In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 1) (9 page)

From the perch of the seat, Katherine swung her legs back and forth. “I’ll ask one more question. If you answer truthfully, I promise I shan’t ask any further questions.”

Aldora waited.

“Is there…” Katherine tapped a finger to her lower lip. “Another gentleman who has earned your affection?”

Oh, it was too much. Aldora turned around, and made a show of studying the door. All the while she fought the sting of tears that flooded her eyes. She’d not become a watering pot in front of her sister. Aldora needed to be the strong one, the protector. What good would come of telling Katherine of Michael? How he made her heart skip a beat? How he teased her? How he’d waltzed her scandalously through Lord and Lady Havendale’s gardens?

“So there is,” Katherine deduced when Aldora didn’t reply fast enough.

Aldora turned around to face her and pasted on a smile. “Don’t be silly.”

“What—”

“You said no more questions, Katherine.”

The air left Katherine on a
whoosh
. She jumped to the floor and proceeded to straighten her skirts. “Very well. But—” she held up a single finger— “do not dare do something like marry a stuffy, pompous lord to help us. Is that clear?”

Aldora managed her first smile that whole day. She bowed her head. “I promise.”

Chapter Seven

M
ichael accepted a flute of champagne from a passing servant. He downed it in a single swallow. His eyes did a purposeful sweep of the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” St. James drawled alongside him.

Michael made a non-committal noise and continued his search. Last evening, Michael had no intentions of attending any
ton
functions. He’d planned on going to White’s and getting himself absolutely soused. The desire to see her, however, had proven too strong. So he’d accompanied St. James, expecting to see Lady Aldora, only to learn that the young lady had fallen ill.

And for nearly twenty-four hours since he’d learned she was unwell, Michael had been consumed with a numbing terror. He silently blasted his brother who’d had the ill sense to take her walking through Hyde Park on a chilled, rainy day.

“Ahh, there she is,” St. James said.

Michael followed his brother’s gaze. A buoying lightness filled Michael. The power of it so strong, so gripping that he forgot she belonged to St. James and that he, by the sheer history of his life, wasn’t fit to even keep company with her. Hell, he wasn’t deemed fit company for
anyone
. The sole reason he was even included in
ton
functions was because of his brother’s title.

As if she felt his eyes on her, Lady Aldora froze. Her body seemed to straighten, illuminating the graceful elegance of her long, lean neck. To put his lips to the satiny smoothness of that skin. He’d trade all the wealth he’d made over the years to caress the pulse beating there.

With excellent color in her cheeks, the lady looked remarkably well. Not at all ill.

“Michael?”

“Yes, she is here,” Michael snapped, knowing his tone was that of a petulant child.

St. James gave him an indecipherable look before casting his gaze back toward Lady Aldora. His brother rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I imagine she’ll make a perfectly suitable wife.”

A curtain of black rage clouded Michael’s vision. He forced himself to count to five. When that didn’t help, he counted to ten.

“You disapprove of her,” St. James continued. With his every question he pitched daggers at Michael’s gut.

“Not at all,” Michael said, his tone rough.

“Hmm,” St. James muttered. “I imagine she’ll make me a fine b—where are you going?” he called after Michael.

Michael ignored him and continued striding away from his brother. He’d considered himself strong, resilient. He’d lived in the solitude of Wales, not even contacted when his mother had died, followed by his father years later. The pain of his family’s rejection had stung at first, but then Michael had gradually erected a wall around his heart. He’d thought himself unaffected. He’d thought himself immune to paltry things like pain and happiness and love.

Then in one damn fool ride through Hyde Park, he’d met a feisty, beautiful young woman who’d torn down those walls.

Michael paused and leaned alongside a pillar, borrowing strength as he confronted a maelstrom of too powerful emotions.

He wanted her.

Wanted her with a burning intensity that robbed him of all reason.

It defied logic.

And went against his better judgment.

A young lord, a
brave
young lord, who Michael vaguely recognized, started his way. Michael glowered until the poor fellow swallowed nervously and hied it off in the opposite direction. Then Michael returned his efforts to finding Aldora and settled on her.

And St. James.

Michael clenched his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed as he tortured himself with the sight of his brother taking her hand in his, leading her to the dance floor for a bloody waltz, and suddenly it was too much. This stark, ugly reminder that Aldora was no different than every other young lady with her eyes trained on a title, wealth, and Society’s approval.

Without a backward glance, he stormed from the room, needing to be anywhere but in the bloody ballroom.

He’d left. He’d left but not before Aldora had seen the faintly condescending, blatantly disapproving glare Michael Knightly had for her. His obvious disdain had stung. It had stung far worse than the disappointment she had felt at his deliberate deception.

What was more is that she had wanted to throw all ladylike sensibility to the wind, abandon the Marquess of St. James, and flee after—

“My lady?”

Aldora jerked her gaze forward as heat flooded her cheeks. “Forgive me, my lord,” she murmured to the marquess. “What was it you were saying?” Her mother would shriek herself hoarse if she discovered Aldora was doing anything less than her daughterly duty of securing a match with the esteemed lord.

He inclined his head ever so slightly. “My brother.”

“I beg your pardon?” Was that high pitched squeak her voice? Her blush heightened until she longed to wave the otherwise useless fan dangling from her wrist.

“I was mentioning the scandal that resulted in his banishment.”

Aldora’s ears perked up and she hung on, awaiting the marquess’s next words. It mattered because if all were to go as planned, she would be forever tied to this family, and their stories which in turn would impact her sisters’ and brother’s happiness.

It was a lie. She wanted to know more about Michael for no other reason than because he’d tugged at her foolish heart. “Forgive me for not having paid attention. I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere.” She held her breath, aching for him to continue.

“What happened was not Michael’s fault. It was all a tragic accident that merely resulted because of the brashness of youth. Lord Everworth was cheating at cards, and Michael confronted him publicly.” He waved his hand. “Everworth of course, challenged Michael to a duel. Witnesses said that Michael showed up and refused to duel. He was leaving when Everworth fired at his back and—”

Her heart raced with irrational fear. She knew Michael survived and yet…”And?”

“Michael turned and fired at Everworth’s shoulder. Severed an artery. Beg your pardon,” he said quickly. “Hardly appropriate talk for your delicate ears.” He glanced away, a red flush coloring his neck. “I was a coward. I should not have cut off contact with Michael over the years.”

Aldora bit the inside of her cheek to keep from agreeing with him. She waited but that appeared all the marquess intended to say on it. She sighed. “All families have their difficulties, my lord.”

“That is true, isn’t it?” The probing look he gave seemed to indicate he knew her darkest secrets.

She shoved the silly thought aside. Foolish. Still, Aldora welcomed the end of their set. She dipped a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, perfectly polite and all things gentlemanly, and not for a moment did Aldora believe it had been any kind of pleasure. So why had he sought her out? He extended his elbow, offering to guide her back to her mother.

Aldora accepted and accompanied him in silence. Her mind churned as rapid as the wheels of a fast-moving carriage. Her own family’s scandal seemed to pale in comparison to the Marquess of St. James’s family history.

“He isn’t, you know.”

Aldora blinked, glancing back up at the marquess. “I beg your pardon?” He was going to think her an absolute ninny for not being able to follow a single thread of conversation.

“My brother. He isn’t the cold, heartless monster Society has made him out to be.”

Aldora had to bite back the rapid flurry of questions at the tip of her tongue and tried to temper the excitement that his words roused. She shouldn’t crave these personal details about the man Michael was, but she was unable to quell her desire to know more. With his gritty humor and directness, he was so very much unlike any other gentleman she’d ever known.

Fortunately, her patience was rewarded by the marquess’s explanation. “Society would have one believe that Michael is a cold, unfeeling brute.”

Aldora thought to the flinty spark in Michael’s gaze. Yes, to most he would be considered cold but his touch, his kiss, even the chuckle, rusty from ill use, spoke a different tale.

“Why are you telling me this, my lord?”

His eyes lit with appreciation. Apparently the young marquess appreciated honesty.

He inclined his head. “I believe you should know. Ahh, here we are,” he said, cutting into the sea of questions on her lips.

Aldora couldn’t quell the disappointment as she was deposited like so many used cloths on Sunday at her mother’s side. The marquess bowed low and murmured a string of simple pleasantries. “My lady, will you allow me to accompany your daughter on a ride in the park tomorrow morning?”

Mother’s excited response was lost in the weight of disappointment that fell around Aldora’s shoulders, and threatened to weigh her down. She should be elated at the young lord’s interest. Instead, all she could focus on was her friend’s earlier claim about the marquess’s remarkably low opinion of women. The marquess’s beliefs were part of the norm of their male-dominated society. Yet, the pang of disappointment that struck her heart reminded Aldora that there was another man very unlike this one who held a much more favorable view on a woman’s strength and resolve.

She watched him go, wondering over his words.

“Oh my dear, I believe you’ve secured St. James’s affection,” her mother said more than a touch too loudly. “He will make a splendid husband!”

Aldora winced and peeked around to verify whether anyone had overheard her mother’s crass utterance. Fortunately the din of the crowd drowned out the obsequious whisper.

As mother prattled on a list of the marquess’s many, many, many redeeming traits, Aldora stood there, dreaming of his brother.

Chapter Eight

“
Y
ou know Mother is going to be less than pleased.”

Aldora picked up her pace, striding down the walking trail. She did her best to ignore her brother. Even at the young age of ten, he was taller than the boys his age, and very nearly the same height as most grown women. With a dimple in his right cheek and a devilish sparkle in his eyes, he was going to give Mother quite a bit of trouble with the ladies someday.

Benedict quickened his step. He easily matched the pace she’d set. “She’ll awake soon.”

Aldora snorted. “Unlikely.”

Benedict nodded. “Fine, then. She’ll wake in another hour or so and find you—”

“Find us.”

“Gone,” he continued, as though she hadn’t even spoken.

“There is still the matter of her getting ready for the day,” Aldora said. Why, that would take Mother a good two to three hours. Aldora and her siblings had always relished the inordinate time their mother sent primping and preening before a mirror. The more time devoted to her daily ablutions, the better for them—for all of them.

He snorted. “Not today. With the marque—”

She stopped and turned a frown on him. “Don’t,” Aldora managed between clenched teeth.