Aldora stepped in the middle of the riding path and squinted. Black hair. Black horse. Tall man. That’s about all she could make out, but it was enough. After all, the majority of peers could still be found in their beds sleeping off their prior evening’s festivities. Her heart kicked up an extra beat in a kind of dreaded anticipation as the somewhat vague form of the Marquess of St. James materialized. She rather suspected there was nothing more humbling than pursuing one’s husband but desperate times, and all that.
A dark blur pulled into focus. Blast her mother for insisting ladies did not wear spectacles, and most especially not in public. Except, if she were to be wholly honest with herself, Aldora acknowledged that it was her own ego that had her heeding Mother’s advice, this time. Aldora had learned from the scandal sheets that the marquess’s one weakness was his high fashion sense and, well she imagined that a bespectacled wife didn’t fit with his imaginings for a prospective bride.
Except if she had them on then mayhap she’d not be in this very predicament of trying to find her future husband. Literally find him.
The shape continued to descend upon her, far more quickly than Aldora anticipated. Until the dark eyes of a wild, black beast leveled on her.
Her eyes widened.
She was going to die here on an empty riding trail, trampled by the thundering hooves of her future husband’s massive black mare.
The creature reared, and Aldora threw herself out of the path, landing hard amidst a small boxwood. The air left her on a whoosh; the sharp branches scraped her skin.
“Whoa!” A deep baritone slashed through the otherwise quiet morn as the marquess brought his stallion under control. The giant beast pawed agitatedly at the earth, sending pebbles and rocks spraying before eventually settling into place.
Aldora dusted back the layer of dirt that hit her cheeks and lay there, staring up at the traces of orange splashing across the sky and tried to calm her racing heart.
St. James swung a broad-muscled leg over his horse and leapt down with the kind of graceful elegance more befitting the demi-god, Perseus. Aldora squinted. Two inches past six feet. It was him.
Her breath caught as she prayed the marquess would beg forgiveness, help her to her feet, and swear undying devotion and save her any further humiliation. Aldora nearly snorted at the horrific drivel swirling around her brain, and she shoved the hopeful thoughts aside. The unenviable task she’d laid out for herself, earning this very eligible bachelor’s attention and subsequent hand, was foolhardy. Desperate.
And yet, she couldn’t have crafted a more romantic introduction. Hope breathed to life inside her breast.
“Are you mad?”
His growl brought her firmly back to reality. She bristled at his insolent tone.
“You could have been killed. What are you doing walking in the middle of a riding path? Are you blind, woman?”
She craned her head back and stared up inch after inch of his sinewy, muscled length. Aldora blinked, trying to bring him into focus.
A startled squeak escaped her as he plucked her out of the bushes. His long, powerful fingers proceeded to do a methodical search of her upper arms.
A jolt of awareness raced down her spine, heating her from the inside out. His high-handed touch was at the same time possessive and gentle. It made her go all warm and wish for him to continue his search. She gave her head a shake. What am I thinking?
He fell to a knee, and lifted up the edge of her skirts to inspect an ankle.
Well, that was quite enough! Future husband or not, it would not do to be discovered with the Marquess of St. James lifting her skirts in the middle of Hyde Park. “Unhand me, my lord!” She swatted at him.
He continued his search.
The unmitigated gall. She reached up and placing her hands upon his shoulders and gave him a mighty shove.
He toppled backwards.
She flinched at the colorful curse that slipped past his lips.
“What the devil was that for?” he thundered.
Aldora peeked around, expecting a bevy of passersby to descend and witness her ruination. A nervous giggle bubbled up from her throat. Perhaps that would be best. If the marquess compromised her, then that would settle all manner of difficulties, but would then create all kinds of other strife—namely her sisters’ good names would be tarnished.
“My lord, surely you know it isn’t proper to touch a lady who is not your wife.”
A harsh laugh escaped him. “I assure you that is not entirely true.”
It took a moment for his words to register. Her eyes widened. “You sir, are no gentleman!” And she didn’t care to call the accusation back, even if she did need to wed the titled young lord.
He leapt to his feet and took a step toward her. “I’m fairly certain that is the first thing you’ve gotten right all morning, love.”
Aldora retreated a step; her hand covered her chest, where her heart thumped wildly. Goodness, she’d read about the Marquess of St. James in the papers. But they’d failed to mention anything about his tall, commanding presence. His raw masculine vitality. She held up a hand up. “Stop, my lord.”
Surprisingly, he did.
Aldora drew in a breath. She supposed she could have handled this vastly better than she had. She might have feigned a sprained ankle, or maidenly gratitude that he’d rescued her from her own foolishness.
Then again, she’d never polished the ladylike awe perfected by most of the other young ladies.
“Thank you,” she finally blurted.
He folded his arms across a broad expanse of chest. Aldora frowned. Funny, she’d never imagined he’d be so muscular, with biceps and thighs that strained the expertly tailored black riding attire. Noblemen were not tall, imposing figures. They were often short, mostly bald, and nearly always round in the waist.
Suddenly, she longed for her spectacles for altogether different reasons.
She cleared her throat. “You are supposed to say you’re welcome.” It hardly helped her cause, chastising her future husband, but she couldn’t help it.
“Am I now?” A thread of humor underlay his question.
Aldora gave a brief nod. “Absolutely.” Surely the man had received countless lessons on appropriate behavior expected of a gentleman.
“What else am I supposed to do?”
His question cut across her silent musings. She tapped a finger along her chin. She suspected he was making light of her. But she’d not rise to the subtle bait. If he wanted a lesson on deportment, she’d be more than glad to deliver it to him on a polished silver plate. “Well, you should never go tearing through a park filled with people on your—”
“It is hardly filled with people,” he pointed out.
She continued as though he’d not interrupted. “Horse. And you most certainly shouldn’t berate the young lady you nearly trampled.”
“A young, unchaperoned lady.”
Aldora clamped her lips shut. Well, he had her there.
“Nor, I assume is it proper for us to remain standing here alone, talking. Unchaperoned.”
There it was again. The reminder of her bold plans for the day, which brought her back full circle to the reason for her plan that morning.
She sighed. She had made an absolute bramble of the whole thing.
Hard lips seemed to frown and now, more than ever, Aldora yearned for her glasses so that she might bring the marquess’ visage into proper focus. She took a step toward him and craned to look at him.
“Why, you are blind!” he blurted.
Aldora frowned. “I’m not.” She just didn’t happen to have her spectacles, which made it impossible to view anything with absolute clarity—or any clarity at all. Nor did she want to admit to this man whose heart she was going to win that she wore glasses. Eligible bachelor lords did not wed bespectacled misses with sharp tongues and bold spirits.
“You are,” he shot back.
She folded her arms across her chest and considered him. It wo
uldn’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. “I’m not, you know. Blind, that is,” she clarified when his brow furrowed in apparent confusion.
“Humph,” he said.
Humph? 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.
“If you remember, I tried, and you scolded me,” he said.
Aldora caught her lower lip between her teeth and chewed on it. Yes, he had her there. She touched her fingers to the chain at her neck, seeking strength from the heart-shaped talisman.
“Furthermore,” he began.
She frantically felt around her neck, knowing already what her bare skin told her. She fell to her knees, and her fingers searched for the childhood pendant that had been passed from between friend to dearest friend. The faded gold heart had been purchased by her and her only friends in the world when they’d only been fifteen and sixteen. The gypsy woman who’d given them the magical piece had insisted that whoever wore the pendant would win the heart of a duke. 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?”
She ignored his question, 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. 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 the depths of his eyes.
“Just a scratch,” he said.
She nodded as her body swayed closer to his. 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.
“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’s stallion.
“Here, let me.”
Aldora glanced over in surprise as he came and proceeded to shove back the shrubs and peer through for…”It’s a pendant. It is in the shape of a heart.”
“Is it?” 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.”
Aldora ignored his dry tone. She continued her search, crawling along the earth. She had to find it. She simply couldn’t lose it.
“Ahh, I believe this is what you’re looking for.”
She spun fast on her knees to face him.
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’s high-handedness dissipated. Here she was, these many years, believing the necklace was a foolish talisman. Even after dear Valera had found love with the Earl of Ravenswood, Aldora hadn’t believed in the magic of the pendant. But the idea of this important fabric of their childhood forever lost because of her foolishness made her heart race with panic.
He held his hand out. “May I?”
Aldora studied the heart-shaped pendant in her fingers before turning it over to him. He reached around her, his fingers remarkably close to her flesh but not touching her. The object fell around her neck, the thin gold strand settling reassuringly against her skin.
“There,” he said.
She touched the heart. It throbbed hot against her skin. Memory of Valera’s words on the day of her wedding danced through her mind. “You can’t fail with this necklace. Look how happy Elle 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.
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.”
Fanciful thoughts of love for this boorish lord slipped away. 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 ways off from the ‘middle of the day’. “Thank you very much, my lord. I am forever indebted to you.”
Even without her spectacles, she did not fail to miss the way his eyes went first round, before narrowing into small slits. A grin curved one corner of his lips. He sketched an immaculate bow. Before she could wonder overlong at his odd reaction, his amused voice cut into her thoughts.
“I must at least know the name of the young lady whose debt I’ve earned.”
Aldora dropped into a curtsy. “Lady Aldora Arlette Adamson.”
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 in what she suspected, or hoped, was intrigue.
Michael Knightly stared at Lady Aldora Arlette Adamson’s retreating figure. A riot of brown, auburn-kissed locks swirled about her lean waist.
The young lady had mistaken him for 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. No, that was putting it mildly. He was enlivened by the cheeky-mouthed, wide-eyed young lady. And ladies did not intrigue him. At least innocent respectable ladies in the market for a husband didn’t.
Michael returned to his horse and swiftly mounted the obedient creature. He ran his hands along her sleek neck and unbidden thoughts of Lady Aldora’s delicate neck surfaced. Something about Lady Aldora’s unashamed strength had crushed the ennui that had dogged his every step.
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.
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“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 mistaking Michael for a lord.
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.
In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 1) Page 2