The Heart of a Duke (25 page)

Tension drained from Valera’s shoulders. Her
friend’s worries were the same ones every debutante had. “Not every
lady has the advantage of a lucky charm.”

She opened the lid to the jewelry box so
Aldora could see the gold heart pendant winking up from a bed of
blue velvet. “You cannot fail with this necklace. Look how happy
Elle and I are. Love will find you too. Just have
faith.”

Aldora’s slender fingers reached for the
necklace and held it aloft. She smiled ruefully. “Love would be
nice, but it’s not the most important factor in finding a
husband.”

Valera scrunched her nose at her friend. “You
say that now, but just you wait. Some gentleman will come along and
knock you on your bum too. Then you will remember this day and
laugh at how silly you sound.”

Aldora chuckled softly. She was the only
friend Valera had been brave enough to reveal the true story of how
she won Alex’s heart. “If that comes true, you may feel free to say
I told you so.”

“
Oh, do not think I will not.” She
took the gypsy necklace from her friend and offered to fasten it
for her.

With the pendant securely clasped, Aldora
swiveled around so Valera could see it. The golden heart was a
little tarnished, but it caught the light as Aldora moved. Such a
small thing, it was. A joyful reminder of who awaited Valera at the
church, the man who held her heart, just as she held
his.

“
I am marrying the man of my
dreams today, Aldora. And that necklace is going to lead you to the
man of your dreams, too. I know it.”

Her friend’s smile widened and a hopeful spark
lit her eyes. “Well, let’s not keep your dream man waiting. I have
a feeling he will come looking if we don’t arrive soon.”

Valera laughed and clasped her friend’s hand
to haul her from the bed. “How I love knowing that is
true.”

About Samantha
Grace

Don’t let Regency romance author
Samantha Grace’s sweet smile fool you. She has a wicked sense of
humor, and she’s not above embarrassing her characters for a good
laugh. Part-time hospice social worker,
moonlighting author, and pilates nut, she enjoys a happy and
hectic life with her real life hero and two kids in the Midwest.
Find her at
http://www.samanthagraceauthor.com

Christi Caldwell

Chapter One

She wasn’t exactly sneaking. No, the rather
brisk pace she’d set for herself would hardly be conducive to a
clandestine meeting.

Nor for that matter did well-bred daughters of
late earls sneak. Why, she was merely…

Lady Aldora Adamson frowned and drew to a
stop, glancing down the long row of hedges.

She was sneaking. There was no way around
it.

Her heel sunk into a particularly moist patch
of soil, and she wrenched her foot free. If she weren’t so out of
breath from chasing after her quarry, she would have groaned aloud
at the reward for her efforts. With the precarious financial state
she and her sisters found themselves in, it didn’t do to go about
ruining anything—especially a costly pair of slippers. Aldora
studied her muddied soles and bit back a curse. The ivory silk
would be ruined beyond repair.

The sound of morning birds chirping replaced
the normal cacophony in Hyde Park, the sweet song the soothing balm
she needed.

Aldora swiped the back of her hand across her
brow and giggled as she imagined the horror in her mother, the
Countess of Adamson’s, eyes if she saw her eldest daughter. She
could all but hear the high-pitched squawk in her mind.

Aldora, ladies do not run…

And they most certainly did not dash around
until moisture marred their skin. For the better part of her life,
the rules of proper decorum had been drilled into Aldora’s ladylike
head, but then in the span of a moment, her life had changed and
other things had begun to matter more.

Survival.

Aldora had run out of time.

Or rather,
they
had run out of time…her entire
family: one mother, two younger sisters, and one brother whose
security rested on her rather diminutive shoulders. It hadn’t been
until her father died two years ago that she’d learned of his
penchant for gaming tables…or more specifically, his tendency
to
lose
at the
gaming tables.

And for nearly two years she and
Mother had done an admirable job of holding off the unknown man who
possessed Father’s vowels while also keeping at bay the many
creditors her wastrel father had left them indebted to. Thankfully,
the truth of their circumstances was not known by the
ton
.

Not yet. It was only a matter of time before
their carefully constructed world fell down around them.

Aldora pulled out the slip of paper and
strained to read it. Fortunately, she’d committed the words to
memory.

The Marquess of St. James. Black
hair, dark eyes, two inches past six feet. You can find him riding
in Hyde Park at dawn.

She sighed and slipped the note into her cloak
pocket. It was hard to say which was more humiliating; pursuing
one’s future husband or receiving information about said future
husband from his chambermaids.

She’d risen at an ungodly hour, dressed in her
finest gown, and then sought to run into the mighty lord. Where her
dearest friends had their hearts and minds set on a duke, Aldora
had altogether different, more realistic goals in her quest for a
husband; goals that included the Marquess of St. James. She had
done extensive research, the level of which would have impressed
her scientific friend, Lady Alison.

Fact: St. James was obscenely
wealthy.

Fact: The bulk of eligible ladies had set
their gazes on the bachelor dukes still on the market.

Fact: St. James served on the board of several
hospitals and orphanages, which spoke to his commitment for the
less fortunate.

Fact: Lady Aldora and her siblings were very
close to being amongst those less fortunate.

Fact: The Marquess of St. James’s family had
skeletons of their own.

Which made him the perfect match.

All of Society knew the tale of St. James’s
scapegrace brother who’d killed young Lord Everworth in a duel and
then been banished to some far-flung region of England. If the
rumors were true, and they oftentimes were, the marquess’s brother
had then immersed himself in trade.

Aldora pushed her thoughts aside and focused
on the task at hand. It had all been so cleverly orchestrated.
She’d waited patiently for one hour before she spied his
magnificent black mare. Except she’d gone and lost him.

And her maid, Isabella. She’d lost poor
Isabella, too. It hardly seemed right, considering all the effort
Isabella had put into finding out information from staff members in
the Marquess of St. James’s household. With the exception of the
butler Ollie and Cook, Isabella had been in their employ longer
than any other servant and thus retained her position. Advanced in
years, the poor graying woman was hardly of a state to be racing
through Hyde Park while Aldora tried to secure a husband. If it
hadn’t been for Isabella, there would have been no clandestine
meeting.

She looked around. Then again, it would appear
there would be no ‘meeting’ after all.

Aldora fought an overwhelming urge to stamp
her foot.

This wasn’t for her. She was no
coquette or flirting miss who could gracefully stumble upon a
gentleman, swoon in his arms, and gain his notice and attention. At
twenty she was the eldest of her siblings but even with Katherine
and Anne, the lovely twin girls, being four years younger, they
could still do a far more convincing jobs of landing one of
the
ton’s
most
eligible bachelors.

Alas, Aldora was in the market for a
husband.

If the scandal sheets were to be believed, the
elusive Marquess of St. James, who’d gone out of his way to avoid
every marriage-minded miss, had finally entered the market for a
wife—and Aldora was determined to secure that spot.

So what if she’d never set sights on the
marquess?

The rumble of a horse’s hooves thundered in
the distance, and drew her attention. Like a practiced hunter,
which she was not nor ever would be, her ears perked up. The
steadily increasing rumble indicated a rider’s swift approach. “Oh,
please let it be him,” she whispered.

With a determined huff, she picked up her
pace, a pace that would have appalled any lord or lady out for an
unfashionably early morning stroll.

Aldora stepped in the middle of the riding
path, and squinted. Black hair. Black horse. Tall man. That’s about
all she could make out, but it was enough. After all, the majority
of peers could still be found in their beds sleeping off their
prior evening’s festivities. Her heart kicked up an extra beat in a
kind of dreaded anticipation as the somewhat vague form of the
Marquess of St. James materialized. She rather suspected there was
nothing more humbling than pursuing one’s husband but desperate
times, and all that.

A dark blur pulled into focus. Blast her
mother for insisting ladies did not wear spectacles, and most
especially not in public. Except, if she were to be wholly honest
with herself, Aldora acknowledged that it was her own ego that had
her heeding Mother’s advice, this time. Aldora had learned from the
scandal sheets that the marquess’s one weakness was his high
fashion sense and, well she imagined that a bespectacled wife
didn’t fit with his imaginings for a prospective bride.

Except if she had them on then mayhap she’d
not be in this very predicament of trying to find her future
husband. Literally find him.

The shape continued to descend upon her, far
more quickly than Aldora anticipated. Until the dark eyes of a
wild, black beast leveled on her.

Her eyes widened.

She was going to die here on an empty riding
trail, trampled by the thundering hooves of her future husband’s
massive black mare.

The creature reared, and Aldora threw herself
out of the path, landing hard amidst a small boxwood. The air left
her on a whoosh; the sharp branches scraped her skin.

“
Whoa!” A deep baritone slashed
through the otherwise quiet morn as the marquess brought his
stallion under control. The giant beast pawed agitatedly at the
earth, sending pebbles and rocks spraying before eventually
settling into place.

Aldora dusted back the layer of dirt that hit
her cheeks and lay there, staring up at the traces of orange
splashing across the sky and tried to calm her racing
heart.

St. James swung a broad-muscled leg over his
horse and leapt down with the kind of graceful elegance more
befitting the demi-god, Perseus. Aldora squinted. Two inches past
six feet. It was him.

Her breath caught as she prayed the marquess
would beg forgiveness, help her to her feet, and swear undying
devotion and save her any further humiliation. Aldora nearly
snorted at the horrific drivel swirling around her brain, and she
shoved the hopeful thoughts aside. The unenviable task she’d laid
out for herself, earning this very eligible bachelor’s attention
and subsequent hand, was foolhardy. Desperate.

And yet, she couldn’t have crafted a more
romantic introduction. Hope breathed to life inside her
breast.

“
Are you mad?”

His growl brought her firmly back to reality.
She bristled at his insolent tone.

“
You could have been killed. What
are you doing walking in the middle of a riding path? Are you
blind, woman?”

She craned her head back and stared up inch
after inch of his sinewy, muscled length. Aldora blinked, trying to
bring him into focus.

A startled squeak escaped her as he plucked
her out of the bushes. His long, powerful fingers proceeded to do a
methodical search of her upper arms.

A jolt of awareness raced down her
spine, heating her from the inside out. His high-handed touch was
at the same time possessive and gentle. It made her go all warm and
wish for him to continue his search. She gave her head a
shake.
What am I thinking?