In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 1) (3 page)

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 country seat. 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.

He grinned. And he’d been more than content to let her continue believing so, because for a short time he’d found himself intrigued. No, that was putting it mildly. He was enlivened by the cheeky-mouthed, wide-eyed young lady. And ladies did not intrigue him. At least innocent respectable ladies in the market for a husband didn’t.

Michael returned to his horse and swiftly mounted the obedient creature. He ran his hands along her sleek neck and unbidden thoughts of Lady Aldora’s delicate neck surfaced. Something about Lady Aldora’s unashamed strength had crushed the ennui that had dogged his every step.

An approaching rider drew his attention. He looked up as his brother, the Marquess of St. James, drew alongside him.

Removing his black brimmed hat, St. James beat it against his leg. “Where’d you go off to?”

Memories of the winsome creature flitted through Michael’s mind. At just a half foot shorter than his own height, compared to other ladies, she would be a Spartan warrior princess among mere mortals. His body heated as he recalled the satiny smoothness of her flesh.

“Michael?”

Michael lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Lucifer needed to flex his legs.” That much was at least factual.

His brother’s gaze darted around, as if searching for the hint of the truth in the shrubbery around them. “I did see a young lady hurrying down the riding path moments ago,” he remarked, smothering a yawn with his hand.

Michael directed his eyes forward. Blast the woman’s stubbornness. He’d warned her off the riding path. Had she not learned from her near trampling that it was hardly safe or sane for her to be meandering down a riding path? “Did you, now?”

“Lovely thing,” St. James went on. “Her hair hung about her waist.” He chuckled. “She must have been a maid out for a morning romp.”

Michael’s fists flexed around the reins as he fought an inexplicable urge to drag his brother from his horse and plant a fist in his rakish smile. An odd burning flared in his belly, and Michael stiffened as he recognized the emotion as jealousy. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he shoved it aside.

He scoffed. Why would he be jealous over his brother’s admiration for Lady Aldora? After all, since she’d beaten a retreat, hadn’t he too thought about the satiny feel of her skin, the bow-shaped lips that had fairly begged to be kissed?

They continued riding while St. James shifted the conversation to a topic far safer, his tailor. It also happened to be a good deal less interesting than say, a young lady wandering alone in the park, and mistaking Michael for a lord.

Michael reflected on their meeting. What had it been about Lady Aldora that had so intrigued him? With her tumble into the shrubbery, her tightly coiled ringlets had cascaded down her back, drawing attention to the narrow-waist he could span with his hands. Even as her chocolate brown eyes had snapped with fury, he hadn’t been able to look away from the endearing smattering of freckles that dusted her nose. Respectable, young, and clearly in the market for a husband, she was by no means the manner of woman he sought. He would be wise to set her from his thoughts.

But as he entered his town house later that afternoon, he rather suspected it wasn’t going to be easy to forget Lady Aldora Adamson.

Chapter Two

A
ldora scanned the crowd, not for the first time at
ton
events, glad that she stood a good deal taller than most. Her height made it easier to find her friends, or in this case the Marquess of St. James. She had it on good authority that the marquess would be present and so she, or rather, Mother, had managed to secure an invitation to Lord and Lady Havendale’s ball.

Two days had passed since she’d met St. James in Hyde Park. For all she’d told herself she only cared about pursuing the marquess for the security he represented for both her and her sisters, after two days Aldora was forced to admit to herself she wanted to see him. There had been something about him; his frank honesty, the touch of his fingers on her skin, the passion in his eyes, all of which had burned a mark upon her.