Then, in one damn fool ride through Hyde Park, he’d met a feisty, beautiful young woman who’d torn down those walls, reminding him how to smile and laugh. And it left him exposed and uncertain, in ways he’d never been. A vise squeezed about Michael’s lungs. He stumbled over to a pillar, taking shelter, as a maelstrom of emotions; dread, panic, confusion, assailed him.
God help me… I want her.
Wanted her with a burning intensity that robbed him of all reason. It defied logic. And went against his better judgment.
A young lord, a brave young lord, who he vaguely recognized from his days at university, started his way. Michael glowered until the poor fellow swallowed nervously and hied it off in the opposite direction. Then Michael returned his efforts to finding Aldora and his eyes settled on her.
And his brother.
He clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw throbbed as he tortured himself with the sight of his brother taking her hand in his, leading her to the dance floor for a bloody waltz. Suddenly, it was too much. This stark, ugly reminder that Aldora was no different than every other young lady with her eyes trained on a title, wealth, and Society’s approval. Fool that he was, Michael wanted her to want him as he was, his entire, undeserving self, mistakes and all. It was a gift he had no right to and the fates, no doubt, knew it.
Without a backward glance, he stormed from the room, needing to be anywhere but in the bloody ballroom.
He’d left. He’d left but not before Aldora had seen the faintly condescending, blatantly disapproving glare Michael Knightly had for her. His obvious disdain had stung. It had stung far worse than the disappointment she had felt at his deliberate deception. What was more was that she had wanted to throw all ladylike sensibility to the wind, abandon the Marquess of St. James and flee after—
“My lady?”
Aldora jerked her gaze forward as heat flooded her cheeks. “Forgive me, my lord,” she murmured to the marquess. “What was it you were saying?” Her mother would shriek herself hoarse if she discovered her daughter was doing anything less than her duty of securing a match with the esteemed lord.
He inclined his head ever so slightly. “My brother.”
“I beg your pardon?” Was that high-pitched squeak her voice? Her blush heightened until she longed to wave the otherwise useless fan dangling from her wrist.
“I was mentioning the scandal that resulted in his banishment.”
Her ears perked up and she hung on, awaiting the marquess’ next words. It mattered because, if all were to go as planned, she would be forever tied to this family and their stories which, in turn, would impact her siblings’ happiness. Bah. It was a lie. She wanted to know more about Michael for no other reason than because he’d tugged at her foolish heart. “Forgive me for not having paid attention. I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere.” She held her breath, aching for him to continue.
“What happened was not Michael’s fault. It was all a tragic accident that merely resulted because of the brashness of youth. Lord Everworth was cheating at cards and Michael confronted him publically.” He waved a hand. “Everworth, of course, challenged Michael to a duel. Witnesses said Michael showed up and refused to duel. He was leaving when Everworth fired at his back and—”
Her heart raced with irrational fear. She knew Michael had survived and yet… “And?”
“Michael turned and fired at Everworth’s shoulder. Severed an artery. Beg your pardon,” he said quickly. “Hardly appropriate talk for your delicate ears.” He glanced away, a red flush coloring his neck. “The reason I share this, is because after the…scandal…I was a coward. I should not have cut off contact with my brother.” The marquess paused. “Even if my father insisted upon it.”
Aldora bit the inside of her cheek to keep from agreeing with him. For they were no different. He, too, had been a child ordered about with expectations heaped upon him. “All families have their difficulties, my lord,” she offered solemnly.
He gave her a probing look. “That is true, isn’t it?”
She shoved the silly thought aside. Foolish. Still, Aldora welcomed the end of their set. She dipped a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said, perfectly polite and all things gentlemanly. Not for a moment did she believe it had been any kind of pleasure. So, why had he sought her out? He extended his elbow, offering to guide her back to her mother.
Aldora accepted and accompanied him in silence. Her mind churned as rapidly as the wheels of a fast-moving carriage. Her own family’s scandal seemed to pale in comparison to the Marquess of St. James’ family history. Yet, the scandal that had seen Michael’s life altered didn’t change who he was as a person. Rather, he’d been shaped by it and come out on the other side of that darkness with honor and strength and courage.
“He isn’t, you know.”
“I beg your pardon?” She blinked, glancing back up at the marquess. He was going to think her an absolute ninny for not being able to follow a single thread of conversation.
“My brother. He isn’t the ruthless monster Society has made him out to be.”
Aldora had to bite back the rapid flurry of questions at the tip of her tongue and tried to temper the excitement that his words roused. She shouldn’t crave these personal details about the man Michael was, but she was unable to quell her desire to know more. With his gritty humor and directness, he was so very much unlike any other gentleman she’d ever known.
Fortunately, her patience was rewarded by the marquess’ continued explanation. “Society would have one believe he is an unfeeling brute.”
She thought to the flinty spark in Michael’s gaze. Yes, to most he would be considered cold. But his touch, his kiss, even the chuckle, rusty from ill-use, spoke a different tale. “Why are you telling me this, my lord?”
His eyes lit with appreciation. Apparently, the young marquess appreciated honesty.
He inclined his head. “I believe you should know. Ahh, here we are,” he said, cutting into the sea of questions on her lips.
Aldora couldn’t quell the disappointment as she was deposited like so many used cloths on Sunday at her mother’s side. The marquess bowed low and murmured a string of simple pleasantries. “My lady, will you allow me to accompany your daughter on a ride in the park tomorrow morning?”
Mother’s excited response was lost in the weight of disappointment that fell around Aldora’s shoulders. It threatened to weigh her down. She should be elated at the young lord’s interest. Instead, all she could focus on was her friend’s earlier claim about the marquess’ remarkably low opinion of women. Though she hadn’t truly and completely heard him speak poorly of ladies, such beliefs were part of the norm of their male-dominated Society. A pang of disappointment struck her heart, anyway.
She watched him go, wondering over his words.
“Oh my dear, I believe you’ve secured St. James’ affection,” her mother said more than a touch too loudly. “He will make a splendid husband!”
Aldora winced and peeked around to verify whether anyone had overheard her mother’s crass utterance. Fortunately, the din of the crowd drowned out the obsequious whisper. As Mother prattled on a list of the marquess’ many, many, many redeeming traits, she stood there, dreaming of his brother, Lord Michael.
She swallowed hard.
This is dire.
Chapter 9
“You know Mother is going to be less than pleased.”
Aldora picked up her pace, striding down the walking trail. She did her best to ignore her brother. Even at the young age of ten, he was taller than the boys his age and very nearly the same height as most grown women. With a dimple in his right cheek and a devilish sparkle in his eyes, he was going to give Mother quite a bit of trouble with the ladies someday.
Benedict quickened his step. He easily matched the pace she’d set. “She’ll wake soon.”
She reached over and ruffled the top of his curls. “Unlikely, scamp.”
Muttering a prote
st, he edged away from her sisterly pat. “I’m not a scamp.” He puffed out his narrow chest. “I’m a man.”
Aldora forced a solemnity to her features. “Indeed.”
He grunted, and brought them quickly back to the debate at hand. “She’ll wake in another hour or so and find you—”
“Find us.”
“—gone,” he continued as though she hadn’t even spoken.
“There is still the matter of her getting ready for the day,” Aldora said. Why, that would take Mother a good two to three hours. She and her siblings had always relished the inordinate time their mother sent primping and preening before a mirror. The more time devoted to her daily ablutions, the better—for all of them.
He snorted. “Not today. With the marq—”
She stopped and turned a frown on him. “Don’t,” Aldora managed between clenched teeth.
“Shouldn’t you be happy about being courted?” Benedict eyed her curiously as he wrinkled his nose. “Ladies love that sort of stuff. Anne assured me of that.”
Aldora pointed her eyes skyward. She could only imagine the foolish tales her fanciful, younger sister, Anne, had erroneously poured into his young, inexperienced head. “First.” She held a finger up. “Do not listen to Anne.”
“But—”
“Ever,” she added.
“If you say—”
“I do say,” she muttered.
Benedict scrunched his mouth. He wished to say more. Alas, he remained silent. Smart boy. Then he looked around. His brow furrowed. “Why are we here?”
Aldora frowned. “I thought you wanted to go to Hyde Park?” Since he’d been a small boy, he’d always preferred the countryside to the stilted, London life.
He lifted his shoulders in a little shrug. “This is a riding trail. Isn’t exactly the best place for a walk.”
Oh, he was too smart. Fortunately, Benedict did not know about Michael, so he couldn’t know this was the trail the marquess’ brother rode along.
He scuffed the tip of his shoe along the ground, looking so utterly bored that Aldora was besieged by a wave of sadness. Poor Benedict. She could only imagine how difficult it was for him, a young boy, living amongst a household of women, deprived of any male figure for guidance and support. There weren’t even the funds to provide him with the pleasures she and her sisters had experienced as young girls—ices at Gunther’s, fine tutors, any of it.
“What is it?” Benedict asked, calling her back to the moment.
Aldora managed a smile. “Nothing at all.” She fished out the simple fare she’d prepared for them: two large chunks of crusty, white bread, and slivers of apples. She held it out to him. “Why don’t you feed the ducks?”
His eyes widened. He reached for it as if he’d been offered the Queen’s jewels. A spark lit his pale blue eyes, stirring guilt deep inside her. She’d been so focused on her siblings’ survival that she’d neglected to consider their need for the simpler things—a smile, laughter, a trip to the park just for the sake of visiting the park. Then he froze. He pulled his fingers back as if he’d been burned and eyed her suspiciously. “You’ve got no chaperone. I’m supposed to stay with you.” He squared his shoulders and tugged at the front of his jacket. The gesture, however, instead of giving him a more mature look, only put her in mind of a young boy playing at the role of adult.
Aldora tweaked his nose. “Run along. Enjoy your time.”
He didn’t need to be told again. Benedict snatched the morning fare. With a crooked grin, he turned on his heel and doubled back around toward the lake they’d passed several minutes ago.
“Be careful, Benedict.”
“I will,” he called, not slowing.
“Do not get too close to the…” She frowned as he disappeared from sight. “Water.” Aldora stared off into the thick copse of trees and bushes ahead. She should be at home, awaiting the afternoon visit of the marquess, and, yet, what was she doing? Traipsing through the park and mourning the life she’d used to know, and hating that responsibility, drove her search for a husband and not the yearnings of her own heart. “Pft,” she muttered under her breath. It was the height of foolishness thinking about Michael. Not when a match to his older, titled, and wealthy peer of a brother would solve her family’s every problem.
That wasn’t altogether true. It wouldn’t solve the problem of her happiness. She pressed her fingers into the sides of her temple and rubbed back a growing megrim.
“Ahhhh.” The eerie cry filled the morning sky.
Terror turned her blood to ice. “Benedict,” she cried and tore off through the empty park toward the distant cries of her brother.
I shouldn’t have left him. I shouldn’t have sent him off on his own. I should have joined him. Panic fueled her frantic steps.
As she crested a slight hill, she slipped, staggered, and nearly fell in her haste to get to him. She caught sight of his reed-thin arms as he flailed hopelessly in the water, like a small pup tossed out to sea. Then a figure all but soared through the air. Aldora gasped as a stranger launched himself into the lake. His powerfully muscular frame created an enormous wave that continued to ripple long after he dove in.
“Benedict, I’m coming!” she cried. The rapid pace combined with the sheer terror of losing her brother caused a tightness in her chest. Aldora pushed through it and powered down the hill, skidding to a stop at the sight before her.
Michael cradled Benedict like a babe against his broad, well-muscled chest. Her brother sputtered and choked. The man patted his back, the words he uttered to Benedict were lost in the distance, but the soothing cadence reached Aldora’s ears.
Her eyes slid closed as blessed relief filled her. It was as though all the bones were sucked from her body and she sank upon the ground in a rustle of skirts. Of course he should be here, her savior and hero. She opened her eyes to find Michael striding from the water with a soaked bundle in his arms. His foray into the lake had left his garments indecently clinging to a broadly-muscled chest. Oaken thighs. Powerful forearms. Beads of water dripped from his soaked brow and splattered upon Benedict. Her brother stared adoringly back at him like he’d been rescued by the angel Gabriel himself.
Warmth spread through her limbs. It filled every space of her being with a great lightness. It didn’t matter that Michael Knightly was wholly unsuitable. He was a second born son and now a scandalous brother to the gentleman presently courting her. He’d deceived her by withholding the truth of his identity.
But there was no helping it.
She loved him—this unconventional man who made her laugh and, now, who’d saved her brother. Aldora managed to shove herself to her feet. She rushed forward, tripping in her haste to reach the duo.
Michael glanced at her. His gaze, a molten heat, fairly scorched her skin, heating her through. Mayhap, she was more scandalous than she’d ever credited, for she didn’t feel a single ounce of shame for the longing that went through her.
“I drowned,” Benedict said weakly as she stumbled to a stop beside him and Michael.
A sound—half-laugh, half-sob—escaped her as she clasped his cheeks in her hand. “You silly boy. You did not drown. You nearly did.” He had come dangerously close. Tears filled her eyes. She gazed up at Michael. “I can never repay you.”
His jaw hardened. He set Benedict down and the boy ran into Aldora’s arms. “I don’t want anything you have, my lady.”
Aldora winced. Even folding Benedict in her arms and holding his precious body close did not tamp down all the hurt Michael’s cold words had roused. Why should he be the one who was bitter, hurt, and angry? It had been he who’d deceived her. Still, for his fierce show of displeasure, she could not simply forget what he’d done this day. She tossed her head back and held his stare.
“He saved me, Aldi.” Benedict’s awe-inspired voice cut into what she had planned to say. Her brother gazed at Michael with something akin to hero-worship. “You’re quite the swimmer, sir. Very impressive stuff.”
> All the harsh lines of Michael’s face dissolved into a surprisingly sweet, gentle demeanor. “Thank you. All those years sneaking away from my tutors to steal a dip in the lake proved more useful than reciting the Latin alphabet,” he said with a wink.
“Lest I give you any ideas, don’t be skipping out on your lessons.”
Benedict laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, sir. I don’t have a t—”
“That will be all,” she said hurriedly. Michael’s eyebrows dipped. She didn’t need anyone knowing about their family’s financial state, especially most of all this man. It had nothing to do with who his brother was and everything to do with her own sense of pride and self-worth. What would he say if he knew her father’s scandalous gaming had destroyed their financial coffers? Or the mistress who’d given him a child out of the sanctity of marriage? Fear over Benedict almost drowning dissipated.
Her brother pulled away. Even as he studiously avoided their eyes, his face flushed with embarrassment.
“You should say thank you to Lord Michael,” Aldora gently urged.
“Thank you, Lord—” His young brow scrunched up as he turned a perplexed stare her way. “How do you know his name?”
Her mind went blank at her inadvertent mistake. Oh, bloody hell. Why must he be so blasted astute? “I-uh, I…”
“We have met at Social functions,” Michael neatly put in. “I am the Marquess of St. James’ brother.” He was so much more than that. He was the first gentleman who’d spoken frankly to her and who’d made her remember the oldest yearnings she’d carried to love and be loved.
Benedict’s eyes lit with a dawning understanding. “Ohhhh, the marquess.” He glanced slyly in her direction. “As in—”
Aldora glowered him into silence. Michael’s gaze alternated between her and her rapscallion brother. She cleared her throat. “We should be going lest my brother catch his death.”
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 9