The Siege of Lady Aloria_World of de Wolfe Pack Read online

  Nothing scared him more than losing what little control he had left.

  “What was I right about?”

  “It is time we returned to the ballroom for our dance.”

  Another thing he was incorrect about. Marcus wanted to stay here, surrounded by her childish, pink room; take her into his arms once more and finish what he started.

  There was satisfaction in the knowledge that no man had touched her before. Not Danderfur, nor Plumberly, nor Canterbourne.

  Each and every one had lost something truly magnificent—without even knowing it.

  “Apparently, I am very wise.” Marcus extended his arm for her to take, regaining his composure. “A crowded ballroom is the perfect place for us to be at this exact moment.”

  They made their way below, closing the door on their lost moment. Lady Aloria moved with a fluidity and grace he hadn’t noticed before, while Marcus strode, his stance rigid in an attempt to govern his body, aching with need. Each doorway they passed, he imagined opening, pulling her inside to steal another kiss; which he sensed would be unnecessary. She wanted his touch as much as he wanted to touch her.

  As they descended the stairs, he noticed a nook with a small seat cut into the wall. If he positioned them just so, no one would notice them within.

  Once again, as they walked the hall leading to the ballroom, he took note of the room where the servants were stashing coats and overgarments upon people’s arrival. Most assuredly they could disappear within the room of fabrics for a few moments without notice.

  If he were prudent, he’d abandon his ill-thought-out plan, return to the country, and prepare for his time in debtors’ prison. Surely, his stay would give him ample time to solve his problems without incurring new ones.

  Marcus was acting a ruddy boy fresh from university. If Canterbourne felt any measure of what he did when he looked at—held—Lady Delilah, then he was justified in making the woman his.

  But Marcus was not Canterbourne. He wasn’t free to marry for love or affections, nor allowed the time it would take for such things to develop. He was an impoverished duke. Although, only a few knew of his troubles, however that did not make them any less severe.

  Curse his father for putting him in such a sore financial position.

  Curse Canterbourne for giving him the idea to restore his coffers.

  Curse Gwendolyn for causing that scene and giving him little other option but to follow Lady Aloria.

  Every eye in the room turned their way as they re-entered the ballroom—for a second time.

  Marcus couldn’t help but think he’d publicly announced his courtship of Lady Aloria in a far more open manner than he’d expected; but if it kept other men away, so be it.

  As they took the dance floor once more, he reminded himself he was here for one thing—a means to acquire unregulated cargo ships to import his goods from across the world, and in turn, gain enough coin to remain free of debtors’ prison.

  And in no way did that include giving his heart to another.

  Marcus steeled his resolve as he looked down into Lady Aloria’s upturned face—and just as quickly, his resolution crumbled.

  “Marcus,” she said. “May I ask you a question?”

  When she said his name, he heard nothing else.

  “Of course, Aloria.”

  “How is it that we’ve never met before this eve?”

  “I do not much journey to London.”

  “And yet you are here…attending a ball held in my honor.”

  He would surely offend her if he admitted Canterbourne hadn’t thought to mention the reasoning for the ball, only that it would afford him the perfect opportunity to make her acquaintance.

  “Oh, I can see you were unaware.” She laughed. “Do not fret, many do not know that this ball is my parents’ final try at seeing their only daughter wed before her twenty-fourth birthday.”

  He wanted to curse his friend—and Lady Delilah—for their interference in his life. Nothing about the idea had to do with his financial woes and all to do with his personal affairs.

  “May I offer you my sincere good tidings on your birthday?” Marcus drew her close and spun her in a wide arc about the floor. “Every eye in the room is on you. I do believe your parents’ planning has been to your advantage.”

  “And how is that?” She was looking at his shoulder again, avoiding eye contact. If his hands weren’t duly occupied holding her, he would lift her chin. “You have significantly occupied my time.”

  “If you seek the company of another—“

  “No.” She spoke quietly, but the single word held conviction—and he couldn’t repress his smile.

  He was confident she’d select him over the other options hanging about the ballroom. Even now, a few elderly men conversed with her father but occasionally glanced in Aloria’s direction, awaiting her return. “It seems you have a crowd awaiting you.”

  Her eyes lifted, briefly glancing in her father’s direction—a heavy look settled, dampening her jovial mood. “Please, do not do that.”

  “You are not wanting to make a good match?”

  She looked him square in the face before responding. “Does not every lady wish for a good match?”

  “I’m not asking about ‘every lady,’ I only inquire about you.” His smile lessened. “What do you wish for your future?”

  She thought for a moment. “To marry a man in good standing and provide an heir, of course.”

  It was the customary answer drilled into every debutante’s head since birth. “No, not what you’ve been told to want by your parents and what society deems proper for you. What do you want? Adventure? Love? Mayhap, a goat farm?”

  “A goat farm?” She laughed. “I hadn’t realized that was an option. Will my hands become dirty?”

  “Positively filthy, my lady.”

  “What goes into one having a proper goat farm?

  He stared past her to the couples swirling about them deep in thought. “Property, a large pail for feeding—and a goat or two.” Marcus found he was enjoying their conversation—as unconventional as it was. “But, do not set your sights on the farm without considering your other choices.”

  “I would like to travel, maybe see the places from which my father’s men have collected all my gifts.” Her words turned serious, their depth far deeper than what one normally conversed about in a crowded ballroom, but after an evening spent discussing the weather and current fashion trends, Marcus welcomed it. “I have only read of lands far away.”

  “You have never sailed on one of your father’s ships?” He wondered if his words were genuine or only seeking further information about Lord Garland’s business dealings. “I mean to say, have you been to port?”

  “Oh, heavens no,” she replied. “My father would never allow me to accompany him during his business dealings. He says it is not the proper place for me.”

  “And do you always listen to your father?” All thoughts of financial woes had vanished from his mind, his own existence rested on this very conversation. Nothing else mattered but Aloria’s response.

  The music abruptly came to an end, the final chord drifted through the large room before silence invaded. He’d been focused on their conversation and movement. If he’d realized how little time they had left in each other’s arms—and company—he may have talked of a subject other than goats.

  Which Marcus should want. Making Lord Garland’s acquaintance was important and his main objective for the evening, with Lady Aloria and their introduction being second at hand. But now, he realized, he wanted a few more moments with her—alone; time to finish their conversation. But societal rules dictated he return her to her father, no matter what he desired.

  “My lord.” They drifted through the crowd toward Lord Garland. “Might I trouble you for a refreshment and a stroll about the terrace?”

  “Of course.” At her suggestion, Marcus changed their direction in favor of the drink table and the terrace doors a few feet beyo
nd. “I would not be a gentleman if I allowed you to go without refreshments.”

  With drinks in hand, they stepped through the open doors. He couldn’t help but picture them back in her room, away from the noise and activity of the ballroom.

  Marcus slowed his pace, but she pulled him a bit farther into the shadows, away from the other people milling about. The conversations around them drifted on the breeze, sounding little louder than murmurs.

  “I feel horrid for monopolizing your entire evening, Lady Aloria,” he confessed. More shocking was that he actually did feel rather bad. Especially if her parents’ notion was to find her a suitable match before the season ended. “I promise to return you as soon as you’ve had a spot of fresh air.”

  “Oh, I know everyone in attendance,” she sighed. “The only exception being Lady Gwendolyn and yourself. How did you say you received an invitation?”

  He couldn’t see lying to her for the truth would surface eventually. “Lord Canterbourne insisted I attend with him. And shortly after our arrival, he sought the company of your friend, Lady Delilah.” Marcus waited for her reply, unsure if she’d be upset or angry. Or if, like Canterbourne had said, there were no hard feelings or resentment left. “And I am certainly pleased that I accepted his offer.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  Marcus didn’t doubt she saw something—but what it was escaped his understanding.

  Chapter Seven

  Lady Aloria took in the plate before her; filled to overflowing with eggs, cold pheasant, and a pickled pear. It never ceased to amuse her that the servants believed her proportions dictated she consume this much at each meal. They seemed to not notice that her plate went mostly untouched.

  She closed her eyes and said a small prayer before looking at her plate once more.

  Sighing, she picked up her fork and looked to the head of the table where her father sat reading the morning post. Above him on the wall, Lady Aloria’s portrait hung, brought back downstairs but repositioned from the foot of the table where her father was cursed to stare at it during each meal. It had been very wise of him to dictate the painting’s newest spot before Lady Garland left her chambers.

  “Aloria,” he called, keeping his eyes on his paper.

  “Yes, Father?”

  “I heard talk that you spent much of your evening with a gentleman unknown to me.”

  Lord Garland was not a man to hover over his only child, nor question her actions or decisions. “Yes. I did spend a bit of time with Lady Delilah, but needed to assist mother to her room when she fell ill. On my return to the ballroom, I met the Duke of Wolfeton.” She needn’t share that he’d awaited her right outside her mother’s chambers. “He requested a dance.”

  “Wolfeton…” Her father puzzled over the name. “Wolfeton…I believe I knew his father long ago. Nice chap?”

  Aloria looked at her father while he kept his gaze on his paper, but she wasn’t fooled. He listened to her every word, and it was likely he knew more about Marcus than she did, even after spending the majority of her time with him the previous evening.

  “He was a fine gentleman.” All she could think of was his arms around her and his lips pressed to hers. “Why do you ask?”

  “I had heard word he was in town to speak with me about my cargo ships.”

  “What?” She didn’t mean to speak aloud. Or to sound so dejected.

  “Yes, he is hoping to gain agreement to transport cargo on my ships.” Her father never spoke of business; either with Aloria or while she was present in a room. “It merely surprised me that the pair of you are acquainted.”

  “Oh?” Aloria picked up her fork but continued to listen to his every word. “I wouldn’t say we’re acquainted. We simply danced.”

  “Ah, well,” he cleared his throat. “I am happy you enjoyed your evening.”

  Aloria had thought she’d enjoyed her evening immensely, but now she wasn’t at all sure.

  Lord Garland shook the wrinkles from his paper, refolded it, and prepared to take his leave.

  She struggled to catch her breath.

  Standing, he said, “Your mother is still a bit unwell. She bids you keep to your activities and collect her new bonnet from the shop. Good day, I will see you at supper.” And he left the room, oblivious to his words’ impact on her.

  Marcus was only in town to gain something from her father. And it was clear he thought the quickest way to getting it was to dupe her into favoring him. Possibly get her to tell her father how kind and attentive he was, and give Lord Garland the hope that his daughter was not confined to her shelf, but may instead surprise them all and have a duke offer for her hand.

  The man had played his cards well. He’d thoroughly convinced Aloria of his good nature, caring sentiment, and manners; and as of an hour ago, she’d actually caught herself daydreaming of what life with Marcus could be like. He’d preyed on her previous history with men, knowing she’d be out of chances come a fortnight.

  But what had Canterbourne’s part been in all of this? Marcus had admitted his invitation came from him—had they planned this scheme together?

  Aloria pushed the untouched plate from before her and stood; pacing the long room.

  “How dare he!” she seethed.

  “My lady?” a footman said from the far end of the room. “Is your meal not to your liking?”

  She’d never be used to always having someone present. It hadn’t bothered her before, but recently she’d sought time to herself, brief moments to think—which was nearly impossible with someone about always taking in her stance, quietly spoken words, or pensive silences. “My apologies, Fetter. I am well. The meal, as always, was very pleasing. Please, inform Cook I said as much.” The servants cared about her, and she them, so their attentiveness wasn’t meant to be invasive.

  He bowed. “Of course, my lady. Do call if you require anything else.”

  “Actually, have the carriage readied. I will depart within the hour.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Aloria was finally alone, something she thought she’d wanted moments ago, but now—with the full weight of her father’s words crashing down on her—it would have been nice to have someone else present, if only to keep the hurt at bay.

  But why her? It would have been just as easy—if not easier—to approach her father and leave her out of the dealings. Instead, the duke had cornered her above the stairs, pushed his acquaintance on her, and practically forced her to accept his offer to dance.

  Lies.

  No, she’d adored every moment in his arms. Every envious look turned her way by matrons and newly introduced young ladies alike. Men who’d ignored her presence only hours before had requested a spot on her dance card for future balls. On the surface, Marcus, the Duke of Wolfeton, was every woman’s dream; titled, wealthy, refined, and elegant.

  His only downfall: he was a liar.

  Many women would overlook his deception in favor of becoming a duchess.

  But Aloria knew the mistrust and confusion of being betrayed by a man—or three.

  Danderfur had made his intentions known only days after her presentation…and asked for her hand just shy of two months later. Aloria had thought herself one of the luckiest debutantes of the season; though only a baron, Danderfur came from a long line of respectable and responsible men—and it hadn’t escaped her notice that he always dressed in the height of fashion. Her affection for him extinguished the day she caught him donning her dress.

  And the Earl of Plumberly—he’d had to work harder for her notice. Nearing the end of her third season, she’d relented and allowed him to take her for a ride in Hyde Park. He was so different from Danderfur; rounded in size, socially inadequate, but kind and very attentive. He’d been shy to the extreme on that first carriage ride, and she’d instantly gone against her pledge and took a liking to him—and he to her, she was sure. But then the name-calling started, “Plumberly is to wed Portly” was the exact title in the gossip rag. She’d cried for days over
the mean-spirited article. Her mother had assured her that the earl had most likely not seen the periodical—and was most certainly above such gossip.

  But, alas, he’d called off their betrothal not long before they were to wed.

  The only people it hurt more than Aloria were Lord and Lady Garland.

  They were happy—and normally oblivious to all that happened outside their home.

  Aloria cried not only for herself, but also for them.

  Fresh tears sprang to her eyes at the memory.

  She tilted her head back, hoping they’d disappear. Instead, they fled the corners of her eyes. She dashed them away and allowed the anger of the moment to resurface.

  She should have known that Canterbourne was responsible for…for all of this.

  He’d led her to believe he would offer for her hand last season. He had accompanied her to the opera, escorted her and her family to Lord Chartwright’s country party, and taken her for rides all over fashionable London proper. Imagine her parents’ horror when they stumbled across Canterbourne and Aloria’s dearest friend, Lady Delilah, in a tender embrace. Of course, Aloria had rushed to her friend’s defense, though it pained her to do so.

  The wounds were still fresh; though she didn’t see the positive aspect of dwelling on Canterbourne’s deception, except where it played into Wolfeton and his motives.

  Again, she hadn’t listened as her conscience told her to run, put Marcus and his handsomeness far from her mind.

  Trusting beauty had never benefited her.

  Trusting kindness had most certainly never benefited her.

  And trusting a man’s actions had been the worst.

  What had led her to believe a man possessing all three would garner her a different outcome?

  Maybe women were the inferior species as so many believed. They were led by their emotions—a fatal flaw if Aloria had ever encountered one.

  It took her back to the original question; why her? Out of all the ladies in society, why her? He had women like Lady Gwendolyn lusting after him. Why pick an overweight, aging spinster to pursue?