The Forgiven Duke (A Forgotten Castles Novel) (2 page)

“You mustn’t.”

“I know.” His lips ran hot against her cheek and jawline, then up her chin to her lower lip. He hovered there for a long moment while she tried to remember where she was and who she still was and what was happening.

With a mighty pull from the dreamlike state back to reality, she reared back, took a deep breath, and chuckled. “I’ll take the top bed.” For some reason it seemed the safer choice.

Alex watched the slow grin of admiration and something hungry, something she wasn’t sure of its meaning, spread across John’s handsome face. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to lean in and kiss him. He was so very tempting.

With forced determination, she turned away. “I’ll change into my nightdress now. Turn aside, if you please.”

He cocked one blond eyebrow at her in a way that made her shiver. He was her fiancé, for goodness sake, but he wasn’t her husband. And in her heart of hearts, God help her, she wasn’t sure he would ever be.

She quickly changed and climbed to the bed.

She pulled the covers to her chin and clenched her eyes shut, hoping she wouldn’t have seasickness. Hoping she wasn’t the only person on earth who truly believed her parents were still alive.

Hoping
he
would come.

She thought of her guardian and composed a mental letter like the many they had written back and forth to each other over the last several months.

Dear Gabriel,

Don’t give up. Please . . . still come for me. I need you, my duke. I need you to believe with me and help me find them.

Love,

Alex

Chapter Two

W
hat had just happened?

Gabriel Ravenwood, the Duke of St. Easton, turned away from the water, the waves, the ship that was fast taking his ward to a place he didn’t know and of which he couldn’t foresee all the perils—and well, away from him.

And that man who was with her, who had his arm around her like she belonged to him. Who was he? A deep chill that hummed with anger spread through his veins. He balled his fists against his legs. He had to find out who that man was and what he meant to Alexandria.

Gabriel pressed into the wind as he walked quickly away from the departing ship barely visible amidst the mists swirling across the sea. He stumbled, breathing hard, turned his head, and hoped no one was watching.
God. Dear God.
Hadn’t he had enough yet? Hadn’t he suffered every public humiliation he’d never imagined? Hadn’t he risked everything and just now lost?

Just . . . get me . . . through these next few moments.

He couldn’t hear his stomping gait as people reared back, faces shocked or glowering with judgment as he hurried through the crowd toward the shipping office. He pulled open the door and plunged forward like a horse at the starting gate. He pressed both hands against the counter where a wide-eyed, skinny clerk stood blinking at him, mouthing some nonsense Gabriel couldn’t begin to decipher.

“That ship. The one that just departed, the
Achilles
. . . give me the passenger list.”

The man looked ready to argue and Gabriel snapped. He didn’t have time to explain that he was a duke. He didn’t have the time or the patience to tell this sniveling youth how he was on the king’s business. No. It felt good to lean across the counter, grab the young man by the collar, and pull his terrified face so close that Gabriel could see the red veins running through the whites of his eyes.

“The shipping accounts for the
Achilles
. Now.”

The youth nodded, face devoid of all color. Gabriel let loose of him with a harsh sound and turned away while he fetched it. What was wrong with him? What had he become?

Even the knowledge that something was very wrong didn’t stop Gabriel from snatching the leather-bound volume from the thin man’s grasp and paging through the sheets of handwritten entries like it would engulf in flames at any moment. He pored over the lines of names not finding a Featherstone in the list, nothing that even resembled the name Featherstone.

Then, ignoring the eyes of the room glued to him, he leaned over the book with a sharp inhale. There was one Alexandria.

Not a Featherstone. But a married woman. Alexandria Lemon. Lord John Lemon’s wife.

A married woman.

Gabriel gripped the counter with one hand and shoved the book back toward the young man. He pointed at the names. “Do you know this man? This woman?”

The man turned the book further toward him with a shaking hand, looked at the words, and then wrinkled his brow. “Sorry, sir,” his lips clearly said.

Gabriel gave him a long stare. “Are you sure you don’t know anything about them?”

The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down a thin throat. Gabriel turned and stumbled from the room.

Lord John Lemon.

Odd name for a nemesis.

He hoped the man had mettle, because he was going to need it. He’d just sailed off with Gabriel’s family and he meant to do whatever it took to get her back.

The first thing he had to do was find out who John Lemon was and how he was connected to Alexandria. The thought that she had actually married someone in so short a time was alarming, to say the least. Whoever Lord Lemon was, he might have dire motives for his interest in Gabriel’s ward; he might be another form of danger they hadn’t considered. A more insidious kind. A clever, calculating enemy more dangerous than the Spaniards following Alexandria could ever be.

The thought of it made his blood run cold as he stood outside the busy Custom House, gazing at the scene and trying to decide where to go next. A tall man lumbered past, leading a spotted mare. Wait! The giant! If Gabriel could find the man who had tried to stall him in the streets earlier, causing him to miss Alexandria’s ship, he might get some answers.

He rushed to his horse at the hitching post in front of the Custom House and mounted. When he spun around he saw Michael Meade, his secretary, coming around the corner with his men. They must have finally calmed their stampeding horses enough to circle back to the shore.

“Meade!” Gabriel waved to gain his attention.

Meade saw him and motioned to the men to follow him over. Thank God. If he was to search out the identity of Lemon, Gabriel would need Meade’s ability to speak in such a way that made it easier for Gabriel to read his lips. The fact that he was deaf still gave him moments of intense despair, embarrassment like he’d never imagined, and a forced humility that still fit like a bad coat. But he was beyond thankful for his secretary. Meade was the person who made his affliction bearable, who made it possible for him to even attempt chasing down Alexandria Featherstone.

“Your Grace! I can’t believe you’re still here. Did you find the ship? Did you find Alexandria?”

“I watched the
Achilles
sail away, but it was too late. I saw her, though. She was on the deck. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears threatened at the memory of finally seeing her. Long, dark hair pulled back from a lovely face. Sky blue eyes staring into his. Even at such a distance, he had locked on to those eyes, as if he could pull her back to shore with the intensity of his gaze alone. He’d waited so long, and he couldn’t begin to describe how he’d felt when he finally saw her—broken to his core and flooded with emotions: protecting, loving, possessive emotions.

Meade mumbled something as a flush filled his face. He developed a sudden stutter and inability to put two coherent words together when having anything to do with beautiful women.

Gabriel sighed. “Never mind. There was a man with her. He acted very familiar, putting his arm around her waist in a way that said he knows her well. I’ve just come from the shipping office and seen the passenger list. There was no mention of Alexandria Featherstone, but there was an Alexandria Lemon along with a Lord John Lemon. We have to discover who he is and what he is doing with Alexandria.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Where do we begin?” Meade asked, brows raised.

“Remember that giant of a man with the cart blocking the street? The one who startled the horses? He knows something. That was no accident, I assure you.”

Meade nodded.

“Let’s spread out. See if we can find him. Send the men in all directions. You and I will head back to the street where we last saw him. His size will be to our advantage, but tell the men to use whatever means necessary to convince the man to come with them. Tell everyone to meet back at the hotel in a few hours. Hopefully, one of us will have him.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Gabriel trotted up and down the quay while Meade dispersed Gabriel’s hired outriders and soldiers. He’d hired them to make a big show of his power upon coming to Dublin; now he was glad to put them to good use. They were trained soldiers with experience. If any one of them found him, Gabriel was reasonably certain his men would be able to handle a bumbling giant.

A few minutes later, he and Meade galloped into the street where they’d last seen him. It turned out to be ridiculously easy. The man was sitting right where they had left him, blocking the road, perched on the seat of the cart and crying like a giant redheaded baby. Gabriel and Meade stopped and stared in disbelief for a moment and then dismounted and hurried over to the man.

“Sir, have you gone daft? What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel demanded in a loud bark.

The man looked up from his hands and, upon seeing them, burst into another wail, his wide face scrunching up into a ball of flesh with a giant nose in the center.

“Meade, talk some sense into the man. Get him down from there.”

Meade’s eyes widened at the order but he turned and began to talk . . . and talk . . . and talk. Finally, the giant pulled out an enormous white handkerchief, took a deep breath, and blew his nose into it several times. Gabriel gritted his teeth and slapped his gloves against his thigh waiting for him to finally climb down.

Meade turned to Gabriel and motioned toward a pub in the distance, mouthing the words, “Perhaps some food and drink will comfort him, Your Grace?”

“Yes, yes, carry on.” Gabriel shot the giant a steely look that said he’d had enough nonsense and gestured toward the pub. “Let’s get you out of the street and buy you some dinner, and then you can tell us all about your troubles.”

Gabriel didn’t mention Alexandria’s name yet; he didn’t want to scare the man off, but he had a feeling she was the cause of all this caterwauling. He felt the same way about her leaving.

Meade made arrangements for a quiet table and a midday meal of Irish stew, oysters, smoked salmon, and potatoes to be served while they settled themselves. The man Meade said was named Baylor shoveled in more food than Gabriel could eat in two days. He waited until the man had drained the third tankard before he began his questions. “So, Mr. Baylor.”

He shook his shaggy head. “Just Baa-er.” He talked with his mouth full, one spoon poised to go in while another was just coming out of his mouth.

“Very well, Baylor. Come now, your little ruse in the street earlier has done its work—I missed the ship. So tell us, how do you know Lady Featherstone?”

His bottom lip started to tremble at the mention of her name, causing Gabriel to sigh with gritted teeth. This was going to take all day and the patience of Job besides.

He pulled out his very used handkerchief and dabbed most elegantly at his eyes and then blew his nose with such force it rocked the table.

“Gad, man, get a hold of yourself. Perhaps it will help if I tell you that I am the Duke of St. Easton, her guardian.”

“I mow who you are!” he bellowed, mouth still full.

Gabriel could tell that he bellowed by the way his eyes grew round as saucers, he leaned in, and his mouth opened wide around the words. It was impossible to read the man’s lips so Meade repeated what he said.

“Excellent. Then perhaps you also know that the regent has charged me with finding Lady Featherstone and bringing her back to London. It’s for her own good,” he added hastily upon seeing Baylor’s lips draw into a stubborn line. “It’s for her protection.”

Baylor said something to that, but Gabriel couldn’t make it out. He took a deep breath with a prayer for patience, looked at Meade, then nodded toward his coat. “Best to bring out the speaking book, Meade. Let’s get the whole story if we can.”

Gabriel glanced over at Baylor just in time to see a confused expression cross his face. So, Alexandria hadn’t heard that he’d gone deaf. Relief pooled through him. He slid his own untouched tankard toward Baylor and explained. “I have recently been afflicted with a problem of the ears and use a speaking book to communicate. Just converse as you normally would, and Meade here will write down what you say.”

A look of pity crossed the giant’s face, but this time Gabriel was glad of it. Perhaps it would loosen the man’s tongue.

Meade wrote while the giant talked, and after many minutes he slid the book in front of Gabriel.
Baylor met Alex in Belfast. He became quite taken with her and her quest to find her missing parents.

Of course he did,
Gabriel muttered to himself, still looking at the page.

He joined her and the man she was traveling with to help her find her parents. “A sweeter lass has never lived,”
he says.

Of course he does.
If there was one thing Gabriel was sure of about Alexandria, it was her ability to win people to her side and instill in them a loyalty to her that took most people years to accomplish.

He says her parents are treasure hunters and in some sort of trouble and that Alexandria is determined to rescue them.

“Yes, well, so am I,” Gabriel murmured aloud. It was the only way to secure her heart. Thinking of her as someone else’s wife made him feel sick and angry. Gabriel looked at Baylor and asked the most important question. “I saw her on board the ship. She was with a man. Baylor, who is Lord John Lemon?”

Chapter Three

T
he chill southwesterly winds pushed against the larboard side of the
Achilles
, flattening the square sails and moving them through the choppy gray water at a brisk twelve knots. The water stretched out toward the horizon, unending in every direction, making the huge brigantine appear more a toy, a mere wooden box with sails made of scraps found in a sewing basket. Great billowy clouds rolled across the sky, lighter gray with puffs of swirling white, pregnant with rain that had yet to spill. And all around them was the eerie sound of a moaning wind that seemed afraid and haunted, aching for relief from some terrible thing it had seen or heard.