In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 1) (8 page)

She held her ground. “Why are
you
here?” she tossed back at him, embracing the volatile anger that stirred deep within her chest. It gave her the fortitude to confront him.

Michael paused. “I was riding.”

Well, he had her there. He had far more reason to be out on this dreary gray day than she. Still…

“You should have continued riding.”

His body convulsed like he’d been physically struck.

I will not feel bad. I will not feel bad.

“And I’m not alone,” she added for spiteful measure. “I’m out walking with the Marquess of St. James. You know, your brother.” In unison with her bold declaration, the wind died an instant death, and the air stood still.

A savage-like growl split the sudden, unearthly quiet. The unrestrained darkness in Michael’s eyes indicated that the sound didn’t belong to nature but rather had come from deep within his chest.

She should relish his tangible pain, but it didn’t bring her even a smidgeon of glee. It only made her feel that much worse, which she hadn’t thought possible. “You lied to me. You made light of me, knowing all along I thought you to be your brother.” She spit the words at him.

“I didn’t.”

Stated in that flat, emotionless tone, Aldora gritted her teeth, besieged by an unladylike desire to strike him. “You didn’t what? Lie to—”

“Make light of you.” Michael held his palms up, almost as if in supplication. “That was never my intention.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly an apology, and his words were certainly not enough to erase the vast hurt he’d caused her. Aldora tipped her chin back. “Oh, well then what was your intention?”

Michael should have continued riding. He should have turned Midnight around and rode hard to the opposite end of the park. Lady Aldora was like the nymph Calypso who’d held tight to Odysseus for seven years. Only Michael suspected that Lady Aldora’s hold would be something a deal more permanent.

He studied the pinched lines at the corner of her lush lips, the glitter of emotion that filled her expressive brown eyes.

Michael removed his hat and beat it against the side of his thigh. It would be easier for both of them—all of them, if he considered his brother—if he offered a hasty apology and left her believing that he’d merely been, ‘making light of her’. There was nothing he could offer her. He had money. Plenty of it. But respectability and a place in London Society? No. Not after he’d killed Lord Everworth. The things he now dreamed of were beyond his reach.

For the first time, he found himself craving a title.

Since there was nothing he could say that would excuse his actions, he settled for the truth. “You are correct. I was wrong. I should have corrected your error from the very beginning instead of letting you believe I was in fact the marquess.”

“So why didn’t you?” There was a steely edge to her question, a strength that he appreciated. Most any other lady would have descended into a fit of hysterics.

Michael closed the distance separating them. He reached out and brushed back a dark curl that had escaped her neat coiffure. She didn’t pull away from him. “Because I knew the moment you realized who I was, you would have left.”

Aldora frowned.

“Come, can you truly say that you would have continued conversing with me, the younger, untitled brother with a scandalous past?” Silence met his question. “That is what I suspected.”

“You’re wrong,” she said, her words the faintest whisper.

Laughter bubbled up from his chest, harsh and angry. “Am I?”

She cocked her head a small angle. “We’ll never know, because you weren’t honest with me.”

He slashed the air with his hand. “Honesty? You speak to me of honesty? What is honest about your intentions for my brother? When we met, were you not scheming to meet the illustrious, titled Marquess of St. James?”

Her head jerked back and splotches of obvious embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “You don’t know anything about it.”

Michael laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “Are you going to tell me you are so different than every other young lady scheming to make the best match?”

Aldora’s eyes wandered to a point beyond his shoulder, all the confirmation he needed.

Why did he feel this weighty sense of regret? Because with her wit and ability to go toe to toe with him, he’d mistakenly allowed himself to believe Lady Aldora was different than all other ladies. Her silence served as a subtle reminder as to what drove nobility; familial connections and age-old titles.

A raindrop fell upon his brow. Then another. And another.

Aldora gave no outward indication that she was affected by the mementos of sadness falling from the sky. She tugged her cloak closer to herself. “Your brother will return soon.”

Funny, he’d not taken her as one to prevaricate.

“It’s not as you think.”

Her quiet statement snapped him back to attention.

He arched a brow expectantly.

Lady Aldora lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “You believe me driven by the quest for a title and wealth, but…” She studied the tip of her foot as she drew a circle on the damp grass. Then she stopped abruptly and looked back up at him. “Things are not always as they seem.”

He scoffed. Michael knew exactly how things were. Aldora would have never have even deigned to speak to him in the park that first meeting if she’d known his true identity. She’d already set her sights on a marquess. The scandalous younger brother who dirtied his hands with trade would never do for a lady of her status.

Clearly following his unspoken recriminations, she frowned. “You presume to judge me and yet have I passed judgment on you for your past? The gossips have spoken about you and the scandal surrounding a young lord’s death. They call you a murderer.”

Michael settled his face into an expressionless mask, not wanting her to see how her honest words ravaged his already guilt-flayed mind. Michael would forever carry with him guilt over Lord Everworth’s death. It had been the last time Michael had picked up a pistol.

“You may stand there aloof, acting unaffected, but I believe you care a great deal about what happened.” She glanced away. “Here comes the marquess.”

Michael followed her gaze. St. James was nearly bounding across the grass to get to them. He clenched his teeth. No, St. James was rushing to reach Aldora. He balled his hands into tight fists at his side, besieged by an unholy desire to punch him in his affable face. Michael reminded himself that it was hardly St. James’s fault that he was the better brother, and the best match for Aldora. It didn’t help. Michael still wanted to hit him.

St. James stopped beside them, nearly out of breath from his exertions. He bowed. “I’m so sorry to have left you, my lady. I’m glad that my brother was here to watch after you while I was gone.” He nodded to Michael.

Michael gave a curt nod and rescued the reins of his horse. He flung his leg over and adjusted his feet in the stirrups. Without another word, he kicked his horse into a gallop and left Lady Aldora and St. James—alone.

Chapter Six

A
ldora sat on the window seat, staring out as the wind whipped raindrops noisily against the windowpanes. She pulled her knees close to her chest and dropped her chin atop them.

St. James had returned her more than seven hours ago. He’d been gentlemanly and apologetic, and profuse in his compliments of her. He was the pinnacle of her hopes for her sisters Anne and Katherine, and her young brother Benedict. For two years she had lived with a cloying fear over her family’s dire economic circumstances. More than that, she’d lived with an inevitable sense of dread that at any moment, the stranger who possessed her father’s vowels would grow impatient and eventually demand his entire amount in full.

Michael’s accusations that morning had stung. They still stung because of the truth in his words. Aldora did seek a powerful, respectable title. It just happened to be for reasons other than Michael understood.

Standing amidst the empty park, she had been so very tempted to confide in him the truth. She’d longed to release some of the burden she’d borne for the past three years. The marquess’s appearance had prevented her from saying anything more to Michael.

“You don’t look ill.”

Her head snapped up at the unexpected intrusion.

Katherine, the younger of the twins, stood in the doorway, arms akimbo.

Aldora coughed half-heartedly into her hand.

Cat-like eyes narrowed. Her sister entered the room, and then closed the door behind her with a decisive click.

“What…?”

“You don’t look sick. You look sad. Horribly sad. Rather like someone who had a fabulous ice from Gunter’s and was just about to bite into it when someone came by and slapped the delicious treat from your fingers and it—”

Aldora laughed, waving at her sister to stop. “You’ve been quite clear. No need to go on. Where are Anne and Benedict?”

Katherine rushed over and plopped down onto the window seat beside Aldora. “Benedict is begging Cook for a cherry tart. Anne has snuck off with one of your Gothic novels.” She rolled her eyes, the telltale gesture indicating just what she thought of Aldora’s reading preferences. She peered out the window, her brow furrowed. “I can’t imagine that staring out into this dreary evening will help matters.”

No, it hadn’t. She claimed Katherine’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You didn’t want to go out this evening,” Katherine said.

Aldora shook her head. “No, I didn’t, sweet.”

Her sister made a non-committal sound.

She didn’t care to speak on any of it this evening. Mother had gone off to attend Lady Williston’s ball, and Aldora relished the opportunity to be alone with her troubled thoughts. Her hand tightened around Katherine’s. Any other time she would relish a visit with Katherine, her far more serious, less self-centered sister.

“Mother believes the Marquess of St. James will offer for you.”

Aldora’s shoulders stiffened.

“That is not the reaction of a delighted young lady,” Katherine observed in a tone too dry for her young years.

“Mother
hopes
the marquess will offer for me,” Aldora said.

Katherine inched closer to her and snagged one of Aldora’s loose curls. She gave it a tug. “What do
you
hope for, silly?”

Michael’s virile frame flashed through her mind. She looked down and made the mistake of glancing at Katherine’s re-stitched gown. Aldora swallowed hard at the material reminder of those who depended on her. “Why, of course I hope he’ll offer for me.”

Katherine snorted. “That’s not convincing, either.”

Aldora forced a smile. She couldn’t explain to Katherine just why she didn’t want to marry the marquess. She could not share the impending doom that hung over their family with the younger girl. “He’d be a very suitable husband.”

Katherine tugged her hand free. “Bah, horses and hounds are suitable. Do you love him?”

Aldora’s neck turned hot. Ladies did not have the luxury of marrying for love, especially not her.

“It does matter,” Katherine insisted, correctly having read Aldora’s unspoken thoughts. She settled her palm on Aldora’s cheek, and looked at her. “You do not have to marry to save us. Come, Aldora, do not insult me by thinking I could be so oblivious to our situation,” she said when Aldora’s mouth fell agape. “Of course I know the state Father left us in.” She gestured to the heavily patched sofa cushions. “Do you think I didn’t notice that which is directly in front of us?”

Aldora closed her eyes. Here she’d been thinking she’d protected her siblings from Father’s sins.

“Sister, you have taken too much upon your shoulders. We are not your responsibility. Mother has made unfair demands of you.”

Aldora shook her head. “No, she hasn’t.” Mother merely expected Aldora to do what any and every lady of good social standing was required to do—make a fine match.

“You don’t want to marry him,” Katherine insisted.

Aldora shoved to her feet and paced the floor. “He hasn’t even asked.”

“But if he did, you’d say yes for the wrong reasons.”

Michael’s similar accusation burned in her heart. She rubbed her chest to ease the pain. “They wouldn’t be the wrong reasons, Katherine.” They’d be very necessary.