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Griffin Stone: Duke of Decadence
Carole Mortimer
Who: Griffin Stone, tenth Duke of Rotherham.What: A dishevelled woman who is nearly trampled by his carriage horses.When: Late one summer night, while the Duke is in pursuit of would-be assassins.Why: When the mysterious beauty’s identity is revealed as Lady Beatrix Stanton, Griffin realises it’s she who holds the key to everything. Bea’s memory must be unlocked, but with every second in her presence inflaming Griffin’s desire, keeping his mind on the task ahead proves nigh on impossible!Dangerous Dukes: Rakes About Town!



DANGEROUS DUKES
Rakes about town
Carole Mortimer introduces London’s most delectable dukes in her latest Mills & Boon
Historical mini-series. But don’t be fooled by their charm, because beneath their lazy smiles they’re deliciously sexy—and highly dangerous!
Read about all the daring exploits of these dangerous dukes in:
Marcus Wilding: Duke of Pleasure Available as a Mills & Boon
Historical Undone! eBook
Zachary Black: Duke of Debauchery
Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire
Rufus Drake: Duke of Wickedness Available as a Mills & Boon
Historical Undone! eBook
Griffin Stone: Duke of Decadence
And don’t miss
Christian Seaton: Duke of Danger
Coming September 2015!

Griffin stared down at Bea uncertainly. Either she was the best actress he had ever seen, and she was now attempting to hoodwink him with innocence, or she truly did believe his assurances that he would see she came to no harm while under his protection.
His response to that trust was a totally inappropriate stirring of desire.
Was that so surprising, when she was such a beautiful and appealing young woman? Her eyes that dark and entrancing blue, her lips full and enticing—
What was he thinking?
He had just promised his protection to the woman he had named Bella, only to realise now that he, and the unexpected stirring of his long-denied physical desires, might have become her more immediate danger.
Griffin Stone:
Duke of
Decadence
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROLE MORTIMER was born and lives in the UK. She is married to Peter and they have six sons. She has been writing for Mills & Boon since 1978, and is the author of almost 200 books. She writes for both the Mills & Boon
Historical and Modern™ lines. Carole is a USA TODAY bestselling author, and in 2012 was recognised by Queen Elizabeth II for her ‘outstanding contribution to literature’.
Visit Carole at carolemortimer.co.uk (http://carolemortimer.co.uk) or on Facebook.
To all of you, for loving the Dangerous Dukes as much as I do!
Contents
Cover (#ua2b4df86-3cdf-56de-8ed4-ca3ef82a6a95)
Dangerous Dukes (#uc471c6af-43b9-57bc-a60b-874c5a09462b)
Introduction (#ub9510d09-29d5-5a9a-9c5a-19d75b9ffc0c)
Title Page (#u43b124ea-d3b6-5033-8911-41689d7f281a)
About the Author (#udf469b7d-f435-5a51-a60a-192314fba069)
Dedication (#u138833e2-29ac-562b-9ea7-cf8e73c2f3f1)
Chapter One (#u60a1391f-4207-5e54-9cf3-d9ed5e618acb)
Chapter Two (#u16c81712-f136-51c0-8cd7-486070e325c0)
Chapter Three (#u0dfc87b2-f1fd-5686-abde-6ffc65d862dd)
Chapter Four (#u8ce33631-d7a1-51da-83e0-1123c83a57f2)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_cdb0e8ac-49e5-526c-ae0d-34802c114e54)
July 1815, Lancashire, England.
‘What the—?’ Griffin Stone, the tenth Duke of Rotherham, pulled sharply on the reins of his perfectly matched greys as a ghostly white figure ran out of the darkness directly in front of his swiftly travelling phaeton.
Despite his concerted efforts to avoid a collision, the ethereal figure barely missed being stomped on by the high-stepping and deadly hooves, but was not so fortunate when it came to the back offside wheel of the carriage.
Griffin winced as he heard rather than saw that collision, all of his attention centred on bringing the greys to a stop before he was able to jump down from the carriage and run quickly round to the back of the vehicle.
There was only the almost full moon overhead for illumination, but nevertheless Griffin was able to locate where the white figure lay a short distance away.
An unmoving and ghostly shape was lying face down in the dirt.
Two strides of his long legs brought him to the utterly still figure, where he crouched down on his haunches. Griffin could see that the person was female; long dark hair fell across her face and cascaded loosely down the length of her spine, and she was wearing what, to him, looked suspiciously like a voluminous white nightgown, her feet bare.
He glanced about them in confusion; this private way through Shrawley Woods was barely more than a rutted track, and as far as he was aware there were no houses in the immediate vicinity. In fact, Griffin was very aware as the surrounding woods and the land for several miles about them formed part of his principal ducal estate.
It made no sense that this woman was roaming about his woods wearing only her nightgown.
He placed his fingers about her wrist, with the intention of checking for a pulse, only to jerk back as she unexpectedly gave a pained groan the moment his fingers touched her bared flesh. It let him know she was at least still alive, even if the sticky substance he could feel on his fingertips showed she had sustained an injury of some kind.
Griffin took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his hand before reaching out to gently stroke the long dark hair from over her face, revealing it as a deathly pale oval in the moonlight.
‘Can you hear me?’ His voice was gruff, no doubt from the scare he had received when she’d run out in front of his carriage.
Shrawley Woods was dense, and this rarely used track was barely navigable in full daylight; Griffin had only decided to press on in the darkness towards Stonehurst Park, just a mile away, because he had played in these woods constantly as a child and knew his way blindfolded.
There had been no reason, at eleven o’clock at night, for Griffin to take into account that there would be someone else in these woods. A poacher would certainly have known his way about in a way this barely clothed female obviously did not.
‘Can you tell me where you are injured so that I can be sure not to hurt you again?’ Griffin prompted, his frown darkening when he received no answer, and was forced to accept that she had once again slipped into unconsciousness.
Griffin made his next decision with the sharp precision for which he had been known in the army. It was late at night, full dark, no one had yet come crashing through the woods in pursuit of this woman, and, whoever she might be, she was obviously in need of urgent medical attention.
Consequently there was only one decision he could make, and that was to place her in the phaeton and continue on with the rest of his journey to Stonehurst Park. Once there they would no longer be in darkness, and he could ascertain her injuries more accurately, after which a doctor could be sent for. Explanations for her state of undress, and her mad flight through the woods, could come later.
Griffin straightened to take off his driving coat and lay it gently across her before scooping her carefully up into his arms.
She weighed no more than a child, her long hair cascading over his arm, her face all pale and dark hollows in the moonlight. He rested her head more comfortably against his shoulder.
She was young and very slender. Too slender. The weight of her long hair seemed almost too much for the slender fragility of her neck to support.
She made no sound as he lifted her up onto the seat of his carriage, nor when he wrapped his coat more securely about her. He took up the reins once again and moved the greys on more slowly than before in an effort not to jolt his injured passenger unnecessarily.
His decision to come to his estate in Lancashire had been forced upon him by circumstances. The open war against Napoleon was now over, thank goodness, but Griffin, and several of his close friends, who also bore the title of Duke and were known collectively as the Dangerous Dukes, all knew, better than most, that there was still a silent, private war to be fought against the defeated emperor and his fanatical followers.
Just a week ago the Dangerous Dukes had helped foil an assassination plot to eliminate their own Prince Regent, along with the other leaders of the alliance. The plan being to ensure Napoleon’s victorious return to Paris, while chaos ruled in those other countries.
A Frenchman, André Rousseau, since apprehended and killed by one of the Dangerous Dukes, had previously spent a year in England, secretly persuading men and women who worked in the households of England’s politicians and peers to Napoleon’s cause. Of which there were many; so many families in England had French relatives.
Many of the perpetrators of that plot had since been either killed or incarcerated, but there remained several who were unaccounted for. It was rumoured that those remaining followed the orders of an as yet unknown leader.
Griffin was on his way to the ducal estates he had not visited for some years, because the Dukes had received word that one of the traitors, Jacob Harker, who might know the identity of this mysterious leader, had been sighted in the vicinity.
It just so happened that three of the Dangerous Dukes had married in recent weeks, and a fourth wed just a week ago, on the very day Griffin had set out for his estate in Lancashire. With all of his friends being so pleasurably occupied, it had been left to him to pursue the rumour of the sighting of Harker.
Running a young woman down in his carriage, in the dark of night, had not been part of Griffin’s immediate plans.
* * *
She hurt.
Every part of her was in agony and aching as she attempted to move her legs.
A wave of pain that swelled from her toes to the top of her head.
Had she fallen?
Been involved in an accident of some kind?
‘Would you care for a drink of water?’
She stilled at the sound of a cultured male voice, hardly daring to breathe as she tried, and failed, to recall if she recognised the owner of it before she attempted to open her eyes.
Panic set in as she realised that he was a stranger to her.
‘There is no reason to be alarmed,’ Griffin assured her firmly as the young woman in the bed finally opened panicked eyes—eyes that he could now see were the dark blue of midnight, and surrounded by thick lashes that were very black against the pallor of a face that appeared far too thin—and turned to look at him as he sat beside the bed in a chair that was uncomfortably small for his large frame.
She, in comparison, made barely an outline beneath the covers of the bed in his best guest bedchamber at Stonehurst Park, her abundance of long dark hair appearing even blacker against the white satin-and-lace pillows upon which her head lay, her face so incredibly pale.
‘I assure you I do not mean you any harm,’ he added firmly. He was well aware of the effect his five inches over six feet in height, and his broad and muscled body, had upon ladies as delicate as this one. ‘I am sure you will feel better if you drink a little water.’
Griffin turned to the bedside table and poured some into a glass. He placed a hand gently beneath her nape to ease up her head and held the glass to her lips until she had drunk down several sips, aware as he did that those dark blue eyes remained fixed on his every move.
Tears now filled them as her head dropped back onto the pillows. ‘I—’ She gave a shake of her head, only to wince as even that slight movement obviously caused her pain. She ran her moistened tongue over her lips before speaking again. ‘You are very kind.’
Griffin frowned darkly as he turned to place the glass back on the bedside table, hardening his heart against the sight of those tears until he knew more about the circumstances behind this young woman’s flight through his woods. His years as an agent for the Crown had left him suspicious of almost everybody.
And women, as he knew only too well, were apt to use tears as their choice of weapon.
‘Who are you?’
It was a reasonable question, Griffin supposed, in the circumstances. And yet he could not help but think he should be the one asking that.
When they’d arrived at Stonehurst late last night he had left the care of his carriage and horses to his head groom, before hurriedly taking her into his arms and carrying her up the steps into the house. Once inside he had hurried her up to the bedchambers, much to the open-mouthed surprise of his butler, Pelham.
Rather than send for a doctor straight away Griffin had taken a few moments to assess the condition of the young woman himself. After all, until he knew the reason for her flight through the woods it might be prudent to ask her some questions. Was she in some sort of danger?
Griffin had been grateful for his caution once he had placed his burden carefully down atop the bedcovers and gently folded back the many capes of his topcoat.
As he had thought, the woman was young, possibly eighteen, or at the most twenty, and her heart-shaped face was delicately lovely. She had perfectly arched eyebrows beneath a smooth brow, though the slight hollowness to her cheeks possibly spoke of a deprivation of food. Her nose was small and straight, her mouth a pale pink, the top lip slightly fuller than the bottom, her chin softly curved.
She had been wearing a filthy white cotton nightgown over her slender curves, revealing feet that were both dirty and lacerated beneath its bloodied ankle length. A result, he was sure, that she’d begun her flight shoeless.
There had also already been a sizeable lump and bruising already appearing upon her right temple, no doubt from her collision with his carriage.
But it was her other injuries, injuries that Griffin knew could not possibly have been caused by that collision, which had caused him to draw in a shocked and hissing breath.
The blood he had felt on his fingers earlier came from the raw chafing about both her wrists and ankles. She’d obviously been restrained by tight ropes for some time before her flight through his woods.
There were any number of explanations as to why she’d been restrained, of course, and not all of them were necessarily sinister.
Though he did not favour the practice himself, he was nevertheless aware that some men liked to secure a woman to the bed—as some women enjoyed being secured!—during love play.
There was also the possibility that this young woman was insane, and had been restrained for her own safety as well as that of others.
The final possibility, and perhaps the most likely, was that she had been restrained against her will.
Until such a time as Griffin established which explanation it was he’d decided that no one in his household, or outside it, was to be allowed to talk to her but himself.
His decision made, Griffin had immediately instructed the hovering Pelham to bring him hot water and towels, and to appropriate a clean nightgown from one of the maids. After all, there had been nothing to stop Griffin making his uninvited guest at least a little more comfortable than she was at present.
Still, he had been deeply shocked, once he had used his knife to cut the dirty and bloodied nightgown away from her body, to discover many bruises, both old and new, concealed beneath.
There had been no visible marks on her face, apart from the bruise on her temple, but there had been multiple purple and black bruises covering her body, with other, older bruises having faded to yellow. The ridge of her spine had shown through distinctly against that bruised skin as evidence that this woman had not only been repeatedly kicked and or beaten, but that she had also been starved, possibly for some days if not weeks, of more than the food and water necessary to keep her alive.
If that was the case, Griffin was determined to know exactly who was responsible for having exerted such cruelty on this fragile and beautiful young woman, and why.
After assuring she was as comfortable as was possible, Griffin had then gone quickly to his own room to bathe the travel dust from his own body, before changing into clean clothes and returning to spend the night in the chair at her bedside. He’d meant to be at her side when she woke.
If she woke.
She had given several groans of protest as Griffin had bathed the dirt from her wrists, ankles and feet, before applying a soothing salve and bandages, her feet very dirty and badly cut from running outdoors without shoes, and also in need of the application of the healing salve. Otherwise she had remained worryingly quiet and still for the rest of the night.
Griffin, on the other hand, had had plenty of time in which to consider his own actions.
Obviously he could not have left this young woman in the woods, least of all because he was responsible for having rendered her unconscious in the first place. But the uncertainty of who she was and the reasons for her imprisonment and escape meant the ramifications for keeping her here could be far-reaching.
Not that he gave a damn about that; Griffin answered only to the Crown and to God, and he doubted the former had any interest in her, and for the moment—and obviously for some days or weeks previously!—the second seemed to have deserted her.
Consequently Griffin now had the responsibility of her until she woke and was able to tell him the circumstances of her injuries.
Just a few minutes ago Griffin had seen her eyes moving beneath her translucent lids, and her dark lashes flutter against the pallor of her cheeks, as evidence that she was finally regaining consciousness. And her voice, when she had spoken to him at last, had at least answered one of his many questions; her accent was refined rather than of the local brogue, and her manner was also that of a polite young lady.
‘I am Griffin Stone, the Duke of Rotherham.’ He gave a curt inclination of his head as he answered her question. ‘And we are both at Stonehurst Park, my ducal estate in Lancashire.’ He frowned as she made no effort to reciprocate. ‘And you are?’
And she was...?
Panic once again assailed her as she sought, and failed, to recall her own name. To recall anything at all from before she had opened her eyes a few minutes ago and seen the imposing gentleman seated at her bedside in a bedchamber that was as unfamiliar to her as the man himself.
The Duke of Rotherham.
Even seated he was a frighteningly large man, with fashionably overlong black hair, and impossibly wide shoulders and chest. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black superfine over a silver waistcoat and white linen, and his thighs and legs were powerfully muscled in grey pantaloons above brown-topped Hessians.
But it was his face, showing that refinement of feature and an expression of aloof disdain, surely brought about only by generations of fine breeding, which held her mesmerised. He had a high intelligent brow with perfectly arched eyebrows over piercingly cold silver-grey eyes. His nose was long and aquiline between high cheekbones, and he’d sculptured unsmiling lips above an arrogantly determined jaw.
He was an intimidating and grimly intense gentleman, with a haughty aloofness that spoke of an innate, even arrogant, confidence. Whereas she...
Her lips felt suddenly numb, and the bedroom began to sway and dip in front of her eyes.
‘You must stay awake!’ The Duke rose sharply to his feet so that he could take a firm grip of her shoulders, his hold easing slightly only as she gave a low groan of pain. ‘I apologise if I caused you discomfort.’ He frowned darkly. ‘But I really cannot allow you to fall asleep again until I am sure you are in your right mind. So far I have resisted calling the doctor but I fear that may have been unwise.’
‘No!’ she protested sharply. ‘Do not call anyone! Please do not,’ she protested brokenly, her fingers now clinging to the sleeves of his jacket as she looked up at him pleadingly.
Griffin frowned his displeasure, not in the least reassured by her responses so far. She seemed incapable of answering the simplest of questions and had now become almost hysterical at his having mentioned sending for the doctor. Had last night’s bump to the head caused some sort of trauma to the mind? Or had her mind been affected before?
Griffin knew the English asylums for housing those pitiful creatures were basic at best, and bestial at worst, and tended to attract as warders those members of society least suited to the care of those who were most vulnerable. Admittedly, some of the insane could be violent themselves, but Griffin sincerely doubted that was true in the case of this young woman. She was surely too tiny and slender to be of much danger to others? Unless her jailers had feared self-harm, of course.
Distasteful as that thought might be, Griffin could not deny that it was one explanation for both the bruises on her body, and those marks of restraint.
Except, to his certain knowledge, there was no asylum for the mentally insane situated within fifty miles of Stonehurst Park.
‘At least tell me your name,’ he said again, more gently this time, for fear of alarming her further.
‘I cannot.’ The tears now flooded and overflowed, running unchecked down her cheeks and dampening her hair.
Griffin frowned his frustration, with both her tears and her answer.
He was well aware that women cried for many reasons. With pain. In fear. Emotional distress. And to divert and mislead.
And in this instance, it could be being used as a way of not answering his questions at all!
But perhaps he was being unfair and she was just too frightened to answer him truthfully? Fearful of being returned to the place where she had been so cruelly treated?
It would be wrong of him to judge until he knew all the circumstances.
‘Are you at least able to tell me why you were running through the Shrawley Woods in the dead of night wearing only your nightclothes?’ he urged softly. He was not averse to using his height and size to intimidate a man, but knew only too well how easily those two things together could frighten a vulnerable woman.
‘No!’ Her eyes had widened in alarm, as if she had no previous knowledge of having run through the woods.
Griffin placed a gentle finger against one of her bandaged wrists. ‘Or how you received these injuries?’
She looked blankly down at those bandages. ‘I— No,’ she repeated emotionally.
Griffin’s frustration heightened as he rose restlessly to his feet before crossing the room to where the early morning sun shone brightly through the windows of the bedchamber, the curtains having remained undrawn the night before.
The room faced towards the back of the house, and outside he could see the stirrings of the morning: maids returning to the house with pails of milk, grooms busy in the stables, feeding and exercising the horses, several estate workers already tending to the crops in the far fields.
All normal morning occupations for the efficient running of the estate.
While inside the house all was far from normal.
There was an unknown and abused young woman lying in the bed in Griffin’s guest bedchamber, and he knew that his own mood was surly after the long days of travel, and the upset of the collision followed by lack of sleep as he’d sat at her bedside.
Griffin was a man of action.
If something needed to be done, fixed, or solved, then he did, fixed or solved it, and beware anyone who stood in his way.
But he could not do, fix or solve this dilemma without this woman’s cooperation, and, despite all his efforts to the contrary, she was too fearful at present to dare to confide so much as her name to him.
He knew from personal experience that women often found him overwhelming.
He was certainly not a man that women ever turned to for comfort or understanding. He was too physically large, too overpowering in his demeanour, for any woman to seek him out as their confidant.
No, for their comfort, for those softer emotions such as understanding and empathy, a woman of delicacy looked for a poet, not a warrior.
His wife, although dead these past six years, had been such a woman. Even after weeks of courtship and their betrothal, and despite all Griffin’s efforts to reassure her, his stature and size had continued to alarm Felicity. It had been a fear Griffin had been sure he could allay once they were married. He had been wrong.
‘I am not—I do not—I am not being deliberately disobliging or difficult, sir,’ she said pleadingly. ‘The simple truth is that I cannot tell you my name because—because I do not know it!’
A scowl appeared between Griffin’s eyes as he turned sharply round to look across at his unexpected guest, not sure that he had understood her correctly. ‘You do not know your own name, or you do not have one?’
Well, of course she must have a name!
Surely everyone had a name?
‘I have a name, I am sure, sir.’ She spoke huskily. ‘It is only—for the moment I am unable to recall it.’
And the shock of realising she did not know her own name, who she was, or how she had come to be here, or the reason for those bandages upon her wrists—indeed, anything that had happened to her before she woke up in this bed a few short minutes ago, to see this aloof and imposing stranger seated beside her—filled her with a cold and terrifying fear.
Chapter Two (#ulink_ee312a9b-c797-5f37-9a26-9a0fea141d17)
The Duke remained still and unmoving as he stood in front of the window, imposing despite having fallen silent after her announcement, those chilling grey eyes now studying her through narrowed lids.
As if he was unsure as to whether or not he should believe her.
And why should he, when it was clear he had no idea as to her identity either, let alone what she had been doing in his woods?
What possible reason could she have had for doing something so shocking? What sort of woman behaved so scandalously?
The possible answer to that seemed all too obvious.
To both her and the Duke?
‘You do not believe me.’ She made a flat statement of fact rather than asked a question.
‘It is certainly not the answer I might have expected,’ he finally answered slowly.
‘What did you expect?’ She struggled to sit up higher against the pillows, once again aware that she had aches and pains over all of her body, rather than just her bandaged wrists. Indeed, she felt as if she had been trampled by several horses and run over by a carriage.
What had Griffin expected? That was a difficult question for him to answer. He had completely ruled out the possibility that she’d sustained her injuries from mutual bed sport; they were too numerous for her ever to have enjoyed or found sexual stimulation from such treatment. Nor did he particularly wish to learn that his suspicions of insanity were true. And the possibility that this young lady might have been restrained against her will, possibly by her own family, was just as abhorrent to him.
But he had never considered for a moment that she would claim to have no memory of her own name, let alone be unable to tell him where or from whom she had received her injuries.
‘You do not recall any of the events of last night?’
‘What I was doing in the woods? How I came to be here?’ She frowned. ‘No.’
‘The latter I can at least answer.’ Griffin strode forcefully across the room until he once again stood at her bedside looking down at her. ‘Unfortunately, when you ran so suddenly in front of my carriage, I was unable to avoid a collision. You sustained a bump upon your head and were rendered unconscious,’ he acknowledged reluctantly. ‘As there are no houses in the immediate area, and no one else was about, I had no choice but to bring you directly here to my own home.’
Then she really had been trampled by horses and run over by a carriage.
‘As my actions last night gave every appearance of my having known who I was before I sustained a bump on the head from the collision with your carriage, is it not logical to assume that it was that collision that is now responsible for my loss of memory?’ She eyed him hopefully.
It was logical, Griffin acknowledged grudgingly, at the same time as he appreciated her powers of deduction in the face of what must be a very frightening experience for her. He could imagine nothing worse than awakening in a strange bedchamber with no clue to his identity.
Nor did he believe that sort of logic was something a mentally unbalanced woman would be capable of.
If indeed this young woman was being truthful about her memory loss, which Griffin was still not totally convinced about.
The previous night she had been fleeing as if for her very life, would it not be just as logicalfor her to now pretend to have lost her memory, as a way of avoiding the explanations he now asked for? She might fear he’d return her to her abusers.
‘Perhaps,’ he allowed coolly. ‘But that does not explain what you were doing in the woods in your nightclothes.’
‘Perhaps I was sleepwalking?’
‘You were running, not walking,’ Griffin countered dryly. ‘And you were bare of foot.’
The smoothness of her brow once again creased into a frown. ‘Would that explanation not fit in with my having been walking in my sleep?’
It would, certainly.
If she had not been running as if the devil were at her heels.
If it were not for those horrendous bruises on her body.
And if she did not bear those marks of restraint upon her wrists and ankles.
Bruises and marks of restraint that were going to make it difficult for Griffin to make enquiries about this young woman locally, without alerting the perpetrators of that abuse as to her whereabouts. Something Griffin was definitely reluctant to do until he knew more of the circumstances of her imprisonment and the reason for the abuse. Although there could surely be no excuse for the latter, whatever those circumstances?
He straightened to his fullness of height. ‘Perhaps for now we should decide upon a name we may call you by until such time as your memory returns to you?’
‘And if it does not return to me?’ There was an expression of pained bewilderment in her eyes as she looked up at him.
If her loss of memory was genuine, then the collision with his carriage was not necessarily the cause of it. Griffin had seen many soldiers after battle, mortally wounded and in pain, who had retreated to a safe place inside themselves in order to avoid any more suffering. Admittedly this young woman had not been injured in battle, nor was she mortally injured, but it was nevertheless entirely possible that the things that had been done to her were so horrendous, her mind simply refused to condone or remember them.
Griffin did not pretend to understand the workings of the human mind or emotions, but he could accept that blocking out the memory of who she even was would be one way for this young woman to deal with such painful memories.
For the moment he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
For the moment.
‘Bella.’
She blinked her confusion. ‘Sorry?’
‘Your new name,’ Griffin said. ‘It means beautiful in Italian.’
‘I know what it means.’ She did know what it meant!
Could that possibly mean that she was of Italian descent? The hair flowing down her shoulders and over her breasts was certainly dark enough. But she did not speak English with any kind of accent that she could detect, and surely her skin was too pale for her to have originated from that sunny country?
And did the fact that the Duke had chosen that name for her mean that he thought her beautiful?
There was a blankness inside her head in answer to those first two questions, her queries seeming to slam up against a wall she could neither pass over nor through. As for the third question—
‘I speak French, German and Italian, but that does not make me any of those things.’ The Duke was obviously following her train of thought. ‘Besides, your first instinct was to speak English.’
‘You could be right, of course,’ she demurred, all the while wondering whether he did in fact find her beautiful.
What would it be like to be the recipient of the admiration of such a magnificently handsome gentleman as Griffin Stone? Or his affections. His love...
Was it possible she had ever seen such a handsome gentleman as him before today? A gentleman who was so magnificently tall, with shoulders so wide, a chest so muscled, and those lean hips and long and elegant legs? A man whose bearing must command attention wherever he might be?
He was without a doubt a gentleman whom others would know to beware of. A powerful gentleman in stature and standing. A man under whose protection she need never again know fear.
Fear of what?
For a very brief moment she had felt as if she were on the verge of something. Some knowledge. Some insight into why she had been running through the woods last night.
And now it was gone.
Slipped from her grasp.
She frowned her consternation as she slowly answered the Duke’s observation. ‘Or maybe because you spoke to me in English I replied in kind?’
This woman might not be able to answer any of Griffin’s questions but he had nevertheless learnt several things about her as the two of them had talked together.
Her voice had remained soft and refined during their conversation.
She was also clearly educated and intelligent.
And, for the moment, despite whatever experiences had reduced her to her present state, she appeared completely undaunted by either his size or his title.
Of course that could be because for now she had much more personal and pressing things to worry about, such as who she was and where she had come from!
Nevertheless, the frankness of her manner and speech towards him was a refreshing change, after so many years of the deference shown to him by other gentlemen of the ton, and the prattling awe of the ladies.
Or the total abhorrence shown to him by his own wife.
He had been but five and twenty when he and Felicity had married. He’d already inherited the title of Duke from his father. Felicity had been seven years younger than himself, and the daughter of an earl. Blonde and petite, she had been as beautiful as an angel, and she had also possessed the other necessary attributes for becoming his duchess: youth, good breeding and refinement.
Felicity might have looked and behaved like an angel but their marriage had surely been made in hell itself.
And Griffin had been thinking of that marriage far too often these past twelve hours, possibly because the delicacy of Bella’s appearance, despite their difference in colouring, was so similar to Felicity’s. ‘We have talked long enough for now, Bella,’ he dismissed harshly. ‘I will go downstairs now and organise some breakfast for you. You need to eat to regain your strength.’
‘Oh, please don’t leave! I am not sure I can be alone as yet.’ She reached up quickly with both hands and clasped hold of his much larger one, her eyes shimmering a deep blue as she looked up at him in appeal.
Griffin frowned darkly at the fear he could also see in those expressive eyes. A fear not of him—else she would not be clinging to him or appealing to him so emotionally—but certainly of everything and everyone else.
There was a certain irony to be found in the fact that this young woman was showing her implicit trust in him to protect her, when his own wife had so feared the very sight of him that she had eagerly accepted the attentions and warmth of another man.
Damn it, he would not think any more of his marriage, or Felicity!
‘I am sorry.’ Bella hastily released her grasp on the Duke’s hand as she saw the scowling displeasure on his face. ‘I did not mean to be overly familiar.’ She drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she fought back the weakness of tears.
The bed dipped as he sat down beside her, his eyes filled with compassion as he now took one of her hands gently in his. ‘It is only natural, in the circumstances, that you should feel frightened and apprehensive.’ He spoke gruffly. ‘But I assure you that you are perfectly safe here. No one would dare to harm you when you are in my home and under my protection,’ he added with that inborn arrogance of his rank.
Bella believed him. Absolutely. Without a single doubt.
Indeed, he was a gentleman whom few would ever dare to doubt, in any way. It was not only that he was so tall and powerfully built, but there was also a hard determination in those chilling grey eyes that spoke of his sincerity of purpose. If he said she would come to no harm while in his home and under his protection, then Bella had no doubt that she would not.
Her shoulders relaxed as she sank back against the pillows, her hand still resting trustingly in his. ‘Thank you.’
Griffin stared down at her uncertainly. Either she was the best actress he had ever seen and she was now attempting to hoodwink him with innocence, or she truly did believe his assurances that he would see she came to no harm while under his protection.
His response to that trust was a totally inappropriate stirring of desire.
Was that so surprising, when he had seen her naked and she was such a beautiful and appealing young woman? Her eyes that dark and entrancing blue, her lips full and enticing, and the soft curve of her tiny breasts—breasts that would surely sit snugly in the palms of his hands?—just visible above the neckline of her—
What was he thinking?
Griffin hastily released her hand as he rose abruptly to his feet to step back and away from the bed. ‘I will see that breakfast and a bath are brought up to you directly.’ He did not look at her again before turning sharply on his heel and exiting the bedchamber, closing the door firmly behind him before leaning back against it to draw deep breaths into his starved lungs.
He had just promised his protection to the woman he had named Bella, only to now realise that he,andthe unexpected stirring of his long-denied physical desires, might have become her more immediate danger.
* * *
‘You are feeling more refreshed, Bella?’
Griffin knew the question was a futile one even as he asked it several hours later, as she stood in the doorway to his study. The walls were lined with the books he enjoyed sitting and reading beside the fireside in the quiet of the evening, a decanter of brandy and glass placed on the table beside him.
At least he had intended to enjoy those things the evenings he was here; the advent of his unexpected female guest meant that he might possibly have to spend those evenings entertaining her instead.
He now felt extremely weary following his days of travel and sitting at her bedside all of the previous night.
Bella appeared very pale and dignified as she remained standing in the doorway, her hair still wet from her bath, scraped back from her face and secured at her crown. She also looked somewhat nondescript in the overlarge pale blue gown borrowed from his housekeeper. It was the best Griffin had been able to do at such short notice, although he had instructed Mrs Harcourt to see about acquiring more suitable clothing for her as soon as was possible.
And if he was not mistaken, Bella had flinched the moment he’d spoken to her.
Unfortunately he knew that flinch too well; Felicity had also recoiled just so whenever he’d spoken to her, so much so that he’d eventually spoken to her as little as was possible between two people who were married to each other and often residing in the same house.
‘My feet are still too sore for me to wear the boots provided,’ Bella told him quietly, eyes downcast.
Griffin scowled slightly as he looked down at her stockinged feet. She gave all the appearance of a little girl playing dress up in those overly large clothes.
Or the waif and stray that she actually was.
He stood up impatiently from behind his desk. ‘They will heal quickly enough,’ he dismissed. ‘I asked if you are feeling refreshed after your bath,’ he questioned curtly, and then instantly cursed himself for that abruptness when Bella took a wary step back, her eyes wide blue pools of apprehension.
The fact that Griffin was accustomed to such a reaction did not make it any more pleasant for him to see it now surface in Bella. But perhaps it was to be expected, now that she was over her initial feelings of disorientation and shock in her surroundings, and had had the chance to fully observe her imposing host?
He leant back against the front of his desk in an effort to at least lessen his height. ‘Have you perhaps recalled something of what brought you to Shrawley Woods?’
Bella had been horrified when, after eating a very little of the breakfast brought up for her, she had undressed for her ablutions and seen for the first time the extent of her injuries to her body. She could only feel grateful that she’d seen fit to refuse the attendance of a maid before removing her nightgown as she stared at the naked reflection of her own body in the full-length mirror placed in the corner of the bedchamber.
She was literally covered in bruises. Some of them were obviously new, but others had faded to a sickly yellow and a dirty brown colour, and were possibly a week or so old. As for those strange abrasions, revealed when she removed the bandages from her wrist and her ankles...
How could she have come by such unsightly injuries?
She had staggered back to sit down heavily on the bed as her knees had threatened to buckle beneath her, her horrified gaze still fixed on her naked reflection in the mirror.
She had stared at her bedraggled reflection in utter bewilderment; her long dark hair had been tangled and dull about her shoulders, and there was a livid bruise on her left temple, which the Duke said she had sustained when she and his carriage had collided the night before.
But those other bruises on her body were so unsightly. Ugly!
She had realised then how stupid she had been to think that he had chosen the name Bella for her because he had thought her beautiful!
Instead it must have been his idea of a jest, a cruel joke at her expense.
‘No,’ she finally answered stiffly.
Griffin had issued instructions to all of the household staff, through Pelham, that knowledge of the female guest currently residing on the estate was not to be shared outside the house, and that any attempt to do so would result in an instant dismissal. No doubt the servants would do enough gossiping and speculating amongst themselves in that regard, without the necessity to spread the news far and wide!
Griffin, of course, if he was to solve the mystery, had no choice but to also make discreet enquiries in the immediate area for knowledge of a possible missing young lady. And he would have to do this alongside his research into the whereabouts of Harker. But he would carry out both missions with the subtlety he had learnt while gathering information secretly for the Crown. A subtlety that would no doubt surprise many who did not know that the Duke of Rotherham and his closest friends had long been engaged in such activities.
It would have been helpful if the maid who had taken up Bella’s breakfast, or any of the footmen who had later taken up her bath, had recognised Bella as belonging to the village or any of the larger households hereabouts. Unfortunately, Pelham had informed him a few minutes ago that that had not been the case.
Confirming that Griffin now had no choice but to try and identify her himself.
In the meantime he had no idea what to do with her!
‘Do you play cards?’
She eyed him quizzically as she stepped further into the room. ‘I do not believe so, no.’
Griffin watched, mesmerised, as she ran her fingers lingeringly, almost caressingly, along the shelves of books, his imagination taking flight as he wondered how those slender fingers would feel as they caressed the bareness of his shoulders, and down the tautness of his muscled stomach. How soft they would feel as they encircled the heavy weight of his arousal...
‘You obviously have a love of books,’ he bit out tensely, only to scowl darkly as she immediately snatched her hand back as if burnt before cradling it against her breasts. ‘It was an observation, Bella, not a rebuke.’ He sighed his irritation, with both his own impatience and her reaction.
‘Do not call me by that name!’ Fire briefly lit up her eyes. ‘Indeed, I believe it to have been exceedingly cruel of you to choose such a name for me!’
Griffin felt at a complete loss in the face of her upset. Three—no, it was now four—of his closest friends were either now married or about to be, and he liked their wives and betrothed well enough. But other than those four ladies the only time Griffin spent in a woman’s company nowadays was usually in the bed of one of the mistresses of the demi-monde, and then only for as long as it took to satisfy his physical needs, and with women who did not find his completely proportioned body in the least alarming. Or did not choose to show they did.
His only other knowledge of women was that of his wife, Felicity, and she had informed him on more than one occasion that he had no sensitivity, no warmth or understanding in regard to women. Not like the man she had taken as her lover. Her darling Frank, as she had called the other man so affectionately.
DamnFelicity!
If not for Harker, then Griffin would not have chosen to come back here to Stonehurst Park at all. To the place where he and Felicity had spent the first months of their married life together. He had certainly avoided the place for most of the last six years, and being back here now appeared to be bringing back all the bitter and unhappy memories of his marriage.
But if he had not come back to Stonehurst Park last night then what would have become of Bella?
Would she have perhaps stumbled and fallen in the woods in the dark, and perished without anyone being the wiser?
Would the people who had already treated her so cruelly have recaptured her and returned her to her prison?
For those reasons alone Griffin could not regret now being at Stonehurst Park.
Now if only he could fathom what he had said or done to cause Bella’s current upset.
His brow cleared as a thought occurred to him. ‘I have already asked my housekeeper to send to the nearest town for more suitable gowns and footwear for you to wear.’
‘Suitable gowns and footwear will not make a difference to how I look!’ There was still a fire in her eyes as she looked at him. ‘How could you be so cruel as to—as to taunt me so, when I am already laid low?’
Griffin gave an exasperated shake of his head. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.’
‘I am talking about this!’ She held up the bareness of her bruised arms. ‘And this!’ She pulled aside the already gaping neckline to reveal her discoloured shoulders. ‘And this!’
‘Enough! No more, Bella,’ Griffin protested as she would have lifted the hem of her gown, hopefully only to show him her abraded calves, but he could not be sure; an overabundance of modesty did not appear to be one of her attributes!
‘Bella.’ He strode slowly towards her, as if he were approaching a skittish horse rather than a beautiful young woman. ‘Bella,’ he repeated huskily as he placed a hand gently beneath her chin and raised her face so that he could look directly into her eyes. ‘Those bruises are only skin deep. They will all fade with time. And they could never hide the beauty beneath.’
Bella blinked. ‘Do you truly mean that or are you just being kind?’
‘I believe we have already established that I am cruel rather than kind.’
‘I thought—I did not know what to think.’ She now looked regretful regarding her previous outburst.
Griffin arched that aristocratic brow. ‘I am not a man who is known for his kindness. But neither am I a deceptive one,’ he added emphatically.
She gave a shake of her head. ‘When I undressed for my bath and saw my reflection in the mirror I could only think that, by giving me such a beautiful name, you must be mocking me for how unsightly I look. I truly believed that you were taunting me.’
‘I would never do such a thing to you, Bella,’ he assured her softly as he drew her into his arms. ‘Never!’
Bella breathed a contented sigh as she lay her head against the firmness of his chest, her arms moving tentatively about the leanness of his waist. He felt so big and strong against her, so solid and sure, like a mountain that would never, could never, be moved.
‘Who could have done this to me?’ She shuddered as she imagined the beatings she must have received.
Griffin’s arms tightened about Bella as he felt her tremble. ‘I do not know.’ Yet!
For he would learn who was responsible for hurting this young woman. Oh, yes, Griffin would find those responsible for her ill treatment. And when he did—
‘Do you think that—?’ She buried her head deeper into his chest. ‘Could it be that I am a married woman and that perhaps my husband might have done this to me?’
That was a possibility Griffin had not even considered in his earlier deliberations!
Perhaps because she had initially appeared so young to him.
Perhaps because she wore no wedding ring on her left hand.
And perhaps he had not thought of it because he had not wished for her to be a married woman?
But he knew better than most the embarrassment of a cuckolded husband, and Griffin’s physical response to Bella was not something he wished, or ever wanted to feel for a woman who was the wife of another man. Not even one who could have treated her so harshly.
Indeed, marriage could be the very worst outcome to Griffin’s enquiries regarding Bella; unless otherwise stated in a marriage settlement, English law still allowed that a woman’s person, and her property, came under her husband’s control upon their marriage. And, if it transpired that Bella was a married woman, then Griffin would be prevented by law from doing anything to protect her from her husband’s cruelty, despite his earlier promise to her.
His arms tightened about her. ‘Let us hope that does not prove to be the case.’
Bella had sought only comfort when she snuggled into the Duke’s arms, seeking an anchor in a world that seemed to her both stormy and precarious.
Since then she had become aware of things other than comfort.
The way Griffin’s back felt so firmly muscled and yet so warm beneath her fingers.
The way he smelled: a lemon and sandalwood cologne along with a male earthy fragrance she was sure belonged only to him.
Of what she believed must be his arousal pressing so insistently against the softness of her abdomen as he held her close.
Was it possible that this gentleman, this breathtakingly handsome Duke, this towering man of solidity and strength, was feeling that arousal for her?
Griffin became aware of just how perfectly the softness of Bella’s curves fitted against his own, much harder body. So perfectly, in fact, that she could not help but be aware of his desire for her.
He pulled back abruptly to place his hands on the tops of her arms as he put her firmly away from him, assuring himself of her balance before he released her completely and stepped back and away from her.
‘I have important estate business in need of my urgent attention this morning, so perhaps you might find some way of amusing yourself until luncheon?’ He moved to once again sit behind his desk.
He put a necessary distance between the two of them, while the desk now hid the physical evidence of his arousal.
Hell’s teeth, he was an experienced man of two and thirty, and far from being a callow youth to be so easily aroused by a woman he had just met. He was also a man who would never again allow himself to fall prey to the vulnerabilities of any woman.
That particular lesson had also been taught to him only too well. His softness of heart had been one of the reasons he had allowed Felicity to charm him into taking her as his wife. Unbeknown to him, Felicity’s father, an earl, had been in serious financial difficulties, and a duke could hardly allow his father-in-law to be carried off to debtors’ prison!
Bella felt utterly bewildered by Griffin’s sudden rejection of her.
Had she done something wrong to cause him to react in this way?
Been too clinging? Too needy of his comfort?
If she was guilty of those things then surely it had been for good reason?
She felt totally lost in a world that she did not recognise and that did not appear to recognise her. Could she be blamed for feeling that Griffin Stone, the aloof and arrogant Duke of Rotherham, was her only stability in her present state of turmoil?
Blame or otherwise, Bella now discovered that she had resources of pride that this austere Duke’s dismissal, the ugliness of her gown, or her otherwise bedraggled and bruised appearance, had not succeeded in diminishing.
Her chin rose. ‘I believe I do like books, Your Grace.’ Stiltedly she answered his earlier question. ‘Perhaps I might borrow one from this library and find somewhere quiet so that I might sit and read it?’
Griffin was feeling a little ashamed of the abruptness of his behaviour now. The more so because he had seen Bella’s brief expression of bewilderment at his harsh treatment of her.
Before it was replaced with one of proud determination.
Even wearing that overlarge and unflattering pale blue gown, her feet bare but for her stockings, and with her hair styled so unbecomingly, Bella now bore an expression of haughty disdain worthy of his severe and opinionated grandmother.
The tension eased from his shoulders at that expression, and he settled back against his leather chair. ‘If you wish it you might ask Pelham for a blanket, and then go outside and sit beneath one of the trees in the garden. Although I advise that you walk on the safety of the grass until your new footwear arrives,’ he added dryly.
Her look of hauteur wavered slightly as she now eyed him uncertainly. ‘I might go outside?’
‘You are not a prisoner here, Bella,’ Griffin answered irritably. ‘Any restrictions placed on your movements, while you are here, will only be for your own safety and never as a way of confining you,’ he added with a frown.
The slenderness of her throat moved as she swallowed before answering. ‘And what if we were never to discover who I really am?’
Then he would keep her.
And buy her dozens of pretty gowns of a fit and colour that flattered her, and the slippers to match. Then he would feed her until she burst out of those gowns and needed new ones, her cheeks rosy with—
Griffin’s mouth firmed as he brought an abrupt halt to the unsuitability of his thoughts. He could not keep Bella, even if she were foolish enough to want to stay with him. She was not a dog or a horse, and a duke did not keep a young woman, unless she was his mistress, and Bella was far too young and beautiful to be interested in such a relationship with a gentleman so much older than herself.
Nor did Griffin have any interest in taking a mistress. A few hours of enjoyment here and there with the ladies of the demi-monde was one thing, the setting up of a mistress something else entirely.
Even if his physical response to Bella was undeniable.
Chapter Three (#ulink_4e7a735c-e119-5a40-b1db-8d9782540072)
‘People do not just disappear, Bella,’ he now bit out grimly. ‘Someone, somewhere, knows exactly who you are.’
Bella supposed that had to be true; after all, she could not have just suddenly appeared in the world as if by magic.
Oh, but it had been so wonderful, just for those few brief seconds, to imagine being allowed to stay here. To remain at Stonehurst Park for ever, with this proud and arrogant Duke, who she was sure had a kind heart, despite the impression he might wish to give to the contrary. After all, he had not hesitated to care for her, despite the circumstances under which he had found her.
She felt sure that a less kind man would have handed her over to the local magistrate by now, in fear she might be a criminal of some sort, rather than allowing her to remain in his household. For if it transpired she was a thief, then he could not be sure she might not steal all the family silver before escaping into the night. And she might do so much more if she were more than a thief...
No, despite his haughty aloofness, his moments of harshness, and that air of proud and ducal disdain, Bella could not believe Griffin to be anything other than a kind man.
Besides which, she had not imagined the physical evidence of his desire for her a few minutes ago.
She looked at him shyly from beneath her lashes. ‘Then I can only hope, whoever they might be, that they do not find me too quickly.’
Exactly what did she mean by that? Griffin wondered darkly.
He had come to Stonehurst Park for the sole purpose of finding Harker; the last thing he needed was the distraction of a mysterious woman he found far too physically disturbing for his own comfort!
A conclusion he was perhaps a little late in arriving at, when that young woman currently stood before him, barefoot, and a guest in his home...
The mysteries of her circumstances aside, Bella was something of an unusual young woman. The slight redness to her eyes was testament to the fact that she had been recently crying, which he was sure any woman would have done given her current situation. But most women would also have been having a fit of the vapours at the precariousness, the danger, of their present dilemma. Bella appeared calm, almost accepting.
As evidence that she did not, as he suspected, suffer from amnesia at all?
He looked at her coldly from between narrowed lids. ‘The sooner the better as far as I am concerned.’
Bella frowned at the coldness of his tone. Just when she had concluded that Stone must be a kind man he did or said something to force her to decide the opposite. As if in self-defence?
She turned away to look at the shelves of books so that he should not see the hurt in her eyes, glad when the heaviness of her heart lightened somewhat just at the sight of those books. As proof that she did indeed like to read?
She took a novel down from the shelf. ‘I believe I shall read Sense and Sensibility. I have read it before, but it has long been a favourite of—’ Bella broke off, her expression one of open-mouthed disbelief as she realised what she had just done. ‘Oh, my! Did you hear what I said?’ she prompted eagerly.
The Duke’s mouth twisted without humour. ‘I believe that happens sometimes with people who have lost their memory. They recall certain likes and dislikes, such as a foodstuff, or a book they have read, but not specifics about themselves.’
‘Oh.’ Bella’s face dropped in disappointment. ‘I had thought for a moment that I might be recovering my memory, and so relieving you of my presence quite soon, after all.’
Griffin knew that he deserved her sharpness, after speaking to her so abruptly and dampening her enthusiasm so thoroughly just now. He had been exceedingly rude to her.
But what was he to do when he was so aware of every curve of her body, even in that ghastly gown? When she had felt so soft and yielding in his arms just minutes ago? When the clean womanly smell of her, after the strong perfume and painted ladies of the demi-monde, was stimulation enough? When just the sight of her stockinged feet peeping out from beneath her gown sent his desire for her soaring?
Why, just minutes ago he had been thinking of keeping her!
Damn it, he could not, he would not, allow himself to become in any way attached to this young woman, other than as a surrogate avuncular figure who offered her aid in her distress. Chances were Bella would be gone from here very soon, possibly even later today or tomorrow, if his enquiries today should prove fruitful.
He deliberately turned his attention to the papers on his desk. ‘Do not go too far from the house,’ he instructed distractedly. ‘We have no idea as yet who is friend or foe.’ He glanced up seconds later when Bella had made no effort to leave or acknowledge what he’d said.
‘What?’ He frowned darkly.
She eyed him quizzically. ‘I was wondering if that follows you around constantly.’
Griffin’s irritation deepened at her enigmatic comment. ‘If what follows me around?’ He had owned a hound as a child but never as a man...
‘That black thundercloud hanging over your head.’
Griffin stared at her for several long seconds as if he had indeed been thunderstruck. He had also, he realised dazedly, been rendered completely speechless.
Did he have a thundercloud hanging over his head?
Quite possibly.
There had been little in his past, or of late, for him to smile about. Nor, he would have thought, too much to cause amusement to this young woman either, but Bella now gave him a mischievous smile.
‘If that should be the case, I sincerely hope it does not rain on you too often.’
Impudent minx!
Despite his best efforts he could not prevent the smile of amusement from curving his lips, followed by a sharp bark of outraged laughter as Bella continued to look at him with that feigned innocence in her candid blue eyes.
Bella’s breath caught in her throat as Griffin began to chuckle, finding herself fascinated by the transformation that laughter made to the usual austereness of his face. Laughter lines had appeared beside now warm grey eyes, two grooves indenting the rigidness of his cheeks, his sculptured lips curling back to reveal very white and even teeth.
He was, quite simply, the most devastatingly handsome gentleman she had ever seen!
Perhaps.
For how could she say that with any certainty, when she did not so much as know her own name?
She gave a shiver as the full weight of that realisation once again crashed down on her. What if she should turn out to be a thief, or something worse, and last night she had been fleeing from imprisonment for her crimes?
She did not feel like a criminal. Had not felt any desire earlier, as she’d made her way through this grand house to the Duke’s study, to steal any of the valuables, the silver, or the paintings so in abundance in every room and hallway she passed by or through. Nor did she feel any inclination to cause anyone physical harm—except perhaps to crash the occasional vase over the Duke’s head, when he became so annoyingly cold and dismissive.
Except there weren’t any vases in this room, Bella realised as she looked curiously about the study. Nor had she seen any flowers in the cavernous hallway to brighten up the entrance to the house.
That was what she would do!
When she asked Pelham for a blanket to sit on outside, she would also enquire about something with which to cut some of the flowers, growing so abundantly in the garden she could see outside the windows, and she’d ask for a basket to put them in.
Just because she had no idea who she was, or what she was doing here, was no reason for her not to attempt in some small way to repay the Duke’s kindness in allowing her to remain in his home. And this beautiful house would look so much more welcoming with several vases of flowers placed—
‘What are you plotting now?’ Griffin’s laughter had faded as suddenly as it had appeared, and he now eyed Bella warily as he saw the light of determination that had appeared so suddenly in her eyes.
She frowned as her attention snapped back to him. ‘Why do you treat me with so much suspicion?’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘I know that the circumstances of my being here are unusual, to say the least, but that is hardly my fault, or a reason for you to now accuse me of plotting anything.’
Griffin heaved a weary sigh, very aware that he was projecting his wariness and suspicions onto Bella, emotions so familiar to him because of Felicity’s duplicity. Which was hardly fair or reasonable of him.
He nodded abruptly. ‘I apologise. Perhaps I am just tired after my disturbed night’s sleep,’ he excused ruefully. ‘Please do go and enjoy reading your book out in the garden, and try to forget that I am such a bad-tempered bore.’
Griffin was far from a bad-tempered bore to her, Bella acknowledged wistfully. No, the Duke of Rotherham was more of an enigma to her than a bad-tempered bore. As he surely would be to most people.
So tall and immensely powerful of build, he occasionally demonstrated a gentleness to her that totally belied that physical impression of force and power. Only for him to then address or treat her with a curtness meant, she was sure, to once again place her at arm’s length.
As if he was annoyed with himself, for having revealed even that amount of gentleness.
As if he were in fear of it.
Or of her?
Bella gave a snort at the ridiculousness of that suggestion as she glanced at him, and saw he was already engrossed in the papers on his desk. He did not even seem to notice her going as she took her book and left the study to walk despondently out into the garden.
No, the differences in their stature and social standing—whatever her own might be, though it surely could in no way match a duke’s illustrious position in society?—must surely ensure that Bella posed absolutely no threat to Griffin. In any way.
In all probability, the Duke was merely annoyed with being forced to continue keeping the nuisance of her, and the mystery of her, here in his home.
She had not asked to be here, or to foist the puzzle of who she was upon him.
Nevertheless, that was exactly what had happened.
But where else could she go, and how could she go, when she had no friends or money with which to do so?
* * *
Like a moth to a flame Griffin found himself getting restlessly back onto his feet and wandering over to the window within minutes of Bella leaving the library, the papers on his desk holding no interest for him whatsoever.
At least, none that could compete with his curiosity in regard to the mystery that was Bella.
She had already spread a blanket on the grass and was now sitting beneath the old oak tree he could see from the window, the book open in her hand, the darkness of her still-damp hair loose again about her shoulders, now drying in the dappled sunlight filtering through the lush branches above her.
What was Griffin going to do with her, if his enquiries as to her identity should prove unsatisfactory?
She could not remain here indefinitely; if it turned out that she came from a family in society, as he suspected she might, then her reputation would be blackened for ever if anyone should realise she had stayed in his home without the benefit of a chaperone or close relative.
Inviting his only close relative to come to Stonehurst Park and act as that chaperone was totally unacceptable to Griffin; he and his maternal grandmother were far too much alike in temperament to ever be able to live under the same roof together, even for a brief period of time.
Perhaps he should send word to Lord Aubrey Maystone in London? He worked at the Foreign Office, and was the man to whom Griffin reported directly in his ongoing work for the Crown.
The puzzle of Bella was not a subject for the Foreign Office, of course. Nor was it cause for concern regarding the Crown. But Maystone had many contacts and the means of garnering information that were not available to Griffin. Most especially so here in the wilds of Lancashire.
Except...
Maystone had been put in the position of shooting one of the conspirators himself the previous month, and after that he’d become even fiercer in regard to the capture of the remaining conspirators. If Griffin were to tell the older man about Bella, he could not guarantee that Maystone would not instruct that Bella must be brought to London immediately for questioning, for fear she too was involved in that assassination plot in some way.
He might never see Bella again—
His gaze sharpened as he saw that while he had been lost so deep in thought, Bella had risen to her feet and left the shade of the oak tree to walk across the garden. She now stood in conversation with the gardener who had been working on one of the many flower beds.
This was not the elderly Hughes, who had been head gardener here even in Griffin’s father’s time, but a much younger man Griffin did not recognise. A handsome, golden-haired young man, in his early twenties, who was obviously enjoying looking at Bella as that dark hair hung loosely about her shoulders, as much if not more than the conversation.
Just as Bella appeared perfectly relaxed and smiling as the two of them chatted together.
Griffin did not give himself time to think as he turned to stride forcefully out of his study to walk down the hallway, leaving the house by the side door usually only reserved for the servants, before crossing the perfectly manicured lawn towards the still-conversing couple.
A handsome young man and beautiful woman so engrossed in each other they did not yet seem aware of his presence.
Bella broke off her conversation and her eyes widened in alarm the moment she spied the tall and fiercely imposing Duke storming across the grass towards her, his face as dark as that thundercloud he carried around above his head.
Her heart immediately started to pound in her chest, and the palms of her hands felt damp. What on earth could have happened to cause such a reaction in him?
‘Your Grace?’ She looked up at him uncertainly as he reached her side.
‘Who are you?’
The glowering Duke ignored her, his countenance becoming even more frightening as he instead looked at the young gardener with cold and frosty eyes.
‘Sutton, Your Grace. Arthur Sutton.’ The young man touched a respectful hand to his forelock, his face becoming flushed under the older man’s cold stare.
‘You may go, Sutton.’ Griffin nodded an abrupt dismissal. ‘And I would appreciate it if you would take yourself off to work elsewhere on the estate for the rest of the day,’ he added harshly, causing the bewildered young man to turn away and quickly collect up his tools ready for departing.
Bella felt equally bewildered by the harshness of Griffin’s tone and behaviour. It was almost as if he suspected her and the gardener of some wrongdoing, of some mischief, when all they had been doing was—
‘Oh!’ She gasped after glancing towards the house to see that the library window overlooked this garden, and realised exactly what Griffin had suspected her and the handsome gardener of doing.
Bella made sure that the young gardener had walked far enough away out of earshot, before she glared up into the harshly drawn face looking down at her so condescendingly. ‘How could you?’
The Duke quirked that infuriatingly superior eyebrow. ‘How could I what?’
‘You know exactly what I am talking about.’ Bella sighed her impatience. ‘How can you have been so disgusting as to have thought—to suggest, that I—that we—?’ She was too angry to say any more as she instead turned sharply on her stockinged heels to run back towards the house.
Hateful man.
Hateful, suspicious, disgusting man!
Griffin stood unmoving for several seconds after Bella had departed so abruptly, totally taken aback by her reaction. To the anger she had made no effort to hide from him as she’d spoken to him so accusingly.
Why was she angry with him, when she was the one who had been—?
The one who had been what?
Exactly what had Griffin actually seen from the library window?
The beautiful Bella in her overlarge gown, with her gloriously black hair loose and curling down the length of her spine, in conversation with one of his under-gardeners.
A young and handsome under-gardener, accepted, but Bella had not been standing scandalously close to Sutton, nor had she been behaving in a flirtatious manner towards him. Admittedly she had been smiling as she chatted so easily with the younger man, but even that was not reason enough for Griffin to have made the assumption he had.
Could it be that he had been jealous of her easy conversation and laughter with the younger man?
Was it possible that he thought, because of the unusual circumstances of Bella being here with him at all, that her smiles and laughter belonged only to him?
That she now somehow belonged to him?
* * *
‘Bella?’
She stiffened and ceased her crying, but made no effort to lift her head from the pillow into which it was currently buried as she lay face down on the bed.
She made no verbal acknowledgement of Griffin’s presence in her bedchamber at all. Correction, his bedchamber. As all of this magnificent house, and the extensive estate surrounding it, also belonged to him.
And she, having absolutely no knowledge of her past or even her name, was currently totally beholden to him.
But that did not mean Griffin Stone had the right to treat her with such suspicion. That he could virtually accuse her of flirting with Arthur Sutton. Or worse...
The under-gardener had been nice. A young man who had not been in the least familiar in his manner towards her, but rather accepted her as a guest of the Duke, and had treated her accordingly.
Not that she could expect Griffin to believe that when his mind was so obviously in the gutter.
What had she done to deserve such suspicion from him?
Admittedly, the circumstances of their meeting had been unusual to say the least, but surely there had to be an explanation for that?
Even if she had no idea as yet what that explanation was...
Besides which, she was so obviously battered and bruised, it was ludicrous to imagine that any man might find her attractive in her present state.
Although, there was no denying that Griffin himself had physically reacted to her close proximity earlier.
Perhaps it was just that he was a little odd, if he was attracted to a woman who was covered in bruises!
Which was a little worrying, now that Bella considered the possibility fully.
The Duke did not look like a gentleman who enjoyed inflicting pain, but that was no reason to suppose—
‘I apologise, Bella.’
The bed dipped beside her as the Duke, obviously tired of waiting for her response to his initial overture, now sat down on the side of the bed.
‘Bella?’
Her body went rigid as he placed a hand lightly against her spine. ‘We both know that is not my name.’ Her voice was muffled as she spoke into the pillow.
‘I thought we had agreed that it would do for now?’ he cajoled huskily.
Until they discovered what her name really was, Bella easily picked up on his unspoken comment.
If they ever discovered what her name really was, she added inwardly.
Which was part of the reason she had been so upset when she’d returned to the house just now.
Oh, there was no doubting this aloof and arrogant Duke had behaved appallingly out in the garden just now; he had spoken with unwarranted terseness to Arthur Sutton, and had certainly been disrespectful to her. His implied accusations regarding the two of them had been insulting, to say the least.
Bella’s previous treatment, as well as her present precarious situation, meant that her tears were all too ready to fall at the slightest provocation...
Griffin Stone’s behaviour in the garden had not been slight, but extreme.
Bella slipped out from beneath his hand before rolling over to face him, hardening her heart as she saw the way he looked down at her in apology. She had been enjoying her time out in the garden, and he had now spoilt that for her.
For those brief moments she had spoken with Arthur Sutton she had felt normal, and not at all like the bedraggled and beaten woman the Duke had found in the woods the previous night.
Her chin rose challengingly. ‘Your behaviour in the garden—the cold way you spoke to Arthur Sutton, as well as to me—was unforgivably condescending.’
Griffin only just managed to hold back his smile as Bella administered the rebuke so primly. To smile now would be a mistake on his part, when Bella was so obviously not in the mood to appreciate the humour.
‘And wholly undeserved,’ she added crossly as some of that primness deserted her to be replaced by indignation. ‘You may well be overlord here, Your Grace, but that does not permit you to make assumptions about other people. Assumptions, I might add, that in this case were wholly unfounded.’
Oh, yes, this young woman was certainly educated and from a titled or wealthy family, Griffin acknowledged ruefully; that set-down had been worthy of any of the grand ladies of the ton!
Did Bella even realise that? he wondered.
Possibly not, when she had no knowledge of anything before her arrival here last night.
Appeared to have no knowledge, he again reminded himself.
There was still that last lingering doubt in Griffin’s mind regarding her claim of amnesia. Added to, no doubt, by his having just observed her in conversation with one of his under-gardeners.
What if she had been passing information on to Arthur Sutton? If her arrival here in his home had been premeditated?
Shortly before the assassination plot against the Prince Regent had been foiled several of Maystone’s agents had been compromised. Griffin had been one of them.
There was always the possibility that Bella had been deliberately planted in his home, of course. That she was here to gather information from him as to how deeply their circle had been penetrated.
And he was becoming as paranoid as Maystone!
Nor was it an explanation that made sense, when Griffin considered those marks of restraint upon Bella’s wrists and ankles.
Alternatively perhaps she had been talking to Arthur Sutton in an effort to find some way in which she might leave Stonehurst Park without his knowledge.
And what if she had?
If Bella were to disappear as suddenly as she had arrived, then surely it would be a positive thing, as far as Griffin was concerned, rather than a negative one?
He would not have to give her a second thought this afternoon, for example, when he rode out to pay calls on his closest neighbours, in his search for information on Harker.
Nor would there be need to write to Aubrey Maystone in London to ask for his assistance, and possibly at the same time alert the other Dangerous Dukes to his present dilemma by doing so; in their work as agents for the Crown they all of them had or still reported to Maystone. Ordinarily Maystone would not discuss any individual agent’s business with a third party, but the older man was well aware of the close friendship between the Dangerous Dukes, and might feel obliged to mention his concerns to them.
The last thing Griffin wanted was for one or all of his closest friends to decide to come to Stonehurst Park to offer him their assistance.
Lord knew he had felt displeased, even proprietorial, merely watching Arthur Sutton in conversation with Bella, so how would he feel if any of his much more attractive friends were to come here and proceed to exert their considerable charms on her?
Admittedly only Christian Seaton, the Duke of Sutherland, still remained single out of those five friends, but Christian possessed a lethal charm as well as handsome looks. Women had been known to swoon when confronted by them.
‘What were you and Sutton talking about, Bella?’ Griffin demanded harshly, determined to remain in control of his wandering thoughts.
Bella frowned as she pushed herself up against the pillows; she felt at far too much of a disadvantage with Griffin looming over her in that way. ‘Should you not offer me an apology before making demands for explanations?’
The Duke’s jaw tightened. ‘I apologised a few minutes ago. An apology you chose not to acknowledge.’
‘Because it was far too ambiguous,’ she told him impatiently. ‘As it did not state what it was you were apologising for.’
The Duke closed his eyes briefly, as if just looking at her caused him exasperation. As no doubt it did. He had not asked to have her company foisted upon him, and whatever his own plans had been for this morning he had surely had to abandon them. Also because of her.
His eyes were an icy grey when he raised his lids to look at her. ‘It was not my intention to upset you.’
Bella raised dark brows. ‘Then what was your intention?’
Griffin wondered if counting to ten—a hundred!—might help in keeping him calm in the face of Bella’s determination to demand an explanation from him. ‘I was concerned that Sutton might have been bothering you.’
A frown appeared between her eyes. ‘How could that be, when I was obviously the one who had walked over to where he was working, rather than him approaching me?’
Griffin’s mouth thinned as he acknowledged that fact. ‘And I ask again, what were the two of you talking about?’
‘The weather, perhaps?’ she snapped, her irritation obvious.
‘I warn you not to try my patience any further today, Bella,’ Griffin rasped coldly.
Bella was deliberately provoking Griffin, and she knew she was. But with good reason, she believed.
She might not recall anything about herself, but this proud and arrogant Duke did not know anything about her either, and she resented—deeply—that, having seen her in conversation with Arthur Sutton, he had made certain assumptions regarding her nature.
She sat up fully to wrap her arms about her bent knees. ‘If you must know, I was asking Arthur for a trug and something to cut the flowers to put in it.’
‘Why?’ Heavy lids now masked the expression in Griffin’s eyes, but his increased tension was palpable, nonetheless.
‘This is such a beautiful house and the addition of several vases of flowers would only enhance—’
‘No.’
Bella blinked her uncertainty at the harshness of his tone. ‘No?’
‘No.’ He stood up abruptly, towering over her, his hands linked behind his back as he once again looked down the length of his aristocratic nose at her. ‘I do not permit vases of flowers in any of my homes.’
‘Why on earth not?’ She gave a puzzled shake of her head. ‘Everyone likes flowers.’
‘I do not,’ he bit out succinctly, a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw.
He was currently at his most imposing, his most chilling, Bella acknowledged. She had no idea why the mention of a vase of flowers should have caused such a reaction in him. ‘You are allergic, perhaps?’
His laugh was bitterly dismissive. ‘Not in the least. I am merely assured that the beauty of flowers is completely wasted on a man such as me.’
‘Assured by whom?’ Bella frowned her deepening confusion.
His eyes glittered coldly. ‘By my wife!’
His wife?
Griffin, the Duke of Rotherham, the man who had saved her from perishing alone and lost in the woods, the man she felt so drawn to, the same man who had physically reacted to her close proximity this morning, had a wife?
Chapter Four (#ulink_8c4bf556-a397-56ed-a7fb-7332aa8015e8)
Why was Bella so surprised to learn that the Duke of Rotherham had a wife?
He was a very handsome gentleman, and wealthy too, judging by the meticulous condition of this beautiful estate. Of course such a man would have a wife. A beautiful and accomplished duchess, to complement his own chiselled good looks and ducal haughtiness. And, no doubt, to provide him with the necessary heirs.
Was it possible he already had several of those children in his nursery?
Bella swallowed before speaking again. ‘I did not know... I had no idea... I had assumed—’ She had assumed that Griffin was unmarried. That the way she felt so inexplicably drawn towards him was acceptable, even as she acknowledged it was altogether impossible that that interest would ever be felt in return for the vagabond she currently was. ‘Why have I not yet been introduced to your wife?’
A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched cheek. ‘Obviously because she is not here.’
Bella felt totally bewildered by the coldness of his tone.
‘Then where is she?’
His eyes were now glacial. ‘She has been buried in the family crypt in the village churchyard these past six years.’
Oh, dear Lord!
Why had she continued to question and pry? Why could she not have just left the subject alone, when she could see that it was causing Griffin such terrible discomfort? The stiffness of his body, the tightness of his jaw, and the over-bright glitter of his eyes were all proof of that.
But no, because she was irritated with him over his earlier behaviour, those ridiculous assumptions he had made concerning her conversation with Arthur Sutton, she had continued to push and to pry into something that was surely none of her business. Into a subject that obviously caused this proud and haughty man immense pain.
‘Do you have children, too?’
His mouth tightened. ‘No.’
‘How did she die?’ Bella knew she really should not ask any more questions, but the look on Griffin’s face indicated that if she did not ask them now she might never be given another opportunity. And she wanted to know.
Besides which, Griffin could only be aged in his early thirties now, and he said his wife had been dead for six years, so surely that wife could not have been any older than her early to mid-twenties when she died?
‘She drowned,’ he bit out harshly.
‘How?’ Bella gasped.
‘I will not discuss this subject with you any further, Bella!’
Bella knew she really had pushed the subject as far as Griffin would allow, as he turned away to look out of the bedroom window.
She hesitated only briefly, her gaze fixed on the rigid set of his shoulders and unyielding back as she swung her legs to the floor, before rising quickly to her feet to cross over to where the Duke stood. ‘Now it is my turn to apologise.’ Her voice was huskily soft as she stood behind him. ‘I should not have continued to ask questions about something that so obviously distresses you.’
He made no response, indeed he gave no indication he had even heard her.
Bella waited for several long seconds before lifting her arms up tentatively and sliding them gently about his waist, hearing him draw in a hissing breath as she did so. She could feel the way that his body became even more rigid beneath her hands as she rested them on his abdomen.
Realising her mistake, she started to draw away.
‘No!’ Griffin’s hands moved up to hold those slender arms about his waist. ‘Stay exactly where you are,’ he ordered as his body relaxed against Bella’s warmth and the soft press of her breasts against his back.
It had been so long since any woman had voluntarily offered him the comfort of her arms other than for that brief prelude occasionally offered before the sexual act began.
Griffin’s eyes closed as he now savoured the sensation of just being held. Of having no expectations asked of him, other than to stand here and accept those slender arms about his waist. At the same time as Bella’s softness continued to warm him through his clothing.
Griffin had not realised until now just how much he had missed having a woman’s undemanding and tenderness of feeling. He had not allowed himself to feel hunger for those things that he knew could never be his.
He had to marvel at Bella, giving that tenderness and warmth so freely, when circumstances surely dictated she was the one in need of that comfort.
For the moment Griffin did not want to think about those circumstances, to give thought to the fact he knew nothing about this young woman. Why should he, when he had known even less about the women in whose bodies he had taken his pleasure these past six years? No, for now he intended to simply enjoy the moment.
Bella had not moved since Griffin had instructed her not to. But she still couldn’t stop thinking about the wife he’d lost so tragically.
Had Griffin been very much in love with her?

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