The Heart of a Duke

by Samantha Grace

  He took a step toward her.

  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 ridden 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 from 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 from 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

  Aldora 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 her twin sisters, stood in the doorway, arms akimbo.

  Aldora coughed half-heartedly into her hand.

  Cat-like eyes narrowed. Her sister entered the room, 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 Gunther’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 is reading 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 virulent 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. “Bahh, horses and hounds are suitable. Do you love him?”

  Aldora’s neck turned hot. Ladies did not have the luxury of marrying for love. Most 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. The expressive pale blue eyes were years beyond the girls’ fifteen years. “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 we know the state Father left us in.” She gestured to the heavily patched sofa cushions. “Do you think we 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.

  From the perch of the seat, Katherine swung her legs back and forth much as she’d done as a girl of five and not a young lady of fifteen. “I’ll ask one more question. If you answer truthfully, I promise I shan’t ask any further questions.”

  Aldora waited.

  “Is there…” Katherine tapped a finger to her lower lip. “Another gentleman who has earned your affection?”

  Oh, it was too much. Aldora turned around, and made a show of studying the door. All the while she fought the sting of tears that flooded her eyes. She’d not become a watering pot in front of her sister. Aldora needed to be the strong one, the protector. What good would come of telling Katherine of Michael? Of how he made her heart skip a beat. Of how he teased her. Of how he’d waltzed her scandalously through Lord and Lady Havendale’sgardens?

  “So there is,” Katherine deduced when Aldora didn’t reply fast enough.

  Aldora turned around to face her and pasted on a smile. “Don’t be silly.”

  “What—”

  “You said no more questions, Katherine.”

  The air left Katherine on a whoof. She jumped to the floor and proceeded to straighten her skirts. “Very well. But—” she held up a single finger— “do not dare do something like marry a stuffy, pompous lord to help us. Is that clear?”

  Aldora managed her first smile that whole day. She bowed her head. “I promise.”

  Chapter Seven

  Michael accepted a flute of champagne from a passing servant. He downed it in a single swallow. His eyes did a purposeful sweep of the crowd.

  “Looking for someone?” St. James drawled alongside him.

  Michael made a non-committal noise and continued his search. Last evening, Michael had no intentions of attending any ton functions. He’d planned on going to White’s and getting himself absolutely soused. The desire to see her, however, had proven too strong. So he’d accompanied St. James, expecting to see Lady Aldora, only to learn that the young lady had fallen ill.

  And for nearly twenty-four hours since he’d learned she was unwell, Michael had been consumed with a numbing terror. He silently blasted his brother who’d had the ill sense to take her walking through Hyde Park on a chilled, rainy day.

  “Ahh, there she is,” St. James said.

  Michael followed his brother’s gaze. A buoying lightness filled Michael. The power of it so strong, so gripping that he forgot she belonged to St. James and that Michael, by the sheer history of his life, wasn’t fit to even keep company with her. Hell, he wasn’t deemed fit company for anyone. The sole reason he was even included in ton functions was because of his brother’s title.

  As if she felt his eyes on her, Lady Aldora froze. Her body seemed to straighten, illuminating the graceful elegance of her long, lean neck. To put his lips to the satiny smoothness of that skin. He’d trade all the wealth he’d made over the years to caress the pulse beating there.

  With excellent color in her cheeks, the lady looked remarkably well. Not at all ill.

  “Michael?”

  “Yes, she is here,” Michael snapped, knowing his tone was that of a petulant child.

  St. James gave him an indecipherable look before casting his gaze back toward Lady Aldora. His brother rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I imagine she’ll make a perfectly suitable wife.”

  A curtain of black rage clouded Michael’s vision. He forced himself to count to five. When that di
dn’t help, he counted to ten.

  “You disapprove of her,” St. James continued. With his every question he pitched daggers at Michael’s gut.

  “Not at all,” Michael said, his tone rough.

  “Hmm,” St. James muttered. “I imagine she’ll make me a fine b—where are you going?” he called after Michael.

  Michael ignored him and continued striding away from his brother. He’d considered himself strong, resilient. He’d lived in the solitude of Wales, not even contacted when his mother had died, followed by his father years later. The pain of his family’s rejection had stung at first, but then Michael had gradually erected a wall around his heart. He’d thought himself unaffected. He’d thought himself immune to paltry things like pain and happiness and love.

  Then in one damn fool ride through Hyde Park, he’d met a feisty, beautiful young woman who’d torn down those walls.

  Michael paused and leaned alongside a pillar, borrowing strength as he confronted a maelstrom of too powerful emotions.

  He wanted her.

  Wanted her with a burning intensity that robbed him of all reason.

  It defied logic.

  And went against his better judgment.

  A young lord, a brave young lord, who Michael vaguely recognized, started his way. Michael glowered until the poor fellow swallowed nervously and hied it off in the opposite direction. Then Michael returned his efforts to finding Aldora and settled on her.

  And St. James.

  Michael clenched his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed as he tortured himself with the sight of his brother taking her hand in his, leading her to the dance floor for a bloody waltz, and suddenly it was too much. This stark, ugly reminder that Aldora was no different from every other young lady with her eyes trained on a title, wealth, and Society’s approval.

  Without a backward glance, he stormed from the room, needing to be anywhere but in the bloody ballroom.

  He’d left. He’d left but not before Aldora had seen the faintly condescending, blatantly disapproving glare Michael Knightly had for her. His obvious disdain had stung. It had stung far worse than the disappointment she had felt at his deliberate deception.