The Heart of a Duke (26 page)

He fell to a knee, and lifted up the edge of
her skirts to inspect an ankle.

Well, that was quite enough! Future husband or
not, it would not do to be discovered with the Marquess of St.
James lifting her skirts in the middle of Hyde Park. “Unhand me, my
lord!” She swatted at him.

He continued his search.

The unmitigated gall. She reached up and
placing her hands upon his shoulders and gave him a mighty
shove.

He toppled backwards.

She flinched at the colorful curse that
slipped past his lips.

“
What the devil was that for?” he
thundered.

Aldora peeked around, expecting a bevy of
passersby to descend and witness her ruination. A nervous giggle
bubbled up from her throat. Perhaps that would be best. If the
marquess compromised her, then that would settle all manner of
difficulties, but would then create all kinds of other
strife—namely her sisters’ good names would be
tarnished.

“
My lord, surely you know it isn’t
proper to touch a lady who is not your wife.”

A harsh laugh escaped him. “I assure you that
is not entirely true.”

It took a moment for his words to register.
Her eyes widened. “You sir, are no gentleman!” And she didn’t care
to call the accusation back, even if she did need to wed the titled
young lord.

He leapt to his feet and took a step toward
her. “I’m fairly certain that is the first thing you’ve gotten
right all morning, love.”

Aldora retreated a step; her hand covered her
chest, where her heart thumped wildly. Goodness, she’d read about
the Marquess of St. James in the papers. But they’d failed to
mention anything about his tall, commanding presence. His raw
masculine vitality. She held up a hand up. “Stop, my
lord.”

Surprisingly, he did.

Aldora drew in a breath. She supposed she
could have handled this vastly better than she had. She might have
feigned a sprained ankle, or maidenly gratitude that he’d rescued
her from her own foolishness.

Then again, she’d never polished the ladylike
awe perfected by most of the other young ladies.

“
Thank you,” she finally
blurted.

He folded his arms across a broad expanse of
chest. Aldora frowned. Funny, she’d never imagined he’d be so
muscular, with biceps and thighs that strained the expertly
tailored black riding attire. Noblemen were not tall, imposing
figures. They were often short, mostly bald, and nearly always
round in the waist.

Suddenly, she longed for her spectacles for
altogether different reasons.

She cleared her throat. “You are supposed to
say you’re welcome.” It hardly helped her cause, chastising her
future husband, but she couldn’t help it.

“
Am I now?” A thread of humor
underlay his question.

Aldora gave a brief nod. “Absolutely.” Surely
the man had received countless lessons on appropriate behavior
expected of a gentleman.

“
What else am I supposed to
do?”

His question cut across her silent musings.
She tapped a finger along her chin. She suspected he was making
light of her. But she’d not rise to the subtle bait. If he wanted a
lesson on deportment, she’d be more than glad to deliver it to him
on a polished silver plate. “Well, you should never go tearing
through a park filled with people on your—”

“
It is hardly filled with people,”
he pointed out.

She continued as though he’d not interrupted.
“Horse. And you most certainly shouldn’t berate the young lady you
nearly trampled.”

“
A young, unchaperoned
lady.”

Aldora clamped her lips shut. Well, he had her
there.

“
Nor, I assume is it proper for us
to remain standing here alone, talking. Unchaperoned.”

There it was again. The reminder of her bold
plans for the day, which brought her back full circle to the reason
for her plan that morning.

She sighed. She had made an absolute bramble
of the whole thing.

Hard lips seemed to frown and now, more than
ever, Aldora yearned for her glasses so that she might bring the
marquess’ visage into proper focus. She took a step toward him and
craned to look at him.

“
Why, you are blind!” he
blurted.

Aldora frowned. “I’m not.” She just didn’t
happen to have her spectacles, which made it impossible to view
anything with absolute clarity—or any clarity at all. Nor did she
want to admit to this man whose heart she was going to win that she
wore glasses. Eligible bachelor lords did not wed bespectacled
misses with sharp tongues and bold spirits.

“
You are,” he shot
back.

She folded her arms across her chest and
considered him. It wouldn’t do to confess that she was in fact
quite blind when she didn’t have her spectacles. She’d save that
information for a later date. After a much warmer exchange. “I’m
not, you know. Blind, that is,” she clarified when his brow
furrowed in apparent confusion.

“
Humph,” he said.

Humph? What was that supposed to
mean?

He turned on his heel.

“
Where are you going?” In all her
dreams of how this meeting would play out, it had never involved
the marquess nearly trampling her under the hooves of his horse,
and her arguing with the man, only to watch him take his leave
without any further words of explanation.

“
I’m leaving.”

“
But you don’t even know if I’m
injured.” The dastard. What manner of gentleman was he? And for
that matter, if he left, she would have to go through all the
trouble of arranging another chance meeting with him.

“
If you remember, I tried, and you
scolded me,” he said.

Aldora caught her lower lip between her teeth
and chewed on it. Yes, he had her there. She touched her fingers to
the chain at her neck, seeking strength from the heart-shaped
talisman.

“
Furthermore,” he
began.

She frantically felt around her
neck, knowing already what her bare skin told her. She fell to her
knees, and her fingers searched for the childhood pendant that had
been passed from between friend to dearest friend. The faded gold
heart had been purchased by her and her only friends in the world
when they’d only been fifteen and sixteen. The gypsy woman who’d
given them the magical piece had insisted that whoever wore the
pendant would
win the heart of a
duke
.
She cursed,
and crawled on her knees back toward the shrubs she’d stumbled
into. A marquess would have to do.

“
What are you doing?”

She ignored his question, cursing this day,
cursing her father who’d left her and her siblings in dire
financial straits, thereby requiring that she humble herself to
find a husband who could overlook her spectacles and her unabashed
honesty, all to save her family.

Aldora felt around in the grass and gasped
when a thorn pierced her kidskin glove and lanced her
finger.

She sank back on her heels. Ripping off her
glove, she tossed it aside, and popped the wounded digit into her
mouth. Propriety had ceased to exist in this exchange, if it ever
had.

The marquess dropped to a knee beside her.
With surprising gentleness, he tugged her hand forward and raised
it to his eyes. She looked up at him and her breath caught. The
cerulean blue of his gaze made her think of warm summer days and
the lake she’d splashed through as a young girl at their
countryseat. And suddenly she wanted to lose herself in the depths
of his eyes.

“
Just a scratch,” he
said.

She nodded as her body swayed closer to his.
The sandalwood scent that clung to him danced about her until she
was nearly intoxicated with the power of it.

His lips tilted at the corners in a roguish
grin that indicated he knew exactly the path her thoughts had
meandered.

His male arrogance killed all hint of foolish
yearning and reminded her…

Aldora returned to her search, effectively
dismissing him.

“
Did you lose
something?”

Other than her pride?

Of course she’d lost something. What, did he
think she made it a habit of crawling around on her hands and knees
through Hyde Park? She bit back the question. “Yes.” She took
satisfaction in the exceedingly gracious response.

Aldora made her way back over to the infernal
shrub that had ruined her day…well, that and the Marquess of St.
James’s stallion.

“
Here, let me.”

Aldora glanced over in surprise as he came and
proceeded to shove back the shrubs and peer through for…”It’s a
pendant. It is in the shape of a heart.”

“
Is it?” His muffled response came
from within the greenery.

She nodded, before remembering that he was not
looking at her. “It’s very important.”

“
Oh, I imagine it is.”

Aldora ignored his dry tone. She continued her
search, crawling along the earth. She had to find it. She simply
couldn’t lose it.

“
Ahh, I believe this is what
you’re looking for.”

She spun fast on her knees to face
him.

The marquess sat back on his heels and dangled
the glimmering gold directly in front of her eyes.

A cry escaped her. She plucked the gleaming
object from his hands and clasped it close to her chest.

All her early annoyance with the marquess’s
high-handedness dissipated. Here she was, these many years,
believing the necklace was a foolish talisman. Even after dear
Valera had found love with the Earl of Ravenswood, Aldora hadn’t
believed in the magic of the pendant. But the idea of this
important fabric of their childhood forever lost because of her
foolishness made her heart race with panic.

He held his hand out. “May I?”

Aldora studied the heart-shaped pendant in her
fingers before turning it over to him. He reached around her, his
fingers remarkably close to her flesh but not touching her. The
object fell around her neck, the thin gold strand settling
reassuringly against her skin.

“
There,” he said.

She touched the heart. It throbbed
hot against her skin. Memory of Valera’s words on the day of her
wedding danced through her mind.
“You
can’t fail with this necklace. Look how happy Elle and I are. Love
will find you too. Just have faith.”

The Marquess of St. James continued to study
her with a fiercely impenetrable expression.

Aldora drew her fingers back from the
heart.

“
Now I suppose you’ve learned your
lesson for wandering down riding paths unchaperoned in the middle
of the day.”

Fanciful thoughts of love for this boorish
lord slipped away. Oh, if she weren’t so obscenely grateful to the
man, she’d have slammed her heel atop his immaculate, gleaming
black Hessian boot.

She smiled, holding back the retort on her
lips. It wouldn’t do to point out that it was a good ways off from
the ‘middle of the day’. “Thank you very much, my lord. I am
forever indebted to you.”

Even without her spectacles, she did not fail
to miss the way his eyes went first round, before narrowing into
small slits. A grin curved one corner of his lips. He sketched an
immaculate bow. Before she could wonder overlong at his odd
reaction, his amused voice cut into her thoughts.

“
I must at least know the name of
the young lady whose debt I’ve earned.”

Aldora dropped into a curtsy. “Lady Aldora
Arlette Adamson.”

Then knowing it was the stuff of intrigue
she’d read about in the pages of many a Gothic novel, she turned on
her heel without another word and left her future husband staring
after her in what she suspected, or hoped, was intrigue.

Michael Knightly stared at Lady Aldora Arlette
Adamson’s retreating figure. A riot of brown, auburn-kissed locks
swirled about her lean waist.

The young lady had mistaken him for the
Marquess of St. James.