Forbidden to the Duke. Liz Tyner

than she’d seen so far in the house. The pillow on the sofa had been propped perfectly, but one corner had lost its fluff. The scent of coals from the fireplace lingered in the air. The figurines on the mantel had been made at different times by different artists.

      One alabaster shape had a translucency she could almost see through. One girl wore clothing Bellona had never seen before. A bird was half in flight. She noted a cracked wing on one angel. The hairline fracture had browned. This hadn’t happened recently and been unnoticed. Someone had wanted to keep the memento even with the imperfection.

      Then she studied the spines of the books lining the shelves. Some of the titles she could read, but the English letters her oldest sister, Melina, had taught her years ago were hard to remember. She asked the maid and the woman knew less about the words than Bellona did.

      The open-window curtains let much light into the room and the view overlooked where her carriage had stopped. A book lay askew on the desk and another one beside it, plus an uncorked ink bottle. The chair was pulled out and sat slightly sideways. Someone had been sitting there recently, able to see her arrive, and had left a few papers scattered about.

      She settled herself to wait, the maid beside her on the sofa. The clock ticked, but other than that nothing sounded. Bellona stood again and noticed the walls. Framed canvases. These were not just paintings, but works of art. When she looked at each piece, she could see something else beyond it—either the thoughts of the person depicted, the way the room had felt that day, or the texture of the object painted.

      They were nothing like her father’s paintings. She’d had no idea that such wonderful art existed.

      Bellona was seated when the duke stepped into the doorway. She’d not heard him, but the flicker of movement caught her eye.

      He stood immobile for a minute, like the figurines, but everything else about him contrasted with the gentle figures on the mantel.

      She tightened her fingers on her reticule. When she met his eyes, her senses responded, reminding her of the times she and her sisters had build a fire outside at night on Melos. Sitting, listening to waves and staring at stars. Those nights made her feel alive and secure—the strength of nature reminding her something was bigger than the island.

      Lines at the corners of his eyes took some of the sternness from his face, and even though he looked as immovable as the cliffs, she didn’t fear him. Possibly because he seemed focused on his own thoughts more than her presence. When he spoke, his lips turned up, not in a smile, but in acknowledgment of his own words. ‘I regret to say that my mother informs me she will not be able to join you. She is unwell today.’

      Bellona stood, moving nearer to the duke. ‘If she is unwell, then I cannot leave without seeing if I might be able to soothe her spirits as I did for my mother. I must see her. Only for a moment.’

      The maid rose, but Bellona put out a halting hand and said, ‘Wait here.’

      A quick upwards flick of his head caused his hair to fall across his brow. He brushed it back. ‘I may have erred in inviting you. Perhaps another day... Mother is fretful.’

      ‘When my mother hurt, my sisters and I would take turns holding her hand or talking to her, even if she could not answer for the pain.’

      ‘She’s not ill in quite that way, but I think her pain is severe none the less.’ Moving into the hallway, he swept his arm out, palm up, indicating the direction. ‘The duchess is rather in a poor temper today. Please do not consider it a reflection of anything but her health.’

      ‘My mana was very, very ill many days.’ Bellona clasped the strap of her reticule, forcing away her memories. She raised the bag, bringing it to his attention. ‘I brought some garden scents for Her Grace. I will give them to her. They heal the spirit.’

      ‘If you could only coax a pleasant word from her, I would be grateful.’

      * * *

      Bellona followed Rhys into the room. He gave a quick bow of his head to his mother and the older woman’s eyes showed puzzlement, then narrowed when she saw he was not alone. Her frail skin, along with the black dress and black cap, and her severe hairstyle, gave her an appearance which could have frightened a child. She pulled the spectacles from her face, slinging them on to the table beside her. She dropped a book to her lap. The pallor in her cheeks left, replaced with tinges of red.

      ‘Rolleston, I thought I told you I did not want company.’ The words snarled from her lips, lingering in the air. A reprimand simmering with anger.

      Rhys gave his mother a respectful nod and looked no more disturbed than if her words had been soft. ‘Miss Cherroll is concerned that you are unwell and believes she has a medicinal which can help.’

      The duchess’s fingers curled. ‘I must speak with you alone.’ She didn’t take her eyes from her son. She lifted a hand the merest amount and then her fingers fluttered to the book. ‘You may take whatever frippery she brings and then she can leave. I am not receiving visitors. Even the Prince, should he so enquire.’

      Bellona stood firm, forgetting compassion. Her mana had been gentle even when she could not raise her hand from the bed or her head from the pillow. ‘My own mana has passed and I have brought the herbs that made her feel better before she left us. And when their scent is in the air, I feel not so far from her. This will soothe your sleep.’

      The duchess’s brows tightened. ‘I sleep well enough. It’s being awake I have trouble with. Such as now. Leave.’

      Bellona shrugged, looking more closely at the woman’s skin. She had no health in her face. Her eyes were red and puffed. ‘Then give it to a servant.’

      ‘I will,’ she said. She examined Bellona and sniffed. ‘Go away and take my son with you. I am not having callers today. Perhaps some time next year. Wait for my letter.’

      ‘I will leave the herbs with you.’ Bellona reached for her reticule, opened it and pulled the other knife out so she could reach the little pillow she’d made and stuffed with the dried plants.

      ‘Good heavens,’ the duchess gasped. Rhys tensed, his hand raised and alert.

      ‘It is only a knife,’ Bellona said, looking at her, flicking the blade both ways to show how small it was. ‘After the pirates attacked our ship, I have always carried one.’

      ‘Pirates?’ the duchess asked, eyes widening.

      ‘I am not truly supposed to call them that,’ Bellona said. ‘I did know them, so they did not feel like true pirates, only evil men, and Stephanos was...’ She shook her head. ‘I am not supposed to speak of that either.’

      ‘You are the countess’s sister?’ The duchess’s voice rose, becoming a brittle scratch. She sat taller, listening.

      Bellona nodded. ‘We’re sisters. She’s more English than I am. Our father was not on the island so much when I was older. I hardly knew him. My second sister, Thessa, wanted to go to London. I did not. I like it, but I had expected to always stay in my homeland. But my mana died. Melina—the countess—had left and started a new life with her husband here and with Thessa determined that we should leave Melos I had no choice. The evil fidi would have— I could not stay on my island without either being killed or killing someone else because I was not going to wed.’

      ‘You are the countess’s sister?’

      Bellona smiled at the duchess’s incredulous repetition.

      ‘Does she carry a knife?’

      Bellona shook her head. ‘No. I do not understand Melina, but she has the children and she did not have the same ship journey I had. She did not see the things I saw. I really am not supposed to speak of them.’ Bellona bunched the things in her hand together enough so she could pull the pillow out.

      Rhys reached out. ‘I’ll hold that,’ he said of the knife.

      She slipped the blade back inside and