Forbidden to the Duke
The expectations of a duke are simple: 1. Secure a suitable marriage. 2. Produce male heirs.For Rhys Rolleston, Duke of Harling, however, it's not so black-and-white when he catches Bellona Cherroll trespassing on his land. He's captivated by this exotic beauty, but Rhys knows she's the very antithesis of what a "suitable" duchess should be.What should he do? Avoid her at all costs. What does he do? Invite her to live under his roof!
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‘Be quiet and listen.’
His chin tilted down. His brows rose. ‘Yes, Miss Cherroll?’
‘I will not stay here.’
He waited, his gaze locked onto hers.
‘My sister needs me for the children,’ she said.
‘I understand completely,’ he said, his voice agreeable, and stepped to the door. ‘You can take my carriage to visit them as often as you wish.’
One stride and he would be out of her vision.
‘It is not a problem at all. Send your maid in Warrington’s carriage for your things. The housekeeper will be with you shortly to help you select a room.’
He was gone by the time she opened her mouth.
Bellona’s story was formed while I was writing my previous book, A Captain and a Rogue.
I first envisaged her as wanting to be like the Grecian heroine Laskarina Bouboulina, who owned a large warship and would have been active around 1822, when Forbidden to the Duke begins. I also planned for Bellona to be a bit of a Robin Hood in spirit. With knife and archery skills that can protect her from many dangers—except the most surprising ones.
But Bellona became a different character from the warrior I first imagined. When this story begins she’s on the path to separation from the security of her family and making her own world. The new hobby she finds at the end of the book wasn’t planned until the words were being written, but I feel it truly expresses who she was meant to be, and the part of her she’s hidden from herself.
I hope you enjoy Bellona and Rhys’s journey, and that you see them as I do—two people who have to step out of the roles they were born into and rise to be the beginnings of a new legacy.
LIZ TYNER lives with her husband on an Oklahoma acreage she imagines is similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and is sometimes comparable to the way people lived long ago. Liz is a member of various writing groups and has been writing since childhood. For more about her visit liztyner.com.
To Juanita Ballew, ‘Sis’, a real heroine.
Contents
The pudgy-eyed gamekeeper pointed a flintlock straight at Bellona’s chest. His eyebrows spiked into angry points. ‘Drop the longbow.’ His gun barrel emphasised his words and even without the weapon his size would have daunted her. He’d not looked so large or his stare so bloodless from a distance.
Noise crashed into her ears—the sound of her heart—and the beats tried to take over every part of her. She forced the blackness away and locked her stare with his. Charred hatred, roughened by the unshaven chin, slammed out from his face.
She nodded and tossed the bow into the twining berry thorns at the side of the path. The canopy of sycamore leaves covered him in green-hued shadows.
He put one hand to his mouth, thrust his fingers to his lips and whistled loud enough to be heard in Greece. The shrill sound jabbed her, alerting her that he wasn’t alone. She’d never seen anyone else in the forest but this devil. She would be fighting two men and at least one weapon.
‘...shoot at me...’ He spoke again and the words snapped her back into understanding.
She cursed herself for not taking more care. She’d not heard him behind her—but she should have smelled his boiled-cabbage stench.
‘I be bringing his lordship,’ he said. ‘Your toes be dangling and the tide be washing your face before they cut you down. You won’t be shooting at me no more. You’re nothing more’n a common wench and people in lofty places be wantin’ you to hang.’
Her fingers stiffened, her mind unable to send them commands. She held her chin high. She’d thought she was in a safe land. She’d thought she’d escaped men who wanted to hurt her. Showing fear would be dangerous. ‘You—’ She couldn’t have taken her eyes from his. ‘I’m a guest of the Earl of Warrington and I have misplaced myself.’
The man’s nose bunched up as he talked. ‘But you ain’t on the earl’s land now, Miss Lady Nobody. You’re no better’n me.’ He waved the gun. ‘You’re a poacher and I’ve seen you here aplenty times before. I just niver could catch you.’
‘The earl will be thymomenos, angered.’
He snorted. ‘But this is the duke’s land. His Grace don’t lose no sleep over what an earl would think.’
She forced her fingers alert. ‘You are the one who should think. You must know I live near.’
‘But you ain’t no real lady. I already told the duke all about you and how you been scattering my traps and he thinks I’m imaginin’. Your eyes is even uncommon dark like some witch borne you. I told him you’re half-spirit. They hanged Mary Bateman. If they don’t be hangin’ you, you’ll end up lyin’ with vermin in gaol. Good ’nuff for you.’
