Page 21 of Forbidden to the Duke

Damn. The song had probably singed the pages of his mother’s prayer book and he would be hearing about it the rest of his life and on into eternity if he made it that far. He waved a palm about. ‘You do not sing improperly—not to a duchess. My mother. Miss Cherroll, you are to be a companion, not—’

She sighed, shut her eyes and shook her head. ‘I do not think she truly minded. I only wish I did not do it because it gave her a reason to trick me into looking at these infernal books.’

Dark eyes, more like some woodland pet than a woman’s, took him in. She didn’t say one word, but argument was in that gaze. He’d never seen eyes like those. His midsection jolted again and he looked at the floor to push his attention elsewhere.

In one stride he picked up a book and held it in both hands. ‘This is Alexander Pope.’

‘Well, that tells me nothing.’

Then he saw her eyes turn to the book at her feet. He gasped, and pulled it from the floor. ‘You cannot place The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe on the rug. I have read it three times.’

‘I didn’t like the first page. Warrington has a copy. My sister read the first words and I left the room.’

His head twitched to indicate the book. ‘You simply cannot judge it by the—’

She contradicted him with her eyes. ‘Why not? The first page of the book is about the rest of the story.’

‘This one is about a man who lives on an island and learns to make do with what he has, and he is very happy because no women are about. Just cannibals.’

She snorted. ‘I do not see how that makes fine reading. My sisters and I lived on an island.’

‘He was marooned.’

‘You mean he could not leave if he wanted. How sad...’ She smiled. ‘And is England not an island? I cannot return to Melos, which is also an island. Melina and Warrington refuse to let me go back home because of the Greek war for independence and they fear pirates.’ She snorted again. ‘And then there is the man on Melos who wished to marry me, but...one of us would not have survived the wedding night.’

‘You were asked to wed?’ He studied her, and, yes, he could see how a man might say anything to get her into his bed. She sat, wiggling that one stocking-clad foot, like an asp, tempting him to partake of forbidden fruit.

‘If I had not hated him,’ she said. ‘I might have thought of it. I did not care for him and he had the mean eyes.’

‘Marriage is an honourable state.’

‘Your mother would be surprised to hear that from your lips. You should have married long before now. She has feared many times you would do as your father did and near destroy everything dear.’

‘My father?’ Rhys struggled over the words. ‘My mother held my father in the highest esteem.’

Bellona nodded. ‘Of course. But it was hard for her to love him at first.’ She grimaced. ‘When your brother was born and your mother became ill, your father stayed in London while she remained here. When he left, he told her he was a duke first, a man second and a father third. He did not mention being a husband.’

He heard her words. He saw her lips moving.

‘Do not joust at me. My father is dead,’ he said. ‘His memory is sacred. I will not have you disgrace him.’

‘Your mother said everyone knew. She felt abandoned. When she became strong again, she went to London and reminded him she was his wife.’

He picked up the volumes and placed them back on the shelf while he controlled his temper. Once the books were shelved he turned to her.

The rumours said Bellona’s father had died young and left a wife behind who’d been descended from the Greek upper classes. Perhaps the sister Warrington had married was descended from some Aphrodite-like ancestor, but this one was from the wrong side of the clouds. It did not matter to him if she had been born on a gilded mountain-top. Once he discussed her with his mother and repeated what false tales Bellona had just spread about his father, the woman would be gone. He would have the carriage readied and escort her to it himself. A woman could not disparage the duke’s father in his own home and expect to remain.

‘Nothing my father ever did was disrespectful to my mother.’

Her eyes widened. Pity directed at him. He frowned.

‘I must have misheard,’ she said finally.

‘I am certain you did.’

She glanced away. ‘I am certain I did, too. Perhaps I do not understand English as well as I think.’

When she turned her head, he saw a flash of gold at her ears. His mother’s earrings. He swallowed. He had unleashed the worst sort of woman into his very home.

‘Your mother fears leaving her rooms,’ she said. ‘She knows when she does you will think she can manage on her own and abandon her for London just as your father did.’

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