The Siege of Lady Aloria_World of de Wolfe Pack Read online

  Aloria didn’t deserve to be attacked in her own home…or anywhere for that matter.

  It was unfair of him to put her in a position that left her vulnerable to Gwen’s wrath and spite.

  Her crying increased.

  Marcus should announce his presence and give her the opportunity to throw him from the room, save a piece of her dignity. But he couldn’t bring himself to make a sound, nor could he be convinced to leave.

  Rubbing his face with his hands, he made his decision.

  “Lady Aloria,” he whispered. Part of him hoped she wouldn’t hear him, or demand that he leave at once. But as had been the constant in their short acquaintance, she surprised him by turning to face him; her hands dropping to reveal her tear-stained, blotchy red face. “Please accept my deepest apologies.”

  “They are unneeded and unwarranted.” Her words came on a heavy sigh. “They are the truth—in Lady Gwendolyn’s eyes, at least.”

  “No one should treat another—“

  “Alas, it is very common.”

  “—her words were—“

  “Justified.” Aloria straightened, the admission infusing her with a new resolve. “My faults are common knowledge. If society hadn’t had them pointed out to them after my disastrous betrothal to Lord Danderfur, then they surely recognized them when Plumberly called off our arrangement. And still, if that didn’t make me the scandalous lady of the century, then Canterbourne running off with my dearest friend after courting me for a whole season…well, there is enough for all to know I am either cursed or have ample shortcomings.”

  Marcus was aware of his good friend’s brief attachment to Lady Aloria, but Canterbourne had assured him that no hard feelings or grudges lingered. He was to wed Lady Delilah after all, and Aloria had been hard at work helping with the coming celebrations in honor of the new couple.

  Daniel, Lord Canterbourne, was the only person aware of Marcus’s true motives for coming to London—and the idea behind the match between him and Aloria. Canterbourne had gone on and on about the girl’s suitability for marriage and the sure way in which the match would solve all of Marcus’s financial woes.

  At current, he wasn’t sure Daniel had given accurate information.

  “Come now, my lady,” he soothed. “You are rather harsh on yourself.”

  “Not harsh, realistic, my lord.” His heart broke for her.

  Marcus planned to use her for his own gains as well, but never did he expect to hurt her. She would ultimately garner as much from their association as he; a title, his estate, and protection, and one day, a family. A friendship—and affection—for one another could blossom.

  “Aloria.” She sobered at his use of her given name and wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. “Now, that is better. Let us calm ourselves and return to the ballroom for one last dance.”

  “You cannot possibly seek my company when Lady Gwendolyn awaits your return.”

  She had no sense of her own value, and he found himself wanting, above all else, to change that.

  With a flourish, Marcus stepped back, bowed deeply and offered her his outstretched hand. “My dearest Lady Aloria. Will you do me the extreme honor of accompanying me to the Garland Ball to dance the night away?”

  His arm hung in the still air and he dared to peek up from his lowered head.

  Aloria eyed him suspiciously.

  “I do not bite,” he said to lighten the sense of gloom. “Go on, take my arm and make me the happiest man in all of London.”

  A look of confusion crossed her face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I only now realized I do not know you—and yet, you are in my private chamber.”

  They both looked about in unison.

  Marcus hadn’t been aware of his surroundings before either; but since she’d pointed it out, he took a moment to survey the room.

  And he was shocked to find it was nothing like he’d expected.

  He’d never encountered a room entirely done up in one color—not even a varying shade stuck out.

  Pink, of the palest shade conceivable, surrounded him.

  Her large, four-post bed was pink, covered in a pink, eyelet duvet. A wooden rocking horse sat in the far corner, also pink. Her washstand and chair before the hearth—pink.

  And stranger yet, dolls sat atop every open surface. Hundreds of them.

  If she hadn’t said this was her chamber, he’s suspect a five-year-old was the master of the room.

  Marcus snapped his mouth shut, it having fallen open in wonder—or possibly horror—at the sight around him. He was utterly speechless. Entranced, yet repulsed.

  “My word,” he finally muttered. “Where in heavens did all this come from? And the same shade of pink? How is this possible?”

  She turned a sheepish look to him, obviously embarrassed. “My father has it brought to England on his ships. In each port, the captain or his mate is sent ashore to locate something of this exact color. I fear that many are dipped in some sort of dye, so as not to disappoint my father upon their return.”

  As she took in the room, trying to see it through his eyes, her despair lifted, replaced by a sense of wonder.

  “…and you’ve kept it all?”

  “Why, of course.” She said the words as if it were the most logical answer. “They were gifts from my father. Have you never been given a gift so special that the thought of not possessing it would feel like a betrayal?”

  He was dumbfounded. His own father had bankrupted the Dukedom after his wife’s death. After Marcus’s mother passed, the duke spent large amounts of coin on various mistresses, risky business ventures, and other follies, including a gallery of seminude portraits. Marcus had been pressed to sell everything not entitled to the Dukedom—except the portraits, for there weren’t many willing to spend coin on them. If his father, or another family member, had ever given him something valuable, it had likely been hocked to fetch whatever small amount of coin it would bring in.

  But it was something he’d never admitted to another—Gwen had only learned of it because she’d traveled to his country home with her family, and he’d been unable to keep secret the dwindling nature of his assets.

  His plan, if he should succeed, was to replenish the family’s coffers and systematically replace all he’d had to sell off.

  Failure was not an option open to him, for it would not only be him who would suffer, but all who depended on him for their livelihood as well.

  “I hadn’t thought of matters in those terms, my lady.” He hoped to one day give his family the type of treasures Lady Aloria possessed here. Objects and possessions worth more than their weight in gold.

  And with Aloria’s help, he would be able to.

  He just needed to convince her to marry him—before the fortnight was through.

  Chapter Five

  Aloria walked about her room, running her fingers along the edge of her dressing table, patting her rocking horse, Ollie, on the head, and straightening the dress of her favored doll. This room had been her safe haven for more years than she could count. It was where she’d cried herself to sleep the day a girl called her fat at the dress shop. She’d been only eight summers at the time and the other girl much older. What hurt the most was when the girl’s mother had laughed at her daughter’s remark and snickered behind her hand that Aloria should seek the expertise of a tent maker to sew a dress large enough for her.

  Oh, how Aloria had sobbed.

  Her parents had gifted her a new doll the next day, her first of many.

  She’d long suspected the gifts given to her were some kind of compensation for all the horrible words they’d heard uttered about their only daughter. A means of showing her she had worth and could find her own delight in life, if only she had one more pretty bauble to cover the not so pretty parts of herself.

  Aloria treasured the gifts still because they reminded her of her own choices in life.

  Every person had the option to be positive, taking t
he bad and making it good, and showing kindness to others. While some chose to cast doubt on the character and looks of others in an attempt to mask their own ugly nature.

  She’d determined long ago to do one good deed for every gift given to her by her guilt-ridden parents.

  Picking up a hand mirror inlaid with pink pearl, Aloria remembered the day she’d found out about the deceptions of Lord Danderfur. He’d been a kind enough man, though merely a baron. She’d been drawn to him due to his sensitive nature and mild manner of speaking. His cultured appearance pleased her parents greatly. It was a mere two days before they were to be married that she’d caught him in her room—wearing the dress she’d planned to be wed in.

  The whole scene would have been comical had it not happened to her—and most assuredly if her father hadn’t been there to witness the debacle. It was ultimately Lord Garland’s decision to force Danderfur to call off the nuptials, while Aloria had insisted on hearing Danderfur’s reasoning.

  It was one of the precious moments where her father saved her from her own naivety. With each year past, Aloria developed her own ability to guard her heart.

  The next morning, while Danderfur was departing England on his way to Paris, the pink mirror and matching brush had appeared in her room.

  When she was younger, she’d imagined her father kept a full shop somewhere in London, loaded to the rafters with pink in preparation.

  Now, she didn’t care where the gifts came from…because it meant another cruel soul had set forth more negativity into the world, her world.

  It wasn’t such a bad thought to think her parents were young at heart because the unpleasantness of the world was too much for them to bear.

  “Aloria?” The duke’s words could have been whispered, they sounded so close. “You are crying again. Have I hurt you in some manner?”

  She could listen to him say her name for eternity without tiring of it.

  She smiled at him. “No, you have not.”

  “Then it is Gwen’s words that still upset you?”

  “Gwen’s words, London society…and the unfairness of life as a whole.” She sighed. “Are you sorry you asked? I would not blame you if you turned now and departed.”

  “I do not think I could ever forgive myself if I left you.”

  Many had left her and not given it a second thought, why would he be any different? Marcus hadn’t any obligation to her, they weren’t betrothed—nor were they friends—he’d only been in the wrong place at the wrong time, thus witnessing her embarrassment. She needed him to understand so he wouldn’t take the blame for Lady Gwen’s words. If it hadn’t been her, then it would have likely been someone else.

  “But know I would not hold any ill will toward you if you did depart.” She didn’t trust herself to say more; for if she started, it was unlikely she’d stop until he’d heard her whole sordid past.

  He began to follow her path around the room, inspecting certain knickknacks and picking up others. She watched to see what specific items caught his eye, for it told her much about him, which allowed her to remain silent—and watch him.

  It was comforting to assess him when he thought her too upset to take in his actions.

  He tended to gravitate toward the more exotic pieces in her room; a pink-stained ivory tusk from the wilds of Africa, a rose quartz encrusted fan from India, and lastly, a hand-carved ship whittled from driftwood found in the Mediterranean Sea.

  She could tell he was an adventurer at heart, she sensed that from the moment she’d met him.

  She should feel uneasy and cautious in his presence, yet he calmed her after the incident in the ballroom. She was at ease in his company; something she hadn’t felt with Danderfur, Plumberly, or Canterbourne. It made no sense. A man she knew nothing about seemed more familiar to her than three men she’d planned to wed and fancied herself in love with.

  But, if there was one thing Aloria had learned over the years, it was that under no circumstances was she to trust her instincts about a man. She was wrong more times than she was right.

  And the times she was wrong always led to heartbreak. Another disappointment leveled on her family. Another season of being toted to all the balls, recitals, plays, country picnics, and the like.

  If she were honest, she would wed a man today if only it would stop the never-ending cycle and give her peace.

  “I think it past time we return to the ballroom.”

  “Of course, my lord,” she said. “I hesitate to think how many people saw you chase me up the stairs.”

  “It is not the reason I seek to return.”

  “Oh, then it is Lady Gwendolyn?” Aloria asked, not wanting to hear his response, nor dwell on her curiosity regarding his relationship with the woman. It was none of her business if the pair were lovers, or former lovers, or friends—though, just thinking the word lovers made her envious. “You truly should make amends with her before the eve is done.”

  “No.” Sometime during his wander about the room, Marcus had come to stand right behind her. His hand, gentle yet rough from years of labor—which she found odd for any man of the ton—resting on her arm. She turned toward him when he pulled her lightly. “Because I intend to have my second dance of the evening with you.”

  Suddenly, Aloria was looking into his eyes, a dark, rich, cocoa brown. How had she never noticed the depth that lay there, the complexity residing right below the surface? It hinted to the intricacy that was this man—much like the wolf, his namesake. But, then again, a namesake meant naught in her situation.

  Maybe he only appeared the hunter from the outside with his long, barely restrained hair, dark eyes, and muscular frame. It was possible that was all there was to the Duke of Wolfeton, an agreeable exterior with little beyond that.

  His hands hadn’t left her arm but held her in place.

  Aloria made the mistake of looking at his lips; parted ever so slightly as if he were prepared to say something, but was hesitant to let the words escape.

  She knew how that felt, for she was doing the same. She only hoped her parted lips looked as inviting as his. But she rather doubted that—her lips were always a bit too plump.

  Finally, Marcus did let the words slip out. “Can I kiss you?”

  Aloria had longed for a moment such as this, dreamed of a man such as him, but had resigned herself to an untouched future, never knowing a magical moment. Yet, here was her chance…and it would likely never come again.

  “I do not know, can you?” she breathed. Not the words she’d been holding back, yet the spark that lit his eyes told her they pleased him greatly.

  “Point taken, my lady.”

  His mouth captured hers swiftly and without hesitation as if he were laying siege. What he didn’t realize was that she had no defenses to protect herself from an attack this sweet.

  Their lips melded together, and Aloria followed his lead to territories previously unknown to her, but she had no doubt Marcus was taking her to paradise. And she would stay as long as he allowed her to.

  She gripped his shoulders; mentally forcing her fingers to loosen their hold as she sank into him. Her head tilted farther back when he stepped closer. Another thing she hadn’t noticed in their short acquaintance—he was much taller than she. If she’d had a moment to ponder this situation, she would have questioned how one as short as she adequately kissed one as tall as Marcus.

  With a flick of his tongue against her parted lips, all her thoughts, questions, and concerns were thrown to the wayside. Continuing the movement, Marcus’s tongue ran across her lower lip in the slowest of crusades, strategically planned to drive her mad with desire.

  A desire she’d never known before.

  A desire she realized only Marcus could make her feel.

  A desire she never wanted to go away.

  Chapter Six

  Lady Aloria’s mouth moved against his, taking all he offered as if she’d kissed many men before him, which shouldn’t be a surprise as she’d been betrothed before
. But Marcus did not want to speculate on whom she’d kissed previously. Coils of jealousy roared through him, and he had the urge to keep her close, hidden from any man who sought to glance upon her; it was a possessiveness unfamiliar to him.

  Marcus had always preferred to be alone—counting on no one and nothing for his survival, but suddenly, he knew he could not live without her.

  His mind was addled by her intoxicating scent; honeysuckle and…lavender.

  Pulling her close, he wrapped his arms more securely around her, bringing her ample bosom to his chest. She was delicate in his embrace, fitting perfectly within his arms. He couldn’t remember another feeling this right.

  His head screamed that he should release her before this went any further, but his body demanded he make her his.

  With that thought, Marcus released his hold on her and stepped back, their lips parting.

  Every part of him knew he’d made the wrong decision—her startled look said as much. Her arms wrapped around her waist, and her eyes clouded warily. A moment before, she’d been open to him, receptive to his attentions. Now, her innocence had returned, and he watched as a steel door slammed shut on her emotions, effectively closing her off.

  He’d conquered her defenses, but allowed them to return stronger than before.

  “Lady Aloria?”

  Her fingers lifted to touch her pink, swollen lips as she looked at him with wonder.

  Something was wrong—off in some way Marcus couldn’t grasp.

  And so, he waited; fearing she would run from the room in tears, which would make the second time this night he’d caused her pain.

  “My first kiss.” She turned a shy smile on him. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Marcus didn’t know what surprised him more; that she’d never kissed another or that she was thanking him as if he’d done her a great service.

  “I think you were right, my lord.”

  Marcus had never felt so wrong. About everything; his plan to come to London to reverse his fortune, his past with Gwendolyn, and most assuredly, his pursuit of Lady Aloria. Maybe, just maybe, she was the one in control of the situation.