In Need of a Duke (The Heart of a Duke 0.5)(5)

Surprisingly, he did.

Aldora drew in a breath. She supposed she could have handled this vastly better than she had. She might have feigned a sprained ankle, or maidenly gratitude that he’d rescued her from her own foolishness.

Then again, she’d never polished the ladylike awe perfected by most of the other young ladies.

“Thank you,” she finally blurted.

He folded his arms across a broad expanse of chest. Aldora frowned. Funny, she’d never imagined he’d be so muscular, with biceps and thighs that strained the expertly tailored black riding attire. Noblemen were not tall, imposing figures. They were often short, mostly bald, and nearly always round in the waist.

Suddenly, she longed for her spectacles for altogether different reasons.

She cleared her throat. “You are supposed to say you’re welcome.” It hardly helped her cause, chastising her future husband, but she couldn’t help it.

“Am I now?” A thread of humor underlay his question.

Aldora gave a brief nod. “Absolutely.” Surely the man had received countless lessons on appropriate behavior expected of a gentleman.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

His question cut across her silent musings. She tapped a finger along her chin. She suspected he was making light of her. But she’d not rise to the subtle bait. If he wanted a lesson on deportment, she’d be more than glad to deliver it to him on a polished silver plate. “Well, you should never go tearing through a park filled with people on your—”

“It is hardly filled with people,” he pointed out.

She continued as though he’d not interrupted. “Horse. And you most certainly shouldn’t berate the young lady you nearly trampled.”

“A young, unchaperoned lady.”

Aldora clamped her lips shut. Well, he had her there.

“Nor, I assume is it proper for us to remain standing here alone, talking. Unchaperoned.”

There it was again. The reminder of her bold plans for the day, which brought her back full circle to the reason for her plan that morning.

She sighed. She had made an absolute bramble of the whole thing.

Hard lips seemed to frown and now, more than ever, Aldora yearned for her glasses so that she might bring the marquess’ visage into proper focus. She took a step toward him and craned to look at him.

“Why, you are blind!” he blurted.

Aldora frowned. “I’m not.” She just didn’t happen to have her spectacles, which made it impossible to view anything with absolute clarity—or any clarity at all. Nor did she want to admit to this man whose heart she was going to win that she wore glasses. Eligible bachelor lords did not wed bespectacled misses with sharp tongues and bold spirits.

“You are,” he shot back.

She folded her arms across her chest and considered him. It wouldn’t do to confess that she was in fact quite blind when she didn’t have her spectacles. She’d save that information for a later date. After a much warmer exchange. “I’m not, you know. Blind, that is,” she clarified when his brow furrowed in apparent confusion.

“Humph,” he said.

Humph? What was that supposed to mean?

He turned on his heel.

“Where are you going?” In all her dreams of how this meeting would play out, it had never involved the marquess nearly trampling her under the hooves of his horse, and her arguing with the man, only to watch him take his leave without any further words of explanation.

“I’m leaving.”

“But you don’t even know if I’m injured.” The dastard. What manner of gentleman was he? And for that matter, if he left, she would have to go through all the trouble of arranging another chance meeting with him.

“If you remember, I tried, and you scolded me,” he said.

Aldora caught her lower lip between her teeth and chewed on it. Yes, he had her there. She touched her fingers to the chain at her neck, seeking strength from the heart-shaped talisman.

“Furthermore,” he began.

She frantically felt around her neck, knowing already what her bare skin told her. She fell to her knees, and her fingers searched for the childhood pendant that had been passed from between friend to dearest friend. The faded gold heart had been purchased by her and her only friends in the world when they’d only been fifteen and sixteen. The gypsy woman who’d given them the magical piece had insisted that whoever wore the pendant would win the heart of a duke. She cursed, and crawled on her knees back toward the shrubs she’d stumbled into. A marquess would have to do.

“What are you doing?”

She ignored his question, cursing this day, cursing her father who’d left her and her siblings in dire financial straits, thereby requiring that she humble herself to find a husband who could overlook her spectacles and her unabashed honesty, all to save her family.

Aldora felt around in the grass and gasped when a thorn pierced her kidskin glove and lanced her finger.

She sank back on her heels. Ripping off her glove, she tossed it aside, and popped the wounded digit into her mouth. Propriety had ceased to exist in this exchange, if it ever had.

The marquess dropped to a knee beside her. With surprising gentleness, he tugged her hand forward and raised it to his eyes. She looked up at him and her breath caught. The cerulean blue of his gaze made her think of warm summer days and the lake she’d splashed through as a young girl at their country seat. And suddenly she wanted to lose herself in the depths of his eyes.