“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 at 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 grinned a hard, achingly empty smile. “Are you going to tell me you are so different than 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 than 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 tugged her cloak closer to herself and he ached to take her in his arms. But that right doesn’t belong to me. Michael curled his hands into fists. Never had he resented Milburn for his birthright. Michael had been contented with his status as spare. Until now. “Your brother will return soon.”
He jerked. Her words a sharp reminder of a reality he already knew. “It is not as you think.”
Her quiet statement snapped him back to attention. He arched a brow expectantly.
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. “Come, my lady,” he said tersely. “Resent me for withholding my identity, but do not take me for a fool.” Michael knew exactly how things were. “You want a title and a fortune.” And I can only give her the latter. Bespectacled, spirited, Lady Aldora Arlette Adamson would have never 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.
Planting her arms akimbo, she glowered up at him. “You presume to judge me and, yet, have I condemned you for your past?” A muscle ticked at the corner of his lip as, just like that, Everworth’s ghost whispered around his mind. “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 even as her bluntly delivered words ravaged his already guilt-flayed mind. He would forever carry remorse over Lord Everworth’s death. It had been the last time he had picked up a pistol.
“You may stand there aloof, acting unaffected, but I believe you care a great deal about what happened.”
“How do you know that?” Did that raspy demand belong to him?
Aldora lingered her gaze on his face. “On the surface, I do not,” she admitted. She moved closer. “But as I said, not everything is always as it seems. As such, I know it because you didn’t seek to defend yourself. I know it because I see pain in your eyes and hear it in your voice.”
Michael stood motionless. Afraid to move. Afraid to so much as breathe. He wanted to toss out a derisive retort and damn her as a fool for believing anything good about him. And yet, she’d seen the truth when all of Society—even his own family—hadn’t.
Aldora was the first to look away. “Your brother returns,” she said tiredly.
Michael briefly followed her gaze. Shouldn’t there be enthusiasm from the lady at Milburn’s arrival? After all, wasn’t she desiring of the other gentleman’s suit? Yet, only resignation, sadness, and regret spilled from her expressive eyes.
Things are not always as they seem…
Milburn, in a wholly uncharacteristic manner, abandoned his usually measured steps. He bounded across the grass to reach them. Michael clenched his teeth. No, his brother desired Aldora’s company. He balled his hands into tight fists at his side, besieged by an unholy desire to punch him in his affable face. It was hardly Milburn’s fault that he was the better brother and the best match for her. It didn’t help. Michael still wanted to hit him.
His brother stopped beside them, nearly out of breath from his exertions. He bowed. “I’m so sorry to have left you, my lady. I am glad that my brother was here to watch after you while I was gone.” He nodded to Michael, that slight movement speaking more loudly than words.
Leave.
Clearing his throat, Michael dropped a curt bow and, studiously avoiding Aldora, rescued the reins of his horse then flung his leg over and adjusted his feet in the stirrups. Without another word, he kicked his horse into a gallop and left Aldora and Milburn. And as he rode, putting distance between himself and that couple, Michael, who’d been exiled by family, friends, and Society, had never felt more alone than he did in this very moment.
Chapter 7
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 and her young brother. For too long, 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 they’d not only be in dun territory, but ridiculed for their father having kept his string of mistresses so very comfortable.
She bit her lower lip as Michael’s accusations resurfaced. Accusations that still stung because of the truth in them. She did seek a powerful, respectable title. It just happened to be for reasons other than he 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 these past years. The marquess’ appearance had prevented her from saying anything more to him. She balled her hands, hating that she’d been unable to offer him an explanation. What could you have possibly said that would make him understand?
“You do not look ill.”
At the unexpected intrusion, she snapped her head up. Katherine, the younger of her twin sisters, stood in the doorway, arms akimbo. She had the look of one far more mature than her young years. Aldora coughed halfheartedly into her hand.
Cat-like eyes narrowed. Her sister entered the room and then closed the door behind her with a decisive click.
“What…?”
“You don’t look sick. You look sad. Horribly sad.” How did the young girl see so much? “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—”
Despite the misery of her earlier musings, Aldora laughed. She waved 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 has snuck off with 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 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?” the girl’s question emerged heavy with skepticism.
Aldora shook her head. “No, I didn’t, sweet.”
Her sister made a noncom
mittal sound.
Any other time, she would welcome a visit with Katherine, her far more serious, less self-centered sister. Not now. Now, Aldora didn’t care to speak on any of it this evening…with anyone. Mother had gone off to attend Lady Williston’s ball and Aldora had relished the opportunity to be alone with her troubled thoughts. She tightened her hand around Katherine’s.
“Mother believes the Marquess of St. James will offer for you.”
Her stomach muscles tightened involuntarily. Unable to meet her sister’s probing gaze, Aldora glanced down at their interlocked fingers.
“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 conceded. As I should also hope…
Her sister inched closer and snagged one of Aldora’s loose curls. She gave it a tug, forcing her attention up. “What do you hope for, silly?”
Michael’s tall, commanding figure flashed through her mind and she glanced down, once more. Her gaze collided with Katherine’s frayed hem. She 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 that strained her cheek muscles. She couldn’t explain just why she didn’t want to marry the marquess or confess of the impending doom that hung over their family. There were responsibilities that came with being an older sister. “He’d be a very suitable husband,” she settled for.
Katherine tugged her hand free. “Bah, horses and hounds are suitable. Do you love him?”
Her neck turned hot. Ladies did not have the luxury of marrying for love. Most especially not her. Not with her siblings and mother dependent upon her.
“It matters,” her sister insisted, correctly having read her unspoken thoughts. She settled her palm on Aldora’s cheek and looked at her. The expressive, brown eyes were world-wary. “You do not have to marry to save us. And do not insult me by thinking I could be so oblivious to our situation,” she said when Aldora’s mouth fell agape. “Of course I know the state Father left us in.” She gestured to the heavily-patched sofa cushions. “Do you think I didn’t notice that which is directly in front of us?”
Aldora briefly closed her eyes. Here, she’d been thinking she’d protected her siblings from Father’s sins. Needing to reassure her younger sister, she captured the girl’s hand. “It is not so very dire—”
“We are not your responsibility,” Katherine said, tugging her hand back. “Mother has made unfair demands of you.”
At her sister’s insistence, Aldora shook her head. “No, she hasn’t.” Mother merely expected her to do what any and every lady of good Social standing was required to do—make a fine match. “And even if she did not,” Aldora said somberly, giving her sister absolute honesty in this. “I would do this anyway.” For you.
Her younger sister tightened her mouth. “Bah. You’d do it for me and Anne and Benedict.” How much the young girl saw. Katherine held her gaze in a bold challenge. “You don’t want to marry him.”
No. Restless, Aldora shoved to her feet and paced. “He hasn’t even asked.” Nor do I want him to. She briefly pressed her eyes closed. God forgive me.
Her younger sibling was relentless. “But if he did, you’d say yes for the wrong reasons.” Aldora would have to be blind to miss the reproach teeming from the girl’s eyes and words.
And with that charge, Michael’s similar accusation burned in her heart. She rubbed her chest to ease the pain. “They wouldn’t be the wrong reasons, Katherine,” she said belatedly. They’d be the absolute right ones. It was a sacrifice she’d make of love—for them.
From the perch of the seat, Katherine swung her legs back and forth, much as she’d done as a girl of five. “I’ll ask one more question. If you answer truthfully, I promise I shan’t ask any further questions.”
More than half-fearful, Aldora braced for whatever unexpected inquiry the clever girl would put to her now. Eyeing her warily, she lifted her head. “Very well.”
“Is there…” Her younger sibling tapped a finger to her lower lip. “Another gentleman who has earned your affection?”
Aldora’s throat worked. This is too much. Unable to meet the probing glint in Katherine’s eyes, Aldora turned around, and fixed her attention on the door. Hating the blasted sheen of tears that flooded her eyes. She’d not become a watering pot in front of her sister. She 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’s gardens and of a kiss that burned on her lips, still?
“So, there is,” Katherine accurately surmised with a smugness only a sister was capable of.
Enough. Plastering a smile on, Aldora forced her legs to move and turned. “Don’t be silly.”
“What—?”
“You said no more questions, Katherine,” she firmly reminded.
With a pout, Katherine jumped up from her seat and proceeded to smooth her skirts. “Very well. But—” she held up a single finger, wagging it in Aldora’s direction—“you must pledge not to marry a stuffy, pompous lord just to help us.” She gave a flounce of her tight brown ringlets. “I love you all dearly but I’d never marry a miserable man and consign myself to a life of sadness, even for you, Anne, Benedict, and Mama combined. The man I marry will be cheerful and laugh and love our family as much as I do.”
And with Aldora’s sacrifice, Katherine would be granted those gifts—the gift of choosing and finding love. Despite the ache of regret for what could not be, Aldora managed her first real smile. “Nor would I want you to marry a miserable curmudgeon, Katherine,” she assured her. Yes, Aldora would salvage her family’s fortunes and circumstances. She’d spare her younger siblings from ever knowing the same worries that plagued Aldora.
Her youngest sister propped her hands on her hips and eyed her squarely. “It does not escape my notice that you did not promise me.”
No, she hadn’t. Drat Katherine for being so blasted perceptive. She dug deep for the words of reassurance that Katherine sought. “I,” Cannot give you that… “promise.” And with Katherine’s smile restored, Aldora cursed their late father all over again for leaving the mantle of responsibility squarely on her shoulders.
Chapter 8
Last evening, Michael vowed to avoid any more ton functions. Wanting to forget Aldora and her blasted smile, the taste of her mouth, the satiny smoothness of her skin, he’d planned on going to White’s and getting himself absolutely soused.
The desire to see her, however, had proven too strong.
Standing on the edge of the ballroom, with his brother at his side, Michael accepted a flute of champagne from a passing servant. He did a purposeful sweep of the crowd. By God, I am a glutton for self-torture. He downed his drink in a long, slow swallow, grimacing as he finished off the contents.
“Looking for someone?” Milburn drawled.
Making a noncommittal noise, Michael continued his search. Yes. For a certain spitfire who’d upended his world. Even as he knew the lady, who’d taken ill, should not be here. And for nearly twenty-four hours since he’d learned she was feeling poorly, a numbing terror had gripped Michael. Damn Milburn for his foolish decision to take her walking through Hyde Park on a chilled, rainy day. The lady should be pampered and tucked away with lap blankets and given hot tea—
“Ahh, there she is,” Milburn murmured. Michael immediately followed his brother’s gaze.
His stare landed on Aldora and a lightness filled him. The power of it was so strong, so gripping that he forgot she belonged to Milburn 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 influenc
e.
Aldora froze. Did she feel his attention on her? With the regality befitting a queen, she straightened and that graceful movement illuminated the elegance of her long neck. He’d trade all the wealth he’d made over the years to trail his lips over the satiny smoothness of her skin and caress the pulse beating there. With the color of her cheeks, the lady looked remarkably well. Not at all ill.
“Michael?” Milburn pressed.
What blasted response did his brother expect? “Yes, she is here,” he snapped. By God, he had the sound of a petulant child.
The other man gave him an indecipherable look and then cast his gaze, once more, in Lady Aldora’s direction. Capturing his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Milburn rubbed his chin. “I suppose she’ll make a perfectly suitable wife.”
He supposed? At that nonchalant pondering, a curtain of black rage clouded Michael’s vision. He curled his fingers tight around his glass to keep from bloodying his brother’s nose. His brother spoke of Aldora the same way he might a preferred spirit or his morning fare. He forced himself to count to five. When he still wished to knock Milburn on his arse, he counted to ten.
“Do you disapprove of the lady?” his brother asked, his brow wrinkled.
“What?” he clipped.
“You’re glowering at the lady. Does that mean you disapprove?”
Would it matter to the other man if Michael answered in the affirmative? Aldora deserved an honorable husband who’d spit in contempt at anyone who dared question the lady’s worth. “Not at all,” he said, his tone emerging as a rough growl.
“Hmm,” Milburn murmured. “Yes, I believe she’ll make me a fine bri—where are you going?” he called after him.
Ignoring him, Michael continued striding away from his brother. He’d considered himself strong, resilient. He’d lived in the solitude of Wales. He’d not even been 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 he 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.
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