Michael flexed his fists around the reins as he fought an inexplicable urge to drag his brother from his horse and plant a fist in his uncharacteristically rakish smile. “A maid?” he bit out. “The lady was wearing satin skirts.”
“Yes, well, there was th—” Milburn tipped his head. “You saw her then?”
Of all the times for his usually self-absorbed brother to develop his astuteness. “I also spied a young lady earlier,” he settled for. “I merely…suspected it was the same,” he finished lamely.
Please let the matter rest. Please do not ask any further questions about—
“You’d agree she was delightful. Not generally the level of beauty I’d prefer,” Milburn added. “But still enticing, nonetheless.”
An odd burning flared in Michael’s belly and he 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 when Milburn, thankfully, shifted the conversation to a topic far safer—his tailor. And who would believe the time would come I’d prefer to listen to my brother prattle on about his wardrobe? While his brother carried on, no input from Michael needed or required, Michael reflected on his meeting and reaction to the lady in Hyde Park.
What had it been about Lady Aldora that had so intrigued him?
She appeared respectable and young. And because of it, certainly in the market for a husband. She was, by no means, the manner of woman he sought. The only women Michael had taken on with over the years had been bored, eager widows who wanted nothing more than sexual gratification from their meetings. Yes, after his father had called him dead to the family and the world had shut Michael out, he’d taken care to avoid forming any connections that could bring any hurt.
As such, he would be wise to set Lady Aldora from his thoughts.
But as he sought out his London offices to oversee his business for the day, the spirited minx was still in his thoughts. He rather suspected it wasn’t going to be as easy to forget Lady Aldora Adamson as he hoped.
Chapter 3
Aldora scanned the crowd, not for the first time at a ton event, 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 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 because of the security he represented for both her and her sisters. After two days, Aldora was forced to admit she wanted to see him. Which was…odd. Wickedly dark looks aside, there was a dryness to his wit and words that should have set her teeth on edge. Yet, there’d been a raw honesty in how he had spoken to her. He didn’t prevaricate or stand on ceremony because of her status and she appreciated that realness to him. A little fluttering unfurled in her belly. And if she were being honest with herself, at least in her silent musings, the feel of his shockingly callused fingers on her skin burned her still.
Cheeks heating, she glanced around. Of course, no one could know the scandalousness of her musings or that meeting. The crowd remained largely focused on far more interesting figures than Lady Aldora. You won’t be less interesting to them when your family’s secret shame is revealed. Fighting back the unwanted reminder, she settled back on her heels and fixed her attention on that which was safer—and vastly more intriguing—the Marquess of St. James. Aldora scanned the ballroom knowing, even as she did, that he hadn’t arrived. A thrill ran through her; a hungering to see him. How could she have this sense of awareness for someone, after but a single meeting?
Her mother was 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 her.
“Are you looking for an escape?” a familiar friend’s voice drawled from over her shoulder. “Or are you looking for someone?”
She spun around, shoulders sagging in relief at the sudden appearance of her friends. Emilia and Constance stood, curiosity showing from their like expressions.
“Hello,” she replied, her mind frantically searching for a suitably evasive reply. “I didn’t think…” She snapped her mouth shut.
Constance watched her closely. “You are looking for someone.” She spoke with a blunt matter-of-factness that set Aldora’s cheeks burning all the more.
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m not.” By the like narrowing of her friends’ eyes, they’d heard the lie there. “I was looking for you,” she lied. All she needed was for her disapproving mama to discover her scandalous interlude. Fortunately, her mother was fully engrossed in whatever gossip occupied her and Lady Aldridge.
Equal parts perceptive and practical, Constance snorted.
“And what if she is looking for someone,” Emilia chided. She pointed a frown at an unrepentant Constance. “Most of us desire love and a good, honorable gentleman.”
Constance groaned. “You’ve been hopelessly romantic since you met Renaud,” she charged…as in the Duke of Renaud. At least one of them had found the heart of a duke.
“You speak as though it is a bad thing,” Emilia said earnestly. “We all spoke of wishing for a duke.”
Ever one to delight in needling the other lady, Constance wagged a finger. “Ah, Meredith and Rowena did not,” she pointed out about their two missing friends.
A different wave of envy assaulted Aldora for those two women who, for their birthright, were spared from ton events and the misery that was London. What she wouldn’t give to trade places with either one of those fortunate misses.
Wistful, Aldora listened on as they dissolved into a familiar debate on love and titles. How very similar this discussion was to the one they’d had when they’d gone off to meet the gypsy. And yet…everything had changed. At least for Aldora. Cruelly, selfishly, she wished life had turned out different for her. She wished that she was still untouched by the ugliness of the world the way her friends were.
Emilia’s firm pronouncement cut across her melancholy. “There is nothing wrong with being in love and wanting love. No, there is only everything right with it.”
Those words ran through Aldora, slamming into her with the truth of them. She’d been so fixed on security and survival for her family, she’d not allowed that elusive dream she’d kept from even herself. Mayhap I can find both… Mayhap, there could be security and love. She knew it was the height of foolishness, but it was the heart-shaped pendant and her friend’s love that gave her hope that she, too, would find herself wedded to the very marriageable marquess.
The strains of the lively country reel drew to a stop and the ballroom erupted in an explosion of applause. Aldora gave silent thanks for the diversion that cut into her friends’ talks of love and any possible questions about her earlier distraction.
“You are going to make us guess, then,” Constance drawled, amusement underscoring her words.
Aldora shook her head quizzically.
“I believe she means which gentleman has captured your notice,” Emilia supplied.
Avoiding their gazes, Aldora fiddled with her dance card. One gentleman has. “None.” None present, anyway.
An inelegant snort escaped Emilia’s lips. “It doesn’t take much to determine you are lying.”
Why, of all times for Emilia to become perceptive, did it have to be…now? In a London ballroom, no less?
Emilia looped her arm through Aldora’s and whispered, “Perhaps, you were looking for someone and an escape?”
Aldora sighed. Goodness, she was relentless. In a Society where people were surrounded by more who wished one ill tha
n any true friends, she was truly blessed and fortunate to have ones devoted and loving. And yet, in this instance, she really could do without their pestering. Facing down their intense questioning, she tipped her chin up. “I wasn’t looking for an escape.” She was entirely too brave to be one of those ladies hiding behind tall potted ferns.
Constance’s mouth opened wide like a fish on land. “You didn’t deny it,” she blurted. “That you were looking for someone.”
“I…” Oh, blast. She swallowed a groan. Must you be so careless? It was St. James’ fault. Ever since she’d stumbled into him in the park, he’d riddled her senseless. Heat filled Aldora’s cheeks.
“And you are…you are…” Constance pressed a palm against her rounded mouth.
Emilia gave her a supportive smile. “Blushing.” She patted Aldora’s gloved hand. “It’s called blushing, Constance, 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 Renaud,” Constance said with a snigger.
Alas, apparently love made one immune to a long-time friend’s ribbing. “Oh, do hush.” Emilia swatted her friend on the arm.
Fortunately, her friends fell into one of their familiar, good-natured quarrels and Aldora used the distraction to search the room, once more looking for St. James. What was there to explain with this unwitting attraction to a man who’d been…well, not at all the charming gentleman most ladies imagined for themselves? He’d been curt and direct, and… She sighed. And she’d never known a gentleman to be so very unaffected.
Emilia gave her arm a squeeze, jerking her attention back once again. “You must share his identity.”
Blast, Emilia was tenacious. Or, Aldora was rot at subterfuge. Or, rather an equal dose of both. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with an attempt at Constance’s skillful breeziness.
Constance snorted. “Of course you do.”
She felt her flush deepen. Even if these were her truest friends, they didn’t know the direness of her circumstances. 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 was lying to herself when she said her only interest in the Marquess of St. James was his wealth and power. 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 steel. Hard. Gleaming with intensity. This man, with his heavily muscled frame was so…so virile and so very different than described in the scandal sheets.
Emilia gave her arm a tug, jerking Aldora back to the moment. “My goodness, you are smitten,” her friend whispered. “Oh, Aldora, I am so happy that you, too, are in love, as I am with my Connell.”
“In love?” she sputtered. “I hardly know h—” She promptly closed her lips. At their knowing glances, she tried again. “I hardly know what you’re talking about,” she neatly substituted.
“Tsk. Tsk. Denying your feelings to your friends?” Emilia chided. “Not the thing at all. We at least deserve to know who’s captured your heart.”
As the other two ladies nodded their assent, Aldora frowned. “Hush.” She frantically glanced around, praying no one had heard Emilia’s revelation. In the end, rescue came from the unlikeliest of places.
Constance’s face fell. “Mother is motioning for me to return.” She groaned. They followed her stare to where the graying matron stood with a dandy in puce pants. “Introducing me to another dandy,” she muttered. With her friends’ commiserative murmurs, Constance shuffled off, leaving Aldora and Emilia alone.
Nearly alone.
Mother remained in deep conversation with Lady Aldridge. This had been the tedium of the night; Mother gossiping away while Aldora’s dance card remained obscenely blank. Alas, her mother 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 her friends. Aldora leaned close. “Will you walk with me?”
Emilia looped her arm through Aldora’s and politely interrupted her mother’s exchange. “My lady, would you mind terribly if I took some air with Lady Aldora?”
Bless Emilia’s soul. She’d at last managed to wrestle her free of Mother’s grip.
Her mother paused mid-conversation, eyes alight with pleasure. “Not at all, my dear.” She gave a small wave before returning her attention to the generously rounded Lady Aldridge.
Aldora wasted no time. She all but dragged her friend from the spot. Emilia had provided her freedom to escape her mother and other members of the ton without fearing recriminations. “I am so very glad you are betrothed,” she muttered. Only some of which had to do with the greater freedoms permitted those close-to-wedding ladies.
Emilia 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. 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 its sack.
“Constance is gone,” Emilia whispered excitedly. “Do tell.”
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, she 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.
Emilia expertly maneuvered her through the ballroom, steering her toward the doors to the terrace.
“Your betrothed will be looking for you.” Her protest sounded halfhearted to her own ears.
A brilliant sparkle lit her friend’s gaze. 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’s not to arrive until later,” Emilia said.
Aldora snorted. She rather doubted that. She’d seen how the Duke of Renaud looked at Emilia and knew he’d mind—very much, were he to arrive and find his betrothed otherwise missing.
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.
Emilia didn’t waste any time. “Who is he?”
“Who is who?” Aldora opted to feign ignorance. At her friend’s downturned lips, she sighed. “The Marquess of St. James.”
Emilia’s eyebrows drew together. “St. James?”
She bristled at the shocked disapproval in the question. “He would make a perfectly suitable husband.”
Emilia tapped the toe of her slipper in a soft, staccato rhythm against the stone floor. The tone was grating to Aldora’s ears. “Yes, but he’s….”
“He’s what?”
“Foppish.�
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Aldora remembered the midnight black morning coat and expertly tailored, matching, black, riding breeches. Fops wore vibrant colors and peacock feathers. They were not broad, powerful specimens of masculine perfection attired in midnight black attire. “He is not.” She held her breath, hoping Emilia’s vehement denial of the marquess’ suitability would stop there.
“A terrible scandal follows his younger brother.” Emilia furrowed her brow.
Annoyance stirred. “That is hardly his fault, Emilia.” Would she hold Aldora responsible for her late father’s crimes? “It would be wrong to judge a man for the sins of his family.” She wouldn’t mention the fact that St. James’ slightly tarnished family lines made him more than acceptable for her financially ruined one.
Emilia made a noncommittal sound. “And he has a rather poor view of the role of women.”
She gave her a look. “How—?”
“Constance once went on a rather impressive tirade about the man’s, er, lack of progressive thoughts.”
Aldora frowned, her stomach roiling unpleasantly at this serious offense. “On what grounds did she make such a determination?”
“She 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.
Her 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.
In Need of a Knight (The Heart of a Scandal/The Heart of a Duke Book 0) Page 4