In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke 0.5)(4)

So what if she’d never set sights on the marquess?

The rumble of a horse’s hooves thundered in the distance, and drew her attention. Like a practiced hunter, which she was not nor ever would be, her ears perked up. The steadily increasing rumble indicated a rider’s swift approach. “Oh, please let it be him,” she whispered.

With a determined huff, she picked up her pace, a pace that would have appalled any lord or lady out for an unfashionably early morning stroll.

Aldora stepped in the middle of the riding path and squinted. Black hair. Black horse. Tall man. That’s about all she could make out, but it was enough. After all, the majority of peers could still be found in their beds sleeping off their prior evening’s festivities. Her heart kicked up an extra beat in a kind of dreaded anticipation as the somewhat vague form of the Marquess of St. James materialized. She rather suspected there was nothing more humbling than pursuing one’s husband but desperate times, and all that.

A dark blur pulled into focus. Blast her mother for insisting ladies did not wear spectacles, and most especially not in public. Except, if she were to be wholly honest with herself, Aldora acknowledged that it was her own ego that had her heeding Mother’s advice, this time. Aldora had learned from the scandal sheets that the marquess’s one weakness was his high fashion sense and, well she imagined that a bespectacled wife didn’t fit with his imaginings for a prospective bride.

Except if she had them on then mayhap she’d not be in this very predicament of trying to find her future husband. Literally find him.

The shape continued to descend upon her, far more quickly than Aldora anticipated. Until the dark eyes of a wild, black beast leveled on her.

Her eyes widened.

She was going to die here on an empty riding trail, trampled by the thundering hooves of her future husband’s massive black mare.

The creature reared, and Aldora threw herself out of the path, landing hard amidst a small boxwood. The air left her on a whoosh; the sharp branches scraped her skin.

“Whoa!” A deep baritone slashed through the otherwise quiet morn as the marquess brought his stallion under control. The giant beast pawed agitatedly at the earth, sending pebbles and rocks spraying before eventually settling into place.

Aldora dusted back the layer of dirt that hit her cheeks and lay there, staring up at the traces of orange splashing across the sky and tried to calm her racing heart.

St. James swung a broad-muscled leg over his horse and leapt down with the kind of graceful elegance more befitting the demi-god, Perseus. Aldora squinted. Two inches past six feet. It was him.

Her breath caught as she prayed the marquess would beg forgiveness, help her to her feet, and swear undying devotion and save her any further humiliation. Aldora nearly snorted at the horrific drivel swirling around her brain, and she shoved the hopeful thoughts aside. The unenviable task she’d laid out for herself, earning this very eligible bachelor’s attention and subsequent hand, was foolhardy. Desperate.

And yet, she couldn’t have crafted a more romantic introduction. Hope breathed to life inside her breast.

“Are you mad?”

His growl brought her firmly back to reality. She bristled at his insolent tone.

“You could have been killed. What are you doing walking in the middle of a riding path? Are you blind, woman?”

She craned her head back and stared up inch after inch of his sinewy, muscled length. Aldora blinked, trying to bring him into focus.

A startled squeak escaped her as he plucked her out of the bushes. His long, powerful fingers proceeded to do a methodical search of her upper arms.

A jolt of awareness raced down her spine, heating her from the inside out. His high-handed touch was at the same time possessive and gentle. It made her go all warm and wish for him to continue his search. She gave her head a shake. What am I thinking?

He fell to a knee, and lifted up the edge of her skirts to inspect an ankle.

Well, that was quite enough! Future husband or not, it would not do to be discovered with the Marquess of St. James lifting her skirts in the middle of Hyde Park. “Unhand me, my lord!” She swatted at him.

He continued his search.

The unmitigated gall. She reached up and placing her hands upon his shoulders and gave him a mighty shove.

He toppled backwards.

She flinched at the colorful curse that slipped past his lips.

“What the devil was that for?” he thundered.

Aldora peeked around, expecting a bevy of passersby to descend and witness her ruination. A nervous giggle bubbled up from her throat. Perhaps that would be best. If the marquess compromised her, then that would settle all manner of difficulties, but would then create all kinds of other strife—namely her sisters’ good names would be tarnished.

“My lord, surely you know it isn’t proper to touch a lady who is not your wife.”

A harsh laugh escaped him. “I assure you that is not entirely true.”

It took a moment for his words to register. Her eyes widened. “You sir, are no gentleman!” And she didn’t care to call the accusation back, even if she did need to wed the titled young lord.

He leapt to his feet and took a step toward her. “I’m fairly certain that is the first thing you’ve gotten right all morning, love.”

Aldora retreated a step; her hand covered her chest, where her heart thumped wildly. Goodness, she’d read about the Marquess of St. James in the papers. But they’d failed to mention anything about his tall, commanding presence. His raw masculine vitality. She held up a hand up. “Stop, my lord.”