In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 1) by Christi Caldwell Read Free Book Online Page A

her fingertips to the edge of his extended elbow, and allowed him to lead her toward the dance floor.
    “But he is not—” Valera’s sputtering protest faded in the din of the ballroom.
    The beginning strains of a waltz filled the room just as he settled his hands on her waist. Even through the fabric of her gown, his touch all but seared the fabric, and warmed her skin.
    She looked up at him and found his overly-serious near obsidian eyes upon her. A nervous trill raced along her spine. Aldora attempted to dispel the irrational fear. So much had gone wrong for so long that she was afraid to trust this happiness she felt.
    “What are you thinking?” he asked in hushed undertones.
    Aldora couldn’t very well confide the truth to him. “That I am happy,” she said, settling instead for closest to the truth.
    His intent stare moved to her lips and she thought of his kiss in the moonlit gardens. Valera’s inopportune appearance had interrupted that precious moment. Heat fanned out in her belly.
    Unable to hold his piercing stare, Aldora glanced around the ballroom and became aware of the voyeurs gaping at her and the marquess. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks and she jerked her gaze back to his.
    “Do you feel that we are being talked about, my lord?” The loud buzz of whispers grew like the incessant hum of a hornet’s nest that’d just crashed to the earth.
    “I do, and I’m not.” He snapped his jaw closed.
    So he felt it too. She peeked around the room and found her mother standing off to the side of the ballroom, fluttering her hand wildly in front of her face, and glaring pointedly at Aldora. Aldora frowned. Mother should be delighted with Aldora’s dance partner, even if he hadn’t made proper introductions and all that.
    “Did you hear me? I said, I’m not.”
    “You’re not what?” she asked, distracted by her mother’s disapproval. This was going to make for a deuced uncomfortable carriage ride.
    “A lord.”
    Why, Mother was going to—
    Her gaze flew to his. What did he say?
    He seemed to read the confusion in her eyes. “I said I’m not a lord.”
    The music drew to a stop.
    He bent low at the waist and then left her standing there staring after him.
    Not a lord?
    A fluttery panic built inside her until her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest. Aldora tried to make sense of his words through the loud thrumming in her ears. He was the Marquess of St. James. Her throat tightened as she scanned the area for an escape. What game did he play?
    Then Valera was there, blessedly rescuing her from the eyes Society had trained on her. She guided Aldora through the crush of people and ushered her back to her mother with effortless precision that would have made an army general proud.
    “I don’t understand,” Aldora whispered.
    Valera frowned. “I suspect there has been a case of mistaken identity. The man you were dancing with was Michael Knightly, the Marquess of St. James’s younger brother.”
    No. It couldn’t be. Her heart screeched that Valera was wrong even as her head logically pointed out that the man who’d held her had confessed that he was no lord. It had to be! She looked around for him, but he’d taken himself off, having wisely escaped the gossips.
    All the while she tried to sort through the jumbling confusion that ripped through her. She focused her gaze on her mother who stood beside Valera’s dashing husband and a slightly familiar-looking gentleman with thick black hair and a hard jaw. Aldora fought the panicky urge to flee. She didn’t want to deal with the necessary matchmaking this evening. No, she wanted to take herself off to some dark hidden corner and lick away the wounds of having come so very close to happiness only to have herself thrust quite forcefully back down to earth.
    “Smile,” Valera murmured at her ear.
    Aldora managed to paste a smile on her face. “Better?”
    Valera grimaced. “It will have to do.”
    Valera’s reassuring