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

presence provided the much needed fortitude to hold her head and return to the place alongside her mother and the familiar stranger.
    Aldora expected to see unrestricted disapproval in her mother’s always expressive eyes. The unabashed joy reflected in Mother’s blue eyes gave her pause. “Ahh, here you are, my dear.”
    Valera’s husband bowed and proceeded to make the necessary introductions. “St. James, Lady Aldora Adamson. Lady Aldora, allow me to introduce you to the Marquess of St. James.”
    The marquess’s response was lost in the loud buzzing of her ears. Aldora clenched the fabrics of her skirts before remembering that a sea of Society members were attuned to their meeting.
    Oh God, this was the marquess? She should be elated. For all her attempts at meeting the young bachelor and all her meticulous scheming, he was now before her. Valera’s words came back to her on a rush. St. James preferred women who could play pianoforte and embroider. Desperate to escape, Aldora dropped her gaze to his artfully arranged cravat, but that brought his garishly bright gold embroidered waistcoat into sharp focus until she thought she might go blind from staring at the fabric.
    “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she lied. It was not a pleasure. It was fortuitous and convenient and necessary. But it was not a pleasure.
    “I was just saying to His Lordship how very good it was of you to so graciously agree to dance with his brother.” His brother? Mother dropped her tone to a loud whisper. “You know the scandal and all.”
    She had…The man whose arms she’d waltzed in…Aldora closed her eyes as a sudden wave of dizziness besieged her, and she tried to regain composure.
    Good God, Michael was the marquess’s younger brother.
    Blessedly, Valera launched into a conversation with St. James saving Aldora from having to formulate a coherent response.
    Trying to wrap her brain around the tide of confusion, she allowed the words to echo through the walls of her brain. Michael was the Marquess of St. James’s brother.
    No, Michael was the scandalous younger brother, who’d been banished to the far-flung regions of Wales or Ireland, or some area in the British Isles where he now operated an equally scandalous business.
    Aldora gave her head a shake, and alternated her gaze among the four people as she tried to regain control of her rapidly churning thoughts.
    A prickle of awareness tingled along the base of her neck, and trailed a path down her spine and she knew with a woman’s intuition that Michael was studying her meeting with the marquess.
    The marquess clasped her fingers in his and raised them to his lips. She held her breath in anticipation of any hint of her body’s awareness of him as a man. His lips, too soft and too moist, caressed the top of her hand before she discreetly pulled it back. “It is an honor, my lady.”
    Her mother’s narrowed gaze indicated that she’d not missed Aldora’s obvious reaction.
    She squared her shoulders, hoping that he hated this exchange as much as she did, hoping that it was as painful for him, because there were no words to describe the pain knifing through her insides that threatened to bring her to her knees in this crowded hall.
    “Will you join me for the next set?” the marquess asked.
    Four pairs of eyes stared at Aldora in silent expectation.
    No!
    She made a show of glancing down at the sadly empty dance card on her wrist.
    “Yes. That would be lovely,” she added, at her mother’s pointed glare.
    The marquess held out his arm and with all of Society, and Michael, watching and he escorted her onto the dance floor where couples were lining up for a quadrille.
    Aldora sent small thanks to the heavens. It wasn’t a waltz. She couldn’t bear being enfolded in the arms of Michael’s brother. It felt sinful and wrong.
    And it would feel a good deal more wrong when she married this man. Because that hadn’t changed. She still required a match to save her