d dismissed one location because it had seemed impossible that she’d be there. And yet it was close enough for a woman travelling on foot to quickly conceal herself if that was her aim.

  St. Giles.

  Marcus shuddered at the thought of Regina being there. But if she was, he would find her. It was certainly worth a look.

  Having called a meeting in the taproom, Carlton faced his men with renewed determination. The information Patrick had given him twenty minutes earlier could prove invaluable. It pertained to a house near Hackney Meadows where Patrick said he’d spotted Ida after following a tip.

  Carlton had listened to Patrick’s account with relief. It seemed Blayne was right and whatever mistrust he himself had had of Patrick had been unfounded. Ever since discovering the warehouse, Patrick had striven to find other clues that could help with Ida’s rescue. Locating the coachman who’d driven the hackney and interrogating him had been a smart move.

  “There’s more than the one man we were expecting though,” Carlton said, repeating what Patrick had told him. “At least ten are guarding the house, so ye’ll have to be ready to fight.”

  “We’re ready,” Blayne said with a fierceness that seemed to rile the others. “Especially if it means bringing the wee lass home.”

  It took almost an hour to get there.

  “We’ll approach from both sides,” Carlton said once the house was in sight. They’d exited the carriages before they’d reached their destination, paid the drivers, and walked the rest of the way. Only the light from a single window would guide them through the thick blanket of darkness.

  Waving Blayne off, Carlton gave him and the men he took with him enough time to find their positions, then signaled to them with a whistle. Everything was still. Almost eerily so.

/>   He frowned and began moving forward, unsettled by the lack of activity outside the house. It didn’t fit with what Patrick had told him. A niggling feeling in the pit of his belly informed him that something was wrong. He glanced around, searching for Patrick so he could ask him for his opinion. But he wasn’t part of his group, so he must be with MacNeil.

  Reaching inside his jacket pocket, Carlton pulled out one of his pistols as they drew closer. If then men guarding Ida had gotten wind of their rescue plan, they might be lying in wait, ready to attack. Carlton’s heart beat low and steady. This wasn’t so different from some of the raids he’d participated in in the past. First on behalf of Bartholomew and later on his own. The difference was that Bartholomew’d never cared who they attacked or who got killed in the process while Carlton only went after those who were harmful to others.

  There’d been a shop with a cellar full of children who’d been forced to rinse out old wine bottles and fill them with gin. When Carlton had found them he’d given the man and woman in charge of the operation a thrashing until they were barely alive. When he was done, he’d tied them both to a couple of chairs and dropped a note off at Bow Street.

  Many more cases existed and while Carlton knew that his way of handling them usually involved breaking the law, he had no regrets. Those who preyed on the weak deserved the punishment he gave them.

  A fence came into view and Carlton drew his men to a halt. He tilted his head and listened. Still nothing. Not even the croak of a frog or the hoot of an owl. He narrowed his gaze and peered through the blackness of night in an effort to make out the dark shapes surrounding the house. It would be easy for someone to hide in the shadows from bushes and trees and to spot Carlton as he approached from the road. But for ten men to make no noise at all was unlikely.

  He gritted his teeth. “There’s no one here,” he muttered.