The Forgiven Duke Part 1

The Forgiven Duke.

by Jamie Carie Masopust.

To my son Jordan.

When I dreamed up this hero, the Duke of St. Easton, I modeled him with two people in mind: King Solomon from the Bible and you. Your vast intelligence astounds me and your caring, loving heart enriches our lives. How blessed we are as your father and mother to know and love you. When people say "the sky is the limit," I think of you. But it's not the sky that will ever limit you. With love, both G.o.d's and ours, nothing will stand in the way of your destiny.

A special thank-you to Lt. Glenn Atherton, USN, and his lovely wife, Jessica. Glenn patiently answered my many s.h.i.+p-related questions during the writing of this series (any mistakes are mine!). Many thanks and may G.o.d bless America!!!

Chapter One.

Dublin, Ireland-November, 1818.

Please . . . let me go."

Lady Alexandria Featherstone pushed away from her fiance's encircling arm and rushed back toward the railing of the s.h.i.+p. A frantic pulse beat in her neck as she strained to see through the mists that hovered over Dublin's sh.o.r.eline in a gray-green haze. She looked up and down, back and forth across the rocky beach.

Was he still there?

Why did he care so much? Was it only the prince regent's orders that drove him toward her or something more? Something of gossamer letters and the slas.h.i.+ng lines of ink from a man who seemed both haunted and half in love with her.

Her gaze roved over the departing forms on the sh.o.r.e, fast growing into blurry dots of distant friends and family belonging to the s.h.i.+p's pa.s.sengers. The mist played havoc with her vision, retreating and rolling through the salt-laden air, making undulating forms of dark-clad well-wishers. Had she only imagined him there?

Just to see his face one more time.

There. Her gaze settled on a particularly tall man with jet black hair. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost see his famous green eyes. But he was turning away, in a hurry, leaving to do something she hardly dared imagine. Would he come after her?

Her fiance, John Lemon, came to stand behind her. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her lightly against his chest. "What is it, love? Is something amiss?"

Alex turned her face toward him. "It was him. I saw the duke."

"Your guardian?"

Alex nodded. "I'm sure of it. He almost caught up with us." She didn't say how it somehow made her feel safe that he was searching for her, hunting her, wouldn't give up until he found her.

"Well, it is good that he didn't. Did he see you?"

Alex's voice dropped to a low softness. "I don't believe so." She knew so. She knew that connection that shook her to her toes when their eyes locked. She saw the confusion, the devastation that she hadn't trusted him, that she'd gone and gotten herself engaged. Her life had gone off track so suddenly and thoroughly, she didn't know how to make sense of it. But she couldn't tell John that. John had been her only option, the clear and obvious way to carry out her mission without impediment.

G.o.d, You know I have enough obstacles. I need a clear path to finding the truth.

And the truth was, John had offered what her guardian had not. He'd swept out his hand and offered marriage and protection and help in the only thing that mattered to her-finding her missing parents alive. She s.h.i.+vered and crossed her arms inside her red cape. She had to keep foremost in her mind her mission, no matter what she had to do to accomplish it.

Her mind ticked off the events since the day she'd learned that the prince regent had declared her parents dead and appointed the powerful Duke of St. Easton as her guardian. She hadn't believed them dead when the duke's secretary had come to her home on the windswept isle of Holy Island and delivered the news, and she didn't believe it now. Not most of the time, anyway. It just wasn't possible. Her parents had traveled the world for as long as she could remember, solving mysteries and tracking down treasures of all sorts for people. They were famous for it. But the fact that Alex hadn't heard from them in over a year now was worrisome. They were in danger. And the only person who cared and believed, the only person who could find them and save them, was her.

In the months since, she'd tracked every clue her parents had left behind, following their trail through Ireland as they searched for a missing ma.n.u.script from the famous Hans Sloane collection. She'd had help along the way, both from new friends and G.o.d's guiding hand. And John? She couldn't have continued to Iceland alone. Besides, she was twenty years old, time to think of marriage, and John would make an excellent husband.

Her jaw stiffened with resolve. The duke would only haul her back to London. He had been very clear in his letters that he would follow the prince regent's orders and bring her to his home to protect her, and she knew he just wanted her safe. She would have a London season, her first, and then the matchmaking would begin. And before she knew it, they would have slowly convinced her to go on with her life as any normal person should do and forget about the absurdity that her parents might still be alive and in dire need of her help.

No. She had to fight against these strange and powerful feelings for the duke. They would only lead to heartbreak in ways she had yet to imagine.

"Do you think he will follow us?" Alex asked, unable to help the feeling of hope that he might.

"I don't know. But as soon as we are truly married, he will have no more authority over you."

She should have felt relief in that, but a stab of anguish rent her heart. No more letters from him? Never to see him up close or speak to him again?

There was a slight accusation in John's tone when he'd said "truly married" that made Alex cringe. He'd proposed only a few days ago, and there hadn't been time for the reading of the banns or to elope and find a minister to perform the ceremony with all the preparations for the journey to Iceland. Montague, John's uncle and her good friend, had counseled that they need not rush into it. His knife wound from that terrible stabbing by the Spaniards who had chased her across Ireland would heal in a few weeks, and Montague promised to come to them in Iceland as soon as he could travel. He'd already helped her track her parents through Ireland and he was determined to keep doing so. They could always have a small ceremony once he reached them, couldn't they? Alex had gladly pounced on the idea.

"I don't like this pretending any more than you do, John, but I don't like the rush either. When Montague arrives, then we'll make arrangements."

"And what if the duke arrives before my uncle? What then?"

"We've kept him at bay this long. This s.h.i.+p is sailing to New York, so he might not even know about the stop at Reykjavik. He might already be misinformed."

"Hmm, possible I suppose." John lips lingered by her ear, his warm breath causing goose b.u.mps to form on her arms. "It's just that I'm a little . . . eager"-his lips brushed against the spot below her ear-"to make you . . . all mine."

Alex twisted around. "John, you mustn't do that." But there was laughter in her voice. Fortunately, the only other people on deck were far away and not paying the supposed newly wedded couple any attention.

John chuckled. "I have something for you."

Alex turned toward him, brows raised. "You do?"

He reached inside a pocket and pulled out a little velvet bag with a silken drawstring. Alex watched in curious fascination as he pulled the opening apart and reached inside. He took something out and stepped toward her, reaching for her hand. "If we're to be married, even pretend for now, you will need this."

He took her left hand and slid a ring onto the third finger. Her breath stilled as she looked down at the large, twinkling diamond surrounded by dark blue sapphires. "It's so beautiful."

"It was my mother's. She would have approved of you."

Alex gazed up into John's blue-gray eyes. "Do you think so? I wish I could have gotten to know her. She must have had a great love for jewels."

"Oh yes. She had quite a collection. I fear I've had to sell some of the better pieces over the years, but there are still a few left that I have saved for my future wife. They will all be yours, love."

Alex held her hand out and watched the stones sparkle as she moved it. "I don't know what to say. It doesn't seem right somehow."

John drew her close again, pressed his cheek against her temple, and murmured into her ear, "It's perfect. You're perfect."

Alex tilted her face up. His eyes were so adoring, she felt a pang of nausea. "Thank you."

He leaned down to kiss her but she turned her face away. "John . . . until we are truly wed . . . you do understand?"

He was saved from promising anything of the sort when a crewman in sailor's garb came up to them. He bowed. "Lord Lemon, Lady Lemon, the captain asked me to inform you that your cabin is ready. He has taken special pains to see to your comfort."

"Cabin?" He only mentioned one cabin. Her face heated as she realized that as an alleged married couple, they would, of course, share a cabin. Her gaze swung to John who seemed very happy indeed. This would be more challenging than she'd thought.

"If you will just follow me, I will be happy to see you settled." The young man lifted his brows.

"Thank you." John turned toward Alex with a teasing smile. "We are eager to get . . . settled."

Alex shot him a warning glare and took his arm.

She walked into the room, blinking against the darkness while the sailor lit the lantern. He held it aloft so they could see the accommodations. Alex's gaze cast about the spa.r.s.e furnis.h.i.+ngs. A small table with a lamp. A wardrobe that would barely fit her three dresses and John's coats. A trunk at the foot of a bed. A single bed. Alex saw another single bed above it attached to the wall. She stilled a laugh and looked askance at John. This would be perfect.

"Two beds, eh?" John's tone was dry toward the sailor.

That poor man mumbled a red-faced apology toward the newlyweds. Alex shrugged at John with a grin. An answer to prayer. She had not been looking forward to taking turns sleeping on the floor.

The sailor left and shut the door behind him. Alex stood still as John came toward her.

"We're not married yet," her voice squeaked.

"I know." He said the words but he drew her into his arms. His face leaned in, toward her hair and cheek and lips.

"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 c.o.c.ked one blond eyebrow at her in a way that made her s.h.i.+ver. He was her fiance, for goodness sake, but he wasn't her husband. And in her heart of hearts, G.o.d 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.

What had just happened?

Gabriel Ravenwood, the Duke of St. Easton, turned away from the water, the waves, the s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p barely visible amidst the mists swirling across the sea. He stumbled, breathing hard, turned his head, and hoped no one was watching. G.o.d. Dear G.o.d. 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 s.h.i.+pping 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 s.h.i.+p. The one that just departed, the Achilles . . . give me the pa.s.senger 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 s.h.i.+pping 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 s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 s.h.i.+p, he might get some answers.