Free In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 1) by Christi Caldwell

her scandalously through Lord and Lady Havendale’s gardens?
    “So there is,” Katherine deduced when Aldora didn’t reply fast enough.
    Aldora turned around to face her and pasted on a smile. “Don’t be silly.”
    “What—”
    “You said no more questions, Katherine.”
    The air left Katherine on a whoosh . She jumped to the floor and proceeded to straighten her skirts. “Very well. But—” she held up a single finger— “do not dare do something like marry a stuffy, pompous lord to help us. Is that clear?”
    Aldora managed her first smile that whole day. She bowed her head. “I promise.”

Chapter Seven

    M ichael accepted a flute of champagne from a passing servant. He downed it in a single swallow. His eyes did a purposeful sweep of the crowd.
    “Looking for someone?” St. James drawled alongside him.
    Michael made a non-committal noise and continued his search. Last evening, Michael had no intentions of attending any ton functions. He’d planned on going to White’s and getting himself absolutely soused. The desire to see her, however, had proven too strong. So he’d accompanied St. James, expecting to see Lady Aldora, only to learn that the young lady had fallen ill.
    And for nearly twenty-four hours since he’d learned she was unwell, Michael had been consumed with a numbing terror. He silently blasted his brother who’d had the ill sense to take her walking through Hyde Park on a chilled, rainy day.
    “Ahh, there she is,” St. James said.
    Michael followed his brother’s gaze. A buoying lightness filled Michael. The power of it so strong, so gripping that he forgot she belonged to St. James and that he, by the sheer history of his life, wasn’t fit to even keep company with her. Hell, he wasn’t deemed fit company for anyone . The sole reason he was even included in ton functions was because of his brother’s title.
    As if she felt his eyes on her, Lady Aldora froze. Her body seemed to straighten, illuminating the graceful elegance of her long, lean neck. To put his lips to the satiny smoothness of that skin. He’d trade all the wealth he’d made over the years to caress the pulse beating there.
    With excellent color in her cheeks, the lady looked remarkably well. Not at all ill.
    “Michael?”
    “Yes, she is here,” Michael snapped, knowing his tone was that of a petulant child.
    St. James gave him an indecipherable look before casting his gaze back toward Lady Aldora. His brother rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I imagine she’ll make a perfectly suitable wife.”
    A curtain of black rage clouded Michael’s vision. He forced himself to count to five. When that didn’t help, he counted to ten.
    “You disapprove of her,” St. James continued. With his every question he pitched daggers at Michael’s gut.
    “Not at all,” Michael said, his tone rough.
    “Hmm,” St. James muttered. “I imagine she’ll make me a fine b—where are you going?” he called after Michael.
    Michael ignored him and continued striding away from his brother. He’d considered himself strong, resilient. He’d lived in the solitude of Wales, not even contacted when his mother had died, followed by his father years later. The pain of his family’s rejection had stung at first, but then Michael had gradually erected a wall around his heart. He’d thought himself unaffected. He’d thought himself immune to paltry things like pain and happiness and love.
    Then in one damn fool ride through Hyde Park, he’d met a feisty, beautiful young woman who’d torn down those walls.
    Michael paused and leaned alongside a pillar, borrowing strength as he confronted a maelstrom of too powerful emotions.
    He wanted 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 Michael vaguely recognized, started his way. Michael glowered until the poor fellow swallowed nervously and hied it