The Siege of Lady Aloria_World of de Wolfe Pack

by Christina McKnight

  Chapter Nine

  Aloria would have no luck if it weren’t for her horrid luck. She’d thought her day had taken a turn for the worse when she heard Delilah call for her and had seen her sitting with Lord Canterbourne—but then she’d arrived at their table, only to be greeted by none other than the Duke of Wolfeton.

  The object of her current scorn.

  And then to be drawn into Delilah and Canterbourne’s discussion on their upcoming nuptials… She could not conceive a thing worse, beside Marcus insisting on accompanying her on her mother’s errands—which seemed to be happening as it were. She wished the ground below her would open up and swallow her—or better yet, open and swallow the duke.

  She wasn’t prepared to speak with him, the sting still fresh.

  Maybe she had imagined their whole encounter from the evening before, starting with his appearance in the hallway, the kiss, their dances, and finally, their turn about the terrace? Would he declare she’d read too much into his actions, as Canterbourne had?

  “Aloria,” Marcus called from behind her.

  She sped up, hoping he’d realize she didn’t want to speak with him and return to the inn, but he caught up with her sooner than she thought possible. Why had her good sense abandoned her last night?

  “Please, slow down. You are likely to turn an ankle on the uneven ground.”

  She stopped and turned his way, causing him to stop short to avoid colliding with her. “Oh, you fear for my well-being now?”

  Pedestrians detoured around them as they continued to block the walk outside one of her mother’s modiste shops.

  Aloria wanted nothing more than to collect her mother’s new bonnet and return home. Once there, she could sift through everything that had happened between her and Marcus, dissect his every word and action; and hopefully come to terms with the fact that she’d been duped once more. There must have been some clue she’d missed that pointed to his true reasoning for seeking her out.

  “What has gotten into you?”

  “Do not act the fool, my lord,” she seethed. “It is most unbecoming on you.”

  “Can we step inside?” He gestured to the shop behind him, the same place she’d been headed—and whose occupants stared out the window at them now. “Please. I promise, a quick word and I will depart.”

  Aloria glanced around her as people stared as they walked. She was sure she saw Lord Plumberly gape at them out his open carriage as he rolled past, an unknown redhead accompanying him. Then she looked back to Madame Isabella’s and decided the modiste shop was definitely preferable to causing a scene in the streets of London. She’d had her fill of scandals over the past few years, enough to last her a lifetime.

  “Oh, drat! A moment, that is all.” She turned toward the shop and walked inside, effectively pulling her arm from his grasp. “Madame Isabella, may I trouble you for the use of your back room for a moment?”

  The woman looked knowingly at Aloria before shooing her assistants to the front of the shop. “It is at your disposal, Lady Aloria.”

  “The duke and I will only need a moment to speak.” She was sure the second they entered the back room, Madame Isabella would send word through the servants in every shop on Bond Street about Lady Aloria and her latest beau. She only hoped there was time for her to set the record straight before word returned to her mother. “Thank you.”

  She rounded on Marcus as soon as the drapes fell shut behind them, her fury compounding internally ever since the discussion with her father that morning. “You cannot fathom the gossip you have started, my lord.” She tried to keep her voice low, but it rose with her ire.

  “Would that be so awful?” he asked.

  “Oh, you!” She stumbled on her words as she attempted to organize her thoughts. “Of course. It would be terrible.”

  “I was unaware that our association would not be to your liking.”

  “Nothing about you is to my liking, my lord.” She sounded like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

  “Would it not have been wise to state that before we danced—twice—last night?”

  “That was before your despicable intentions were brought to my attention.”

  “My despicable what?” he stuttered. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  “Ah-ha!” She pointed her finger at him. “Your ill-repute is evident by your profanity in the presence of a lady.”

  “Do not point your finger at me,” he said. “And unless you truly do want a scandal, please lower your voice.”

  Aloria took a deep breath before continuing. She hadn’t realized how loud her words had been, and she didn’t doubt their confrontation would be all over London before the night’s ton gatherings started. Once again, her personal life—and failures—would be fodder for all of society.

  She wasn’t even sure why she was so upset. The plan had been to simply never see the blasted man again. But how was she to avoid him when he seemed insistent on inserting himself into her life? Delilah was her friend, and she may have an aversion to Lord Canterbourne, but he also belonged to her. Belatedly, she realized how peculiar that sounded, even to herself. She couldn’t expect Marcus to understand.

  “Was the scene with Lady Gwendolyn contrived by the pair of you?”

  His confused look had her rethinking her accusation. “You are making no sense.”

  “But you do not refute it?”

  “There is nothing for me to refute,” he sighed, throwing his arms out to the side in exasperation. “Never would I set out to hurt another person in that manner, especially you, Aloria.”

  But hurt her he had.

  She would not let his trickery work on her again. “Especially not me. Why, because I’m your leverage for gaining a whole fleet of cargo ships? Just envision your financial success if you wedded Lord Garland’s only spinster, portly daughter—he’d likely give you control over his amassed empire for taking his homely child off his hands.”

  “Do not speak ill of yourself in that fashion.”

  “Why?” she continued to badger him, wagging her finger in his face once more. “Is it not how all of the ton see me? Nothing more than chattel to be traded and bartered.”

  “You are so much more.”

  “Save your meaningless lies.”

  Her father would turn a severe look on her if he ever heard her speak such of herself—or his actions as her father. She was confident Lord Garland would never use her for his own gain, nor allow another to do so. If anything, it was he who’d always calmed her after her betrothals went to the wayside, insisting that no man with untrue intentions would ever gain her hand in marriage.

  “Aloria—“

  “Lady Aloria,” she corrected. “You, my lord, will call me Lady Aloria.”

  He turned, pacing the long, narrow room. “I cannot begin to understand what changed from last night to now.”

  “Did you not expect me to find out that you planned to wed me for use of my father’s cargo ships?”

  From his stunned—and ashamed—expression, he hadn’t expected her to find out, or at least not until after they’d wed.

  The situation was ludicrous. As of twelve hours ago, Aloria wasn’t even aware of this man’s existence.

  “How…who…?”

  “Did you think me aged enough, large enough, not to care why a handsome, titled man would seek me out?” Aloria cringed and had the urge to buy herself something pink. “I may be a female, but I am not an idiot.”

  Marcus stopped across the room, sinking to the lounge against the wall. “Please, come sit and allow me to explain.”

  “I cannot,” she sighed. And she couldn’t…if she stayed and listened, he may likely fool her again with his honey-coated words.

  And she would be a fool if she believed him.

  Chapter Ten

  Marcus watched her walk out of the room. He listened as the bell over the front door of the shop chimed when she fled. He wouldn’t chase her. The situation had spiraled out of contro
l quicker than he could handle.

  The worst of it being that every accusation she’d made was correct—or at least it had been before he’d actually met her.

  Yes, he’d expected her to be smitten with him.

  Yes, he’d anticipated a girl with no prospects.

  Yes, he’d planned for them to be wed before she caught on to his underhanded intentions.

  And most assuredly, yes, he’d hoped to settle his father’s debts with the collectors before Aloria or her father became aware of his dire circumstances.

  He hadn’t counted on Aloria being…well, anything more than a means to attaining his much-desired ends. It was her right to lash out at him, question his integrity; at the moment, he questioned them too.

  He’d made a mess of the whole situation.

  Standing, he departed the shop under the watchful eye of the modiste, returned to the inn, and slumped into his seat at the table with Daniel and Lady Delilah, who’d already finished their meal and were talking quietly, their heads tilted together.

  His plate sat untouched, forgotten, and certainly cold before him.

  “How did you fair?” Daniel asked. “She did not look pleased to see you.”

  “Ah…” He paused. “It is clear that she has no interest in seeing me again.”

  “Oh, my dear Aloria,” Delilah wailed. “I should go to her. You men do know how to injure a woman.”

  Before either man could challenge her statement, she’d fled her seat, her reticule in hand.

  Marcus had little ground to correct Lady Delilah, or her opinion of him.

  “Why did you ever convince me this scheme would work?” Marcus asked Daniel.

  “Me? I only stated that marrying her would solve your problems quicker than any other.” Daniel paused, popping the last piece of cheese into his mouth before continuing. “Besides, I cannot be held responsible for you mucking up the situation, now can I?”

  “Why Aloria?” he eyed his friend. He’d never truly thought about what his friend gained from his potential union with Lady Aloria. “Especially with your sordid past with her?”

  For the first time—ever—Daniel looked sheepish, and Marcus wondered if he’d get his answer.

  “It’s simple. I treated her horribly. I knew I was giving her false notions of our relationship and my intentions where she was concerned.”

  “Go on,” Marcus prodded.

  As he sat forward in his seat, Daniel leaned back.

  “She is a sweet girl. Had I not spied Delilah and instantly become smitten with her, I would have likely pursued Aloria.” Marcus couldn’t believe it. “I figured to make some kind of amends—even if she didn’t know it was me—by pushing you two together.”

  “Then why not just tell me that?” Marcus pushed his chair back, preparing to leave. “Why the ruse with her father’s shipping endeavors?”

  “Because that would benefit you!” Daniel said quickly.

  Marcus clinched his fist to keep himself seated. “You thought that introducing me to Aloria—and let me tell you, any man would be blessed to have her as his bride—wouldn’t have been enough?”

  Marcus couldn’t blame his friend for thinking she wouldn’t be enough, that she would fall short of what Marcus would expect in his bride. He never would have believed it possible to meet another who so completely made him feel whole—and in such a short time. The thought of her leaving his life devastated him.

  “Understand, Marcus,” Daniel said. “I feel horrible about the way things turned out last season. I embarrassed her before society—no matter that I hadn’t intended to—but Delilah cares deeply for her friend, and I do not want to think of myself as a man so low I’d damage a woman’s good name without afterthought.”

  It was the most forthright and genuine thing Daniel had ever shared with him. And like it or not, Marcus had to accept it—and make things right with Aloria.

  His own pride demanded that much, even if she decided in the end that she wanted naught to do with him. It was her choice, but he couldn’t let her go on thinking that his actions—and their kiss—had been a ploy, or were in any way meant to hurt or embarrass her.

  “Canterbourne,” Marcus said, moving away from the table. “Let us be off. We have a situation to right and a lady’s feelings to restore.”

  “We?”

  “Do not try to wrestle your way out of this one,” Marcus called as they headed for the door and the coach that waited not far down the street. “Though, I ruined your great plan, you also owe Lady Aloria an apology—and if you could put in a kind word for me that would be appreciated.”

  “I highly doubt an apology from me will mean much to Lady Aloria,” Daniel argued.

  “Be that as it may, we both owe her one.”

  Marcus hadn’t any idea how she’d arrived on Bond Street, or how she got home. His only hope to address this now was to hedge his bets on Lady Delilah and her ability to waylay her friend long enough for the two slow-witted men in their lives to catch up and do the honorable thing.

  The walk was busy as they made their way toward the carriage.

  “Look for them,” Marcus called. “They could not have gone far in such a short time.”

  “Ha! Women travel faster than the speed of London gossip, old chap.” Daniel stopped, taking in the constant flow of people around them, none stopping or paying them any mind. “I fear there is nothing else we can do today. Can I interest you in a game of cards at White’s? Your luck is so horrendous, I might just win enough coin from you to cover all the food you’ve been eating during your stay.”

  “I am not prepared to give up so easily.” If you would’ve asked Marcus a day or two before, he’d never have thought he’d be chasing a couple of ladies about London before noon. Alas, here he was.

  And here she wasn’t.

  “Oh, there is Lady Delilah and her maid,” Daniel moved through the crowd, reaching her a moment before Marcus.

  Marcus looked over the heads of the passing people in the direction Delilah had come from, but he didn’t spot Aloria anywhere.

  “I was too late,” she said. “I am sorry, my lord. I do not see her carriage either, and Madame Isabella said she did not return to the shop. I picked up her mother’s bonnet for her.” Delilah lifted the box from her side.

  Marcus was disappointed; not in Lady Delilah or Daniel’s interfering ways, but in himself. He was foolish to think he could solve his dilemma without consequences.

  Chapter Eleven

  Aloria hid her red, tear-swollen face when she departed her carriage and made her way swiftly to her chamber.

  Once in the safety of her room, she let the tears fall. With each sob, the anguish grew instead of lessening, ripping apart what little was left inside. Her grief wasn’t all due to Marcus’ deception, but the dishonesty of every man she’d ever thought to love—even if none had realized the possibility.

  Leaning her back against the closed door, her willpower to stay upright gone, she slid to the floor and wept into her hands.

  Her extreme sorrow over the situation perplexed her. The duke and she had merely danced—and shared a brief kiss. The notion that it would lead to anything more was childish thinking on her part. Maybe she hadn’t learned as much as she’d thought from her disastrous past if it were that easy for another man to fool her.

  Her chest heaved with each wretched exhale until there should be nothing left, her energy spent, yet the sobs continued unabated. Her limbs became heavy and her eyelids lowered.

  Aloria was exhausted, not only from the crying but also from life. When she was alone, surrounded by those who cared about her, the pressures of life were held at bay. She could convince herself that she wasn’t ostracized by society, an outsider because of her looks.

  She wondered what she’d done to deserve all the heartache and trickery levied upon her.

  Delilah had found her perfect match without truly trying—as had each girl from her first season. Most had wed before their nineteenth birthday
and now had families of their own.

  But not Aloria, never Aloria.

  She was alone.

  She glanced up to where her four-poster bed stood across the room. It seemed unreachable…miles away. But she had to reach it.

  With enough sleep, maybe it would be possible to go on, start over. Although she dreaded the thought.

  It was her hope that her parents would soon allow her to retire to the country for some peace, pursue things she enjoyed. Most assuredly not goat farming, but something with animals would be nice.

  Above the white and pink eyelet spread, with the pink posts of her bed rising on each side, hung the portrait of her great ancestor, Lady Aloria.

  Her mother must be feeling better to have moved the painting since the morning meal.

  The urge to laugh at the sight did not come, as was her habit when she discovered each time the portrait was moved to a new wall.

  Silently, she wondered if the great woman had let her size and the misfortune of being born a bastard dictate her life. Did she shy away from society because of her circumstances? Did the Queen treat her differently because her parents were not proper in the eyes of her country?

  Bracing her hands on the floor, Aloria pushed to her feet, determined not to live her life as society dictated—or expected.

  Enough.

  She’d been through this before—more than once—and she would do it again. Crying had never gotten her anything but a blotchy, swollen face…and yet another pink trinket.

  Movement caught her eye as she made her way to bed.

  “Hello?” Aloria called, keeping a watch on her dressing room door—the door she could have sworn moved a moment before. “Is someone there?”

  She should call a footman to check, yet the embarrassment if it were nothing but a lone rodent kept her from shouting. Many already thought her helpless and brainless. It was time she took care of something without depending on another.

  Her parasol leaned against her washstand, placed there two night previous.

  She held it high above her head and inched toward the partially opened door; the only sound her heavy breathing.