The Heart of a Duke

by Samantha Grace

  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 calling Michael by the wrong name.

  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

  Aldora 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.

  She settled back on her heels and perused the area, knowing even as she did that he hadn’t arrived.

  Her mother, the Countess of Adamson, stood at her side prattling on about some such gossip with Lady Aldridge. Aldora may as well have been invisible for all the notice they paid her, which was nothing short of a blessing for Aldora.

  “Are you looking for an escape?” a familiar voice drawled.

  “Or are you looking for someone?” another piped in Aldora’s ear.

  She spun around, shoulders sagging in relief at the sudden appearance of her friends. Valera, Lady Ravenswood, and Lady Alison stood there, curiosity fairly pouring from their like expressions.

  “Hullo,” Aldora replied, her mind frantically spinning for a suitably evasive reply. “I didn’t think…” She snapped her mouth shut.

  Valera’s eyes narrowed. “I believe she is looking for someone.”

  Aldora glanced over at her mother, her heart racing. Fortunately her mother was fully engrossed and hadn’t heard her friends’ teasing. “No, I’m not! Uh—I mean I was looking for the both of you,” she said on a hushed whisper.

  Valera snorted. Of all her friends, Valera knew Aldora better than anyone else. Valera was possessed of a like solemnity and inherent sense of responsibility. Valera’s family had despaired of her ever securing a match but ultimately the lovely woman had earned the Earl of Ravenswood. Not only had Valera found love, she’d found a powerful man who respected her and her intelligence. Aldora knew it was the height of foolishness, but it was the heart-shaped pendant and her friends’ matches that gave Aldora hope that she too would find herself wedded to the very marriageable marquess.

  A smile turned up the corners of Alison’s lips. “It doesn’t take an in depth medical study to determine you are lying.” With her somberness and preference for a lengthy scientific journal over a good soiree, Alison was so very different from most young ladies.

  Which is why she and Valera made for the perfect company…and always had, since they were small children.

  Valera looped her arm through her friend’s and whispered, “Perhaps you were looking for someone and an escape?”

  Aldora felt her cheeks warm.

  “Newton’s Apple!” Alison’s mouth opened wide like a fish on land. ”Based on the rushing blood and quickened breathing, I’d say Aldora is looking for a specific gentleman.”

  Valera directed her eyes to the ceiling with a grin. “Blushing. It’s called blushing, Alison, and can we please discuss something other than the color of dear Aldora’s cheeks?”

  “Well, we could discuss the reason why your cheeks have been pinker than usual since you met Lord Ravenswood,” Alison said with a giggle.

  “Oh, do hush, Alison.” Valera gave Alison a wink.

  Aldora chuckled. She looked around the room, searching for St. James.

  Valera gave her arm a squeeze. “You must share his identity.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Alison snorted. “Of course you do.”

  Aldora felt her flush deepen. Even if these were her truest friends, they didn’t know the direness of Aldora’s circumstances, and they most certainly didn’t know the only thread keeping her family from tumbling into financial ruin was the prospect of a wealthy, titled lord. And yet, she knew she was lying to herself when she said her only interest in the Marquess of St. James was his wealth and power. The truth of it was that since their encounter in Hyde Park two days earlier, she’d not been able to rid herself of thoughts of him. His roguish grin, his willingness to climb from his horse and search on hands and knees for the locket of a stranger all remained with her. She gave a discreet shake of her head.

  “It’s no—”A thrill of awareness coursed through her veins, and she stiffened, knowing intuitively when he was near. The couple between her and the Marquess of St. James miraculously shifted and Aldora had an unobstructed view.

  By God, he was even more breathtaking than she’d imagined. With the benefit of her spectacles, she could now marvel at his thick, unfashionably long black hair with the faintest curl. His gaze that scanned the ballroom was flinty like rock. Hard. Gleaming with intensity. This man was so…so virile, and so very different than described in the scandal sheets.

  Valera gave her arm a tug, jerking Aldora back to the moment. When she glanced back out at the crowd, her heart dropped in crestfallen disappointment as she found the marquess had once again disappeared.

  “My goodness, you’re smitten.” Valera whispered the words as though she’d discovered there was in
fact a rainbow with a pot of gold at the end.

  “Hush.” Aldora frantically glanced around, praying no one had heard Valera’s revelation.

  Mother remained in deep conversation with Lady Aldridge. Aldora sighed. This had been the tedium of the night; Mother gossiping away while Aldora’s dance card remained obscenely blank. Alas, she wanted Aldora at her side so she could introduce her to the gentlemen she’d deemed suitably marriageable for her eldest daughter.

  Except, her mother would never question her absence as long as she believed Aldora had gone off with Valera and Alison. Aldora leaned close to her friends. “Will you walk with me?”

  Alison’s face fell. “Mother is motioning for me to return. Probably wants to introduce me to some dandy,” she muttered before shuffling off with as much as enthusiasm as a man making his way onto the gallows.

  Valera looped her arm through Aldora’s and politely interrupted her mother’s exchange. “Would you mind terribly if I took some air with Lady Aldora?”

  Bless Valera’s soul. She’d at last managed to wrestle Aldora free of Mother’s grip.

  Her mother paused mid-conversation, eyes alight with pleasure. “Not at all, Lady Ravenswood!” She gave a small wave before returning her attention to the generously rounded Lady Aldridge.

  Aldora wasted no time. She all but dragged Valera from the spot. Valera had provided Aldora a freedom to escape her Mother and other members of the ton without fearing recriminations. “I am so very glad you’ve married,” she muttered.

  Valera chuckled. “Why, thank you. Whatever is this about? Never tell me we are searching for your ‘someone’.”

  “He is not my someone,” Aldora said, her answer automatic and at the victorious light in her friend’s pretty eyes, she wanted to call back the telling admission. It was too late. The proverbial cat had been released from his sack.

  “So there is someone!” Valera whispered excitedly.

  Knowing it was futile to withhold the truth from her friend, Aldora sighed. “There is.”

  And the dratted man hadn’t bothered to search her out. Why, the least he could have done following her great fall at Hyde Park was inquire after her...but then, she supposed if he were to do that, they’d both have a good deal of explaining to do.

  She pushed the thin-wired spectacles back on her nose. After her chaotic outing at Hyde Park, Aldora had decided to set vanity aside. She found she far preferred seeing the people around her more than she cared about how the people around her felt about her eyewear.

  Valera expertly maneuvered Aldora through the ballroom, steering her toward the doors to the terrace.

  “Your husband will be looking for you.” Aldora’s protest sounded half-hearted to her own ears.

  A brilliant sparkle lit her friend’s gaze and just then, Aldora would trade her right hand to feel such a thing for a man and to have that man return her love. A sigh of envy escaped her lips.

  “He will not mind if I’m gone for a short while,” Valera said.

  Aldora snorted. She rather doubted that. She’d seen how Lord Ravenswood looked at his wife and knew he’d mind—very much, indeed.

  With the unseasonable chill to the early summer air, all those lords and ladies seeking to steal some forbidden moments must have sought refuge indoors, for which Aldora was immensely grateful. She folded her arms and attempted to rub warmth back into her skin.

  Valera didn’t waste any time. “Who is he?”

  “Who is who?” Aldora opted to feign ignorance. At her friend’s down-turned lips, she sighed. “The Marquess of St. James.”

  Valera’s brows drew together. “St. James?”

  Aldora bristled at the shocked disapproval in Valera’s question. “He would make a perfectly suitable husband.”

  Valera tapped the toe of her slipper in a soft-staccato rhythm against the stone floor, the tone grating to Aldora’s ears. “Yes but he’s….”

  “He’s what?”

  “Foppish.”

  Aldora remembered the midnight black morning coat and expertly tailored matching black riding breeches. Fops wore vibrant colors and peacock feathers. “He is not.” She held her breath hoping Valera’s vehement denial of the marquess’s suitability would stop there.

  “A terrible scandal follows his younger brother.”

  “That is hardly his fault, Valera. It would be wrong to judge a man for the sins of his family.” She wouldn’t mention the fact that St. James’s slightly tarnished family lines made him more than acceptable for her financially ruined one.

  Valera made a non-committal sound. “And he has a rather poor view of the role of women.”

  Aldora frowned, her stomach roiling unpleasantly at this serious offense. “On what grounds did you make such a determination?”

  “I had the misfortune of sitting beside him at Lord and Lady Savage’s dinner. He expressed great disapproval in any academic ventures, insisting that a lady mustn’t exert her efforts beyond her needlepoint and pianoforte skills.” She held Aldora’s gaze, reminding her with pointed precision that Aldora was far less than skilled when it came to embroidering or singing or playing.

  Aldora’s heart fell as disappointment drowned out her hope for a match with St. James. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured to herself. Although it should come as no surprise; the nobility did not prevaricate when it came to expectations for what constituted ladylike behavior. Yet, she’d hoped that the man she’d set her sights on would be…well…different.

  Valera’s brow furrowed. “But you don’t even know….” Her foot froze mid-motion, ending the incessant tapping. “You have met him. Alone?” she hissed.

  That was the sole problem in having a friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. Secrets were absolutely forbidden.

  “When?”

  “It was a chance meeting,” Aldora said. A chance meeting that she’d taken care to orchestrate, but now that her friend was here and aware, Aldora could enlist her help.

  Valera frowned. “Nothing improper occurred, did it?”

  “What is this about improper?” a low-voice drawled.

  The young women spun around.

  Lord Ravenswood stood off to the side, his hip propped against a tall Doric column, broad arms folded at his chest.

  At the unexpected intrusion, Valera’s eyes lit up and she smiled widely. A charged look passed between the couple, as though everything, including Aldora, had faded away and all that remained was the two of them.

  Deep inside, a yearning filled Aldora. To have someone look at her the way Lord Ravenswood studied Valera. Not for the first time, Aldora ached to secure a match based on mutual respect and genuine love—and not necessity, which was what had driven her in her pursuit of the marquess.

  Valera walked over to her husband and swatted him on the arm. “Were you following us?”

  Oh, it hadn’t been ‘us’ he’d been following.

  He offered a delayed bow. “Lady Aldora.”

  She dipped a curtsy. “My lord.”

  “So who is—?”

  Valera took her husband by the arm, and steered him toward the house. “I believe you owed me the next set, dear husband.”

  Bless Valera.

  “Why do I feel like you are trying to usher me away, dear wife?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, my love,” Valera murmured. She glanced over her shoulder and winked at Aldora.

  Aldora tipped her head in appreciation.

  The look in her friend’s eyes promised future questions, but for now Aldora had been spared.

  Aldora should return indoors. She took a step forward. Then another.

  And froze. The lilting strain of the orchestra’s waltz danced around the night air.

  Aldora drew in a deep breath. If she were wise, she’d return to the hall and use every last moment at her disposal to try and make a match. In spite of the cool night, she’d rather remain outside with nothing more than her quiet company. She gripped the edges of the balustrade and stare
d out. The full moon played off the lush gardens, casting mysterious shadows.

  She ran her palm over the surface, stroking back and forth as she considered her precarious situation. Just that morning another creditor had come calling. Hardly anything remained of their previous lifestyle. All the fripperies, all the trappings that hadn’t seemed to matter were gone. The porcelain shepherdess and her flock of sheep. The collection of china dolls Aldora and her sisters had played with as young children. The chintz tea set she’d first sipped tea from. All of it had been sold off to cover Father’s many debts. At the time, all Aldora had cared about was her family’s survival. But now she found herself mourning the loss of those small tokens.

  Those items represented memories.

  Her vision blurred. Aldora removed her spectacles and made to move the smudge of dirt from the glass as a teardrop slipped down her cheek.

  “We meet again, my lady.”

  Aldora gasped. Her spectacles slipped from her fingers and toppled to the gardens below.

  She spun around, a hand pressed to her breast as she came face to face with the Marquess of St. James.

  Michael Knightly had battled through the tedium of the evening. He’d not turned from the sickeningly fascinated stares and the curious whispers tittered behind fans and hands.

  Except after the monotony of it all, he’d needed to escape. Just for a short while. The crush of the ballroom reminded him of how much he loathed ton functions. He far preferred life in Pembrokeshire, overseeing the men who worked in his coalmines. Hundreds of families were dependent upon the success of his operation, and Michael prided himself on the quality work conditions and benefits he offered to those who worked for him. Those men and women were honest. They appreciated the value of hard work and were fair. Unlike the ton, those who found work in the mines were not self-serving, driven by only material gain and societal standing.

  He’d made his way to the balcony, craving the crisp, clean night air.