The Heart of a Duke (29 page)

He held a hand to his heart. “Not at all, my
lady.” He directed his attention toward the ground, dropping to a
knee, he felt around the damp earth for the missing
treasure.

She sank down beside him and her mint green
skirts fanned a soft breeze upon his skin. Michael sucked in a
breath and glanced over at her. What was it about this
bespectacled, troublesome miss that had so captivated him? Why when
the last thing he wanted or needed were any emotional entanglements
should he be so intrigued by this small slip of a woman?

Lady Aldora caught her lower lip between her
teeth. Brown eyes flecked with gold held his, and he was
overwhelmed by a desire to lose himself in their shimmering
depths.

Michael gave his head a shake. Good God, where
had this poetic drivel come from?

“
Are you all right, my
lord?”

If he were smart, he’d storm off and escape
this maddening hold she possessed over him. She was a sorceress and
he was helpless to resist her lure.

“
My lord?”

Michael cupped her cheek, his fingers taking
the time to memorize the satiny smoothness of her flesh. Her lashes
fluttered as she leaned into his touch, and he wanted nothing more
in that moment than to lay her down and worship her beneath the
moon’s gentle beams.

There was no helping it. He was
lost.

Chapter Three

Aldora knew there was everything scandalous
about her being alone with the Marquess of St. James. Since her
father’s death, sensibility had dictated her every action. Even her
decision to pursue the marquess had stemmed from her need for a
gentleman who possessed a distinguished title, power, and the trace
of scandal that would make him slightly less than illustrious.
After all, what gentleman would burden himself with a debt-ridden
family and a dowerless wife?

All the rules drummed into her head from early
on flew right out at the touch of his hand.

The feel of skin on hers, the smoldering
intensity of his sapphire gaze, the unabashed teasing that drew her
to him were far from logical and reasonable decisions. No, St.
James, this relative stranger to her had begun to make her
crave…him—the man, not the title. Aldora reached up and stroked the
pendant at her neck, the metal heart all but burned her fingers.
The talisman that had brought love and happiness to her friends
who’d worn it before her had worked its magic upon
Aldora.

As if drawn by her movement, the marquess’s
gaze lowered, and then lingered upon the rapid rise and fall of her
décolletage. He held his hand up. “May I have this
dance?”

Logic reared its bothersome head as a quiet
laugh escaped her. “But there is no music.”

He arched a single brow. “Shh, don’t you hear
it?”

Aldora strained to hear the distant sounds of
the orchestra’s strings. She shook her head. As long as she could
remember, her vision had been poor. She’d never before realized her
hearing, too, was a problem.

“
Then you aren’t listening to what
is right before you,” he chided. “Close your eyes.”

She hesitated for the fraction of a moment
before doing as he bid.

“
Now listen. What do you
hear?”

Aldora listened. The chirp of crickets filled
the quiet. She smiled.

“
Ahh, so you hear it. What else do
you hear, my lady?”

She focused on the nighttime song of a lone
robin. “A bird,” she whispered.

A breeze rustled the trees around them and set
the leaves to dancing.

“
And what else?”

Aldora opened her eyes. “You. I hear you, my
lord.”

“
Michael. I want you to call me by
my given name.”

Aldora had scoured through the book of peers.
Milburn Michael Christopher Knightly, the Marquess of St. James. He
preferred to use his middle name, and it suited him vastly better
than his given one.

It was a scandalous proposition and
yet…

“
Very well. Michael,” she said,
testing out the feel of his name on her lips. In the secret of
these grounds, it felt right.

Michael. The archangel who’d defeated the
demon. How perfectly appropriate for this man who would slay
Aldora’s monsters, even if he did not yet know it.

He placed his hand at her waist and proceeded
to waltz her through the garden, dancing to the night music. Their
body movement was in symphonic harmony; he seemed attuned to her
every step. Aldora studied the rugged planes of his cheeks. Here
she was so very close to that which she’d schemed these many weeks
over, a match with the Marquess of St. James. Yet as they danced
around the grounds, she wasn’t thinking about her father’s debt or
her sisters’ security, or the material possessions they’d been
forced to sell off.

All she could think about was him, and how
being in his arms felt like she’d at last discovered everything
she’d never realized she needed or wanted.

Michael should be committed to Bedlam. There
was nothing else for it.

But an inexplicable madness had overtaken him.
Why else would he be waltzing an unwed, respectable, very
marriageable lady around his host’s grounds? Alone.

There was also the matter of Lady Aldora
believing he was in fact someone else—his brother, to be precise.
His gut clenched as the acerbic bite of jealousy climbed up his
throat and threatened to choke him. Michael had never before
coveted St. James’s title until two days ago when this
unconventional young lady had landed at his feet in Hyde Park.
Since that moment he’d thought of nothing but her. Her smile. Her
cheeky retorts. Her sharp wit.

Michael’s gaze fell to her bow-shaped ruby red
lips. And he’d thought about those too. It took every last shred of
decency buried deep inside him to resist the lure of the supple
flesh.

He wanted to kiss away the lies between them.
Wanted her to look at him, and not only see him, but want him.
Michael made the mistake of glancing once more at her mouth and
lost the silent battle warring within him. Michael lowered his lips
and claimed the lush flesh.

Her lithe body stiffened and then seemed to
melt against him. He angled his head, exploring the feel and
contour of her lips. A sigh escaped her, and he slipped his tongue
inside, needing to learn the taste of her.

She touched the tip of her tongue to his,
first hesitant and then grew more bold.

Lemon and honey. She tasted like utter
sweetness.

“
Aldora Adamson, if you have a
brain in your head, you will not be out here.” The harsh whisper
cut into the magic between them.

Michael’s head jerked up.

Aldora’s eyes widened, and Michael knew the
moment reality had intruded. Her body went whipcord straight in his
arms, but it didn’t escape his notice that she did not pull away.
She remained exactly where she was, in his arms.

He drew in a steadying breath and leaned down
to place his lips alongside her ear. “A friend of
yours?”

She gave a jerky nod; the top of her brown
curls brushed his chin.

For one infinitesimal moment, he relished
being found with her in his arms. She’d have no choice but to wed
him…and she’d spend the rest of their lives hating him for being
the other brother, the one she didn’t want. As much as he wanted
Lady Aldora, he didn’t want her at all costs. What kind of life
would it be for either of them if her devotion were reserved for
another? Not just any other gentleman, his brother.

Michael set her away from
him.
Go, before you are
discovered.

As if understanding his unspoken words, she
gave another nod, and then hurried out of his arms.

Michael pressed himself alongside the wall,
closing his eyes.

All that had come between him and the
ruination of Lady Aldora Adamson had been the timely—or rather
untimely—interruption.

“
Where were you?” The hiss slashed
into his thoughts.

Was this a friend? A sister? It struck Michael
how little he actually knew about Lady Aldora.

“
I dropped my spectacles,” Lady
Aldora murmured. A defensive edge underlined her words.

Silence met her admission.

“
Truly?” The unknown lady’s one
word dripped with speculation.

Lady Aldora’s response was lost to
him.

“
Come along then. I’ve had the
devil of the time trying to explain away your absence to your
mother.”

The rustle of skirts indicated the moment the
ladies had left.

Michael remained at the edge of his host and
hostess’ gardens. He stared at the spot where the moon’s beam
slanted its rays upon the grass, considering Lady
Aldora.

What was it about her that made him wish his
life had turned out differently?

Having met Lady Aldora, Michael felt more than
a mere flicker of interest in something other than the material
world. Except this was no mere flicker.

The things he’d never before considered; a
wife, a family, social acceptance, filled him with a longing for
something more than the empty world of ledgers and
profit.

After all, gold made for a poor bedfellow. It
wasn’t warm and supple and full of laughter. It didn’t wear
spectacles.

Yet, as much as he longed for Lady Aldora, she
wasn’t for him and he could no longer lie to her. He was a
murderer. A shame to his family’s name.

But he was no liar.

He’d allowed this charade to go on long
enough. The time for games was at an end. Michael couldn’t let her
continue to believe he was another man. It was unforgiveable, and
he’d been driven by purely selfish desires—a desire for the young
lady herself.

Chapter Four

“
What did you tell my mother?”
Aldora whispered.

Valera slanted a probing glance in her
direction. “I told her you were in the retiring room. Did you
really lose your spectacles?”

Aldora pulled the mud-splattered spectacles
from her reticule and held it up for her friend’s
inspection.

“
Hmm,” Valera muttered, her tone
indicated that she was far from convinced.

Regardless, amidst the bustling crowd of Lord
and Lady Aldridge’s ballroom was hardly the place to address her
friend’s very real concerns.

Aldora fought the feeling of being a child
who’d disappointed her mother. She’d make no apologies for pursuing
the marquess. She was justified in ways that Valera didn’t, and
couldn’t, understand. But oh, how Aldora wished for someone to
share her burden. Sometimes it felt like the world and all of its
troubles had been placed squarely upon her shoulders, and she was
sinking under the weight of it.

Then she’d met St. James, no, Michael, and
miracle of miracles, the man she’d set her sights upon had
intrigued her more than any other. Prior to having landed squarely
at his feet in Hyde Park, she had prayed that they would prove
compatible. That same day they’d met, the marquess had not only
captured her interest, he’d made her feel a maelstrom of emotions
from amusement to annoyance.

Valera drew to a stop beside a white Doric
column and took Aldora by the arm.

“
Oh dear,” Valera
whispered.

Aldora shook her head, dislodging thoughts of
him, even as her eyes darted around the hall for his six-foot three
frame. Had he returned from the gardens? She’d venture he remained
outside to give a much needed distance between her and his
appearance. “What is it?”

“
You are beyond smitten with the
marquess.”

She peeked around to see if anyone had
overheard her friend’s outrageous, albeit true, charge.

“
I am not.” Except Aldora’s tone
hardly sounded convincing to her own ears.

“
Then you won’t care that he’s
coming this way now.”

Aldora’s pulse kicked up a staccato rhythm and
her hand fluttered to her heart. From across the room, he entered
the main hall. His long strides stripped away the distance between
them, his movements as purposeful as an avenging warrior of old
storming the keep and saving the lady of the tower. Michael drew to
a halt in front of her.