At his protracted silence, Aldora folded her arms across her chest. 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.
“Hmph,” he said.
Hmph? 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.
Did she imagine the ghost of a smile on his lips? Yes, it was surely her faulty vision. “If you remember, I tried, and you scolded me.”
Yes, he had her there. She touched her fingers to the chain at her neck, seeking strength from the heart-shaped talisman. Aldora’s stomach lurched and she frantically felt around her neck. A bare neck. No.
The marquess took a step toward her. “Is everything all right?” he asked, with a surprising concern and gentleness laced together.
No. Incapable of words, Aldora caught her lower lip between her teeth and managed a quick nod. Wanting him gone. Wanting to search and give in to her restless panic. She fell to her knees and searched for the childhood pendant that had been passed between friend to dearest friend. The faded gold heart had been purchased by her and her only friends in the world when they’d been younger. The gypsy woman who’d given them the magical piece had insisted that whoever wore the pendant would win the heart of a duke and if it weren’t treated with proper care would bring about great tragedy. She’d also insisted the piece be returned if ever there were a non-believer in the pendant’s power. Aldora had scoffed at that pledge before. Only time had proven it true. Her friend Emilia who’d first worn it had found happiness. 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?” There was a curiosity in his query that replaced all of his earlier gruff annoyance.
“Please just go,” she pleaded. 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 and she gasped. 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 those clear depths. “Just a scratch,” he murmured.
She tried to force words out but her tongue, heavy in her mouth, made words impossible. 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. Finding and bringing a man up to scratch was much different in real life than it was in dreams.
“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’ mount.
“Here, let me.”
She glanced over in surprise as he dropped to his haunches and proceeded to shove back the shrubs. Head bent, he peered around the earth. Her heart quickened. What manner of nobleman bent a knee to help a stranger so? Certainly her father would have sooner stalked past a dying one in the street than offer his help.
The gentleman briefly looked up. “It would help if I knew precisely what I’m looking for,” he pointed out dryly, quashing her momentarily distracting romantic illusions of him.
“It’s a pendant,” she blurted, her cheeks warming. “It is in the shape of a heart.”
“A heart, you say?” 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.”
Given he freely offered his help, Aldora chose to ignore his sardonic tone. She resumed her search, crawling along the earth. I have to find it. She simply couldn’t lose that cherished piece that held so much hope for her and her friends. It had become not only the talisman for their finding love…but also their friendship.
“Ahh, I believe this is what you’re looking for.”
She spun fast on her knees to face him. That awkward movement nearly unsettled her. Quickly catching herself, she went still.
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’ high-handedness dissipated. Here she was, these many years, believing the necklace was a foolish talisman. Her dear friend Lady Emilia had recently found love with the Duke of Renaud; and with her wedding date set, she’d gifted Aldora the gypsy’s bauble. It gave Aldora hope. Of course, too logical and sensible to believe in such drivel, she had accepted the pendant, anyway. She feared the curse more than the promise of love. The idea that she’d nearly been the one to lose forever that piece from their childhood sent her heart thudding with panic.
Lord St. James held his palm out. “May I?”
Aldora studied the heart-shaped pendant in her fingers and then studied his hand a moment. Long fingers. A broad palm. It was a capable one that inspired confidence in his strength. With a faint tremble to her own hand, she relinquished it to his hold. He reached around her. His fingers grazed her skin and sent little excited shivers rolling along her spine. Her lashes fluttered at the tender intimacy of his fleeting caress.
“There,” he said quietly, as the pendant fell around her neck, with the thin chain settled reassuringly into place. It was not the heat of the pendant that captivated her…but rather the scent of him. His breath, tinged of brandy and cinnamon, fanned her cheeks. It was a dangerous, quixotic blend of masculinity and sweetness that sent her lashes fluttering.
She touched her fingertips to the heart pendant at her neck. Did she merely imagine the heat of that metal? “You cannot fail with this necklace. Look how happy Connell 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. That heated intensity sucked at her breath and sent heat spiraling through her. 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.”
At that more than faintly condescending reproach, fanciful thoughts of love left as quickly as they’d arrived. 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 way off from the “middle of the day”. “Thank you very much, my lord. I daresay, I’ll t
ake care to bring along my nursemaid next time.”
As soon as the tart reply escaped her lips, she winced. Her mouth and spirit had always had a tendency to get away from her. Even without her spectacles, she did not fail to miss the way his eyes went first round, before narrowing into small slits. It was, perhaps, best that her future bridegroom realize as much now.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked crisply.
Oh, splendid. So he’d not been affronted. She inclined her head. “You are forgiven, my lord.”
He had the look of one who’d wandered through a hedge maze in Kensington Gardens and couldn’t find his way out. “Forgiven?”
“For your slightly,” more than slightly, “condescending nursemaid comment.”
The marquess opened and closed his mouth several times. “I certainly was not apologizing.”
What? “You weren’t?”
“Indeed not, and certainly not for taking you to task about carelessly wandering along riding trails.”
Well. He narrowed his eyes and unnerved her under that sharp scrutiny. She shifted back and forth on her feet. Aldora may have limited—as in no—experience in matters of love and courtship, but she still knew the way to a gentleman’s heart wasn’t to go about issuing dry retorts. And now, she’d unintentionally insulted him a second time. Even if the lummox, with his arrogance, deserved a dressing down, it was hardly the way to go about securing his affections and title. At his silence, she fiddled with the chain about her throat and attempted her most appreciative tones. “Well, I certainly did not intend to insult you.” She paused. “As you deliberately insulted me.” Aldora searched his face for a hint of remorse. His angular features remained a stoic mask. Swallow your pride, Aldora. For your sisters and brother and, even if she’s shown barely an ounce of affection in your life, mother… Aldora spoke on a rush. “I am indebted to you.” Dropping a quick curtsy, she bolted off.
“A moment, if you will?” That quiet command could have quelled the whole of Boney’s army without even a shot fired.
She staggered to a quick stop. Reluctantly, she turned back and stared.
A grin curved one corner of the marquess’ lips. He sketched an immaculate bow. “I must at least know the name of the young lady whose debt I’ve earned.”
Aldora blinked slowly. He wanted to know…? She sank into another curtsy. “Lady Aldora Arlette Adamson.” Mayhap she’d not insulted the gentleman enough to deter his affections.
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.
Chapter 2
Who in blazes is she?
Michael Knightly stared at Lady Aldora Arlette Adamson’s retreating figure. A riot of brown locks swirled about her lean waist. It was not, however, her delectable frame that commanded his notice, in that instance.
The hoyden had boldly challenged him. Not once, but twice. Given Polite Society’s total avoidance and fear of him, since a long-ago fought duel, no one ever challenged him. All feared him and they certainly did not smile at him.
Then, she’d not known that one of the ton’s most shameful members, banished for those long ago actions had stood before her. Rather, she’d taken him for his brother, 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. Most ladies would have been reduced to a fit of the vapors or, at the very least, tears, after having nearly been run down in Hyde Park. The bold, cheeky-mouthed, young woman, however, had challenged him at every turn and taken him to task for his insolence. Despite his vow to feel nothing for anyone, an unwitting appreciation filled him and staring after her…something more… curiosity.
With her brown hair and brown eyes, there was certainly nothing extraordinary to her beauty…except when she spoke. Her eyes had lit animatedly, capturing her every emotion; from her earlier adoration to annoyance. Then, once more, just as she’d gone to take her leave—interest. In him. Or—he grinned wryly—the marquess she’d taken him for. Nonetheless, even with that case of mistaken identity, she’d been fearless in her challenge, taking umbrage with the warning he’d given her.
Lady Aldora paused at the top of the rise and glanced over her shoulder.
Clasping his hands at his back, he inclined his head, and the young woman abruptly turned on her heel and was gone. Questions about Lady Aldora held him there long after she’d disappeared from view.
Respectable ladies did not stroll the grounds of Hyde Park without an escort and, yet, the spirited stranger did so without apology. It was behavior that, if she were discovered, would bring on a reputation-ruining scandal. Given his own dubious past, Michael was all too familiar with scandal—and Society’s inability to ever forgive and forget a person’s transgressions.
His expression darkened. Then, dueling a former friend and accidentally ending his life was hardly tantamount to the same crime of a young woman walking unchaperoned in Hyde Park. …oh, my God. Everworth. I am so sorry… I did not mean…
Sucking in a steadying breath, Michael shoved aside useless thoughts of the man he’d inadvertently killed. Those musings would never bring peace and certainly not forgiveness. Neither of which Michael deserved. It didn’t matter that his one-time friend had shot at his back. It didn’t matter that when Michael had spun about, he’d reflexively fired in return. For ultimately, it had been Michael’s finger and his actions. And his fate had been set since.
It was Society’s disdain which made it easier…nay, preferable to live forever on their fringe. He’d no desire to subject himself to their whispers and stares and the rehashed gossip about the darkest moment in his life. He studiously avoided everything and anything connected with the ton—including his own family. Until now.
Unbidden, his gaze trailed back to where he’d nearly trampled Lady Aldora. Now, he wondered after the mysterious stranger in Hyde Park.
Had she come for a clandestine meeting? To meet a lover, perhaps? Yet, with her propensity for blushing and stammered replies, she hardly had the jaded edge of a woman meeting a lover. Even so…a peculiar annoyance settled in his chest at the prospect of some bounder exploring her satiny soft flesh. Kissing her long neck—
You bloody fool. He snorted in disgust. Standing here, wondering after the Lady Aldora Adamson. Giving his head a clearing shake, Michael returned to his horse and swiftly mounted the obedient creature. Whose company Lady Aldora sought and what her reasons for being here alone were hardly his affair. In fact, outside of his business ventures and the wealthy empire he’d built from coal, nothing intrigued him, interested him, or even earned a fraction of his attentions. Every moment of his every day was spent reviewing ledgers, investing in lucrative ventures, conducting meetings, and building his fortunes. When he couldn’t control his past or how the world saw him as a person, his business was something he had mastery over. And life was far safer that way. He thought of nothing but his empire.
Until the careless minx had raced in front of his horse. Now, he pondered that slip of a lady.
He ran his hands along his mount’s sleek neck. Again, thoughts of Lady Aldora’s delicate neck resurfaced. 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. It had been the fury snapping within her brown eyes that commanded his attention still. Her unrepentant strength had effectively crushed the ennui that had dogged his every step since he’d left the country and returned to London.
An approaching rider drew his attention. He looked up as his brother, Milburn Knightly, the Marquess of St. James, drew alongside him. He removed his black-brimmed hat, revealing a neatly trimmed close crop of dark curls. Everything from Milburn’s finely tailored garments to his overall grooming exuded noble perfection. It had since he’d been a studious, always serious boy. “Where’d you take
yourself off to?” his brother asked.
Memories of the winsome creature again flitted forward. 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?”
At being caught woolgathering, Michael’s neck heated. He lifted his shoulder in a feigned, nonchalant shrug. “Midnight needed to flex his legs.” That much was at least factual.
His brother searched the area with bored eyes. “I did spy a young woman hurrying down the riding path moments ago,” he remarked, smothering a yawn with his hand. Was there a question there? Had anyone else asked it, he’d believe there would be a probing there. With his usually self-focused brother, Michael was far less certain.
“Did you?” Then his brother’s words registered. Lady Aldora. “On the riding path?” he gritted out.
Milburn nodded and placed his hat back on. “Indeed. Hardly the thing for a young lady to be about on her own without a chaperone.” He scratched at his furrowed brow. “On the riding path, no less.”
Blast the woman’s stubbornness. He’d warned to her avoid the riding paths. Had she not learned from her near-trampling that it was hardly safe or sane for her to be meandering down such a trail? “Did you at least advise her to have a care?”
The creases in Milburn’s high, noble brow deepened. “Hardly appropriate to go about speaking to unchaperoned women.”
Oh, bloody hell, his damned propriety-driven brother.
“Of course, adhering to Societal dictates is a good deal more important than a young lady’s well-being,” he muttered.
“She was pretty enough,” St. James went on as though he’d either not heard or cared about Michael’s dry admonishment. Michael’s back immediately went up. “I don’t believe she was a lady. Her hair hung about her waist.” He gave a nod. “She had the look of a maid out for a morning romp.”
In Need of a Knight (The Heart of a Scandal/The Heart of a Duke Book 0) Page 3
