How To Seduce A Sinner

by Adrienne Basso

  He believed she was somehow connected to the Marquess of Dardington, a fresh-faced, distant relation from the country who had come down to London for the Season. To find a husband, as was the custom with ladies of privilege. And apparently, she had been successful.

  Not wanting to intrude on this private moment, Carter gingerly stepped off the gravel path onto the lawn and made his way soundlessly out of the garden.

  The moment he reentered the ballroom, he began searching the crowd for his father. Instead, he located Viscount Benton, a handsome rake with a biting sense of humor. They had attended Eaton and later Oxford together, forging a friendship as boys that had deepened as they became men. They were alike in more ways than they were different, though Benton could be reckless in a way Carter admitted was almost frightening at times.

  “Where the devil have you been hiding?” Viscount Benton asked.

  “I was getting some air,” Carter answered, bracing his feet so as not to be shuffled from his position. It really was a ridiculous crush of people on the ballroom floor. Heaven help them all if someone yelled fire.

  Viscount Benton stopped a passing footman and pulled two crystal goblets brimming with champagne off a gleaming silver tray. “Champagne?”

  Carter grimaced as his friend offered him the goblet.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Benton intoned. “’Tis a drink for silly young girls, dotty old ladies, and swishing dandies, but the good whiskey is in the card room and it will take us at least twenty minutes to fight our way through this crowd. We shall expire from thirst before we reach the doorway.”

  “I suppose I shall have to make do with it,” Carter grumbled, taking a long gulp. “At least it’s properly chilled.”

  Benton nodded in agreement. “Lady Wessex might not have much sense when it comes to calculating the adequate numbers her ballroom can accommodate, but she certainly knows how to spend money on a ball.”

  “Not skimping on the ice hardly makes up for subjecting us all to this insanity,” Carter insisted.

  “If you hate it all so much, then why are you here?”

  Carter felt his jaw harden. Benton was right, why did he come? To please his father? Yet he knew, and his father knew, that Carter would reject the woman the duke presented to him tonight. On principle alone, if nothing else. Still, father and son continued to play this game with each other. The duke made unrealistic demands and Carter complied halfheartedly, doing only enough to avoid the appearance of outright defiance.

  “The Duke of Hansborough and Lady Audrey Parson.”

  The butler’s booming voice drew everyone toward the doorway. An older gentleman and a very young woman glided into the ballroom. Back straight, eyes alert, mouth unsmiling, the Duke of Hansborough moved with the grace and energy of a far younger man. The dense crowd actually parted to make a path for him.

  The female at his side clung to him like a vine on a garden trellis. She was tiny in stature, open eyed, and blatantly innocent. Carter’s irritated mood deepened.

  “Ah, now I understand why you are here tonight, Atwood,” Viscount Benton said gleefully. “You were waiting for your father. And look, he has brought you a present! My, my, isn’t she a pretty young thing? Not a day over seventeen, I’d wager.”

  “Shut up, Benton.”

  The viscount snickered. “Well, she isn’t a cow, you must allow him points for that at least. But those hips are almost indecently wide. Yet perfect for breeding plenty of little brats. How fortunate.”

  “Egad! It’s Audrey.”

  Carter turned and faced the man who had just joined them. “Do you know her, Dawson?”

  “Afraid so, Atwood. Her mother and my aunt are great friends. I’ve known her for years.”

  “And?” Carter prompted.

  Mr. Peter Dawson tugged on his cravat, marring the perfect whiteness with a smudge of lint. He too had been a classmate at Eaton and later Oxford, though his personality and demeanor were nearly the opposite of the viscount and the marquess. “Audrey’s a nice enough girl. Uncomplicated. Eager to please. She’s been kept in the country nearly all of her life, which would account for her very quiet manner.”

  “In other words, she’s a simpleton,” Benton interjected sarcastically.

  A flush of color bloomed on Dawson’s cheekbones. He was a somber, self-contained man who seldom had a harsh word or criticism for anyone. “Not precisely.”

  “Why does your father delight in finding the most empty-headed females for you?” Benton asked before tipping his glass and swallowing the remainder of his champagne. “Even worse, why does he then insist you should marry them?”

  Why indeed, Carter wondered. Did his father truly know his only son so poorly? How could he ever imagine such a young, sweet creature would hold his interest? The marquess sighed. “My father is an intelligent and observant man, but he has set his mind very firmly on the type of woman he believes will make me a proper duchess. Apparently my opinion of the matter bears little consequence.”

  “Hell, they are all the same.” Benton sighed. “I am pestered no end by my grandmother on the importance of finding a woman with looks, breeding, and impeccable manners to make my viscountess.”

  “The last quality being an extreme necessity since you can be such an uncultured, uncouth fellow at times,” Carter said with a grin.

  “Possibly.” Benton grinned back. “But at least my grandmother does not share your father’s view and include cowering among the qualities that are diligently sought for a wife.”

  “Lady Audrey isn’t cowering,” Dawson protested. “Well, not much, anyway.”

  Damn, can this get any worse? Not only was he going to be forced to pay his respects to a female he had no earthly interest in meeting, his friends were being afforded a front-row seat to his humiliation.

  Across the ballroom floor, Carter met the duke’s gaze straight on. The older man narrowed his eyes. Carter braced himself. At times like this it was essential that he remember his father was descended from generations of ruthless, strong-willed men.

  That blood ran through his veins also, yet somehow Carter had been spared the full intensity. Or perhaps it was not yet fully developed?

  Carter calculated it would take several minutes for the duke and Lady Audrey to reach them. At that point introductions would be made, some inane conversation exchanged, and then he would ask Lady Audrey to dance.

  Once that was done, he could leave. And in the morning he would tell the duke he was not interested in the lady.

  “Good luck, my friend.” Benton thumped him on the back. “As much as I would relish the fun of staying and watching you make an ass of yourself with the childlike Lady Audrey, the card room calls. Come along, Dawson.”

  Peter Dawson looked hastily from one man to the other. “Perhaps Atwood would appreciate some moral support?”

  “Hell, no,” Carter replied emphatically. “I counsel you both to save yourselves while you can.”

  The two men slipped away into the crowd, which had mercifully lessened, Dawson looking concerned and Benton appearing amused.

  Carter glanced again in his father’s direction and saw he and Lady Audrey were now engaged in conversation with the Earl of Wessex. It gave Carter a few moments to collect his thoughts, calm his emotions. Then suddenly the duke turned and caught his son’s gaze. He lowered his chin slightly in greeting, then gestured with steely gray eyes.

  The marquess bristled. Clearly, he was being summoned. It would be prudent to obey, yet Carter’s feet stood firmly in place. The duke gestured a second time, the shade of his eyes darkening. Carter’s eyes also darkened. But his feet never took a step.

  From long habit, he kept a tight rein on his escalating temper. It would be rude and pointless to vent his frustration in so public a venue. No, this discussion needed to be held in private, for it was a matter to be settled between him and his father.

  Though he was loath to acknowledge it, even at this distance Carter could see that Lady Audrey’s hips wer
e indeed unusually broad beneath the skirt of her silk gown. And her face, while passably pretty, had a most decidedly vacant look. Damn his father’s interfering ways.

  The pair ceased their conversation and once again started moving directly toward him. Suddenly, all of Carter’s self-protective instincts kicked into high gear.

  His father was being solicitous, almost conciliatory toward Lady Audrey. This was dangerous. Previously, the duke had allowed Carter to dismiss the women he presented after a single argument between the men, even as the duke balked at his son’s attitude.

  With the celebration of Carter’s thirtieth birthday looming a few months away, the duke had become more adamant. The marquess worried that this time he would be unable to so easily dismiss his father’s choice.

  The subtle scent of lavender assaulted his senses. Carter turned. Marvelous! A young woman stood on his left, mere steps away. He wiped his annoyance from his face and offered her a smile. “Good evening.” He bowed. “I am the Marquess of Atwood.”

  “Yes, I know.” The young woman seemed taken aback by his forward manner, but she nodded cordially. “We met at Lord Willingford’s ball a few weeks ago. How are you, my lord?”

  “Longing to dance. Won’t you please indulge me, fair lady?”

  Without waiting for her to answer, Carter swept her into his arms. Mercifully, a section of the ballroom had been cleared for the dancing couples. He took immediate advantage and hastened toward the center, as far away from his father and Lady Audrey as he could get.

  The woman in his arms let out a muffled sound of protest, but he ignored it, pulling her along with him. She was small in stature, barely reaching his shoulder. She was also very pretty, with delicate, fine-boned features, silky blond hair, and a slender, willowy figure that boasted high, firm breasts. There was something vaguely familiar about her…

  Carter narrowed his eyes and studied her further, then nearly missed a step of the waltz when he realized her identity. Good Lord! It was the female from the garden, Arthur Pengrove’s newly acquired fiancée. ’Twas no wonder she was glaring at him with obvious disapproval. No doubt this dance had been saved for her intended.

  Oh, well. There would be other dances for her to share with Pengrove. A lifetime of them. For now his need was greater, and besides their dance had already begun. Actually, it was a good sign. His luck must be changing.

  His even mood restored, Carter smiled down at his partner. “I have recently arrived at the ball. Tell me, has anything of great interest occurred?”

  He expected her to blush and stammer and then gush about her very recent engagement to Arthur Pengrove. He would nod and smile and listen to her subsequent chatter, thus alleviating the burden of conversation. In fact, if he were very fortunate, he could lead her to the opposite side of the room and, at the end of the dance, slip quietly from the ballroom. Without seeing his father. Or meeting Lady Audrey.

  But the very pretty future Mrs. Pengrove did not reveal the secret of her engagement, nor even hint that the momentous event had taken place. Instead, she gazed at him with a boldness that was nearly disconcerting.

  Carter’s eyes moved down her face, settling on her lips. She had an especially sensual mouth. His pulse quickened and he was suddenly assaulted with a fierce urge to kiss her. Pure lust, of course. Still, it seemed a pity that it would be Pengrove who enjoyed the taste of those lush, tempting lips.

  “Why did you ask me to dance? Or rather, why did you pull me against my will onto the ballroom floor? Your haste was most extraordinary. Are you running from the law, perchance?”

  Carter arched his brow. He could not possibly have heard her correctly. “Pardon?”

  “I asked why you insisted that I dance with you,” she replied calmly.

  For a moment, Carter’s mind went blank. Her forthright manner caught him very much unawares. Females generally blushed and stammered in his presence or else sent him sly, seductive glances. They never challenged him so directly.

  “I was overcome by your beauty, fair lady,” he said, deciding to disarm her with some harmless flattery. “It drove me to bold madness.”

  “What a bunch of rot. You barely glanced at my face before carting me away like a sack of grain.”

  Carter’s brow raised as he feigned indignity. “I am the Marquess of Atwood, my good woman. I do not cart females away. I gracefully, elegantly sweep them away.”

  “Do you really? Even when they have promised the dance to another gentleman?”

  Ah, it was as he suspected. She was piqued because he had stolen her away from her intended. “Your previous partner will have a lifetime to enjoy your dances. ’Tis only fair he give others a chance, dear lady.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “You don’t know my name, do you?”

  Caught! Carter bestowed his most charming, heart-melting smile on her, hoping to distract her question. But it didn’t seem to work. Her gaze remained on him, solemn and intent. There was a long, drawn-out silence.

  “Of course I know who you are,” he blustered. “We met at the Willingfords’ ball. You are Arthur Pengrove’s future bride. And I should like to add that he is one very lucky fellow.”

  Her blue eyes filled with shock and regret, then quickly returned to a mischievous gleam. It was such a brief expression of emotion that Carter would have missed it had he not been observing her so closely.

  “You do not find that to be a particularly odd name, my lord? Arthur Pengrove’s future bride? Please, try again.”

  A stark challenge, plain as day, was written all over her lovely face. Damn. He wished he really did know her name, just so he could win this game. But alas, he had no earthly idea. Which was another surprise. How could he have forgotten such an enchanting woman?

  He cleared his throat, stalling for time. “How amusing. This is rather like that fairy tale about the odd little man who helped the beautiful miller’s daughter spin straw into gold. What was his name again?”

  “Rumpelstiltskin.”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “You are avoiding the question.”

  “Am I? I admit my thoughts are jumbled. Consumed by the events in the fairy tale. And fascinated at the similarities to our current situation. Truly, your hair puts spun gold to shame.”

  She muttered something under her breath. A word that no lady should know, let alone speak. Carter smiled. “Pardon?” he queried.

  Though he highly doubted it was her intention, she had successfully entertained him as no woman ever had. Outside of the bedchamber, of course. Females often grew tongue-tied around him, no doubt because they were eager to make a favorable impression.

  He knew that was not the case with his mysterious beauty. If anything, she seemed most eager to get away from him, which caused him to like her even more. Her wit was sharp, her attitude bold. Her voice had a warm pitch he found oddly sensual. The sound of it sent an unexpected potent spark of desire right through him.

  Brought on, no doubt, by the knowledge that she was already claimed by another man. Truly, nothing added more to a female’s allure than the knowledge that one could not have her.

  “You have a devious mind, my lord,” she finally said.

  “Precisely. Therefore I understand how they work.”

  She laughed. It was a joyful, melodious sound and Carter found himself joining her in a wide smile. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the music had stopped and the dance was over. Regretfully, he released her from the circle of his arms, then almost immediately felt the presence of another person standing near.

  Carter turned, fully expecting to see her newly acquired fiancé, Arthur Pengrove. Instead, his eyes clashed with the Marquess of Dardington.

  A rather angry, visibly annoyed, Marquess of Dardington.

  Chapter Two

  “Atwood.”

  “Dardington.”

  The two men stood toe to toe, first staring, then glowering at each other, neither giving an inch. The scent of impending disaster sw
irled around them, permeating the air. Dorothea’s breath hitched with panic. The last thing she needed was to be at the center of a very public disagreement between these two gentlemen.

  Especially after she had faithfully promised her sister, Gwendolyn, that she would behave with the utmost propriety and decorum while in London. Instead, she appeared poised to become the unwitting star in a drama of Shakespearean proportions.

  So, for the sake of all those guests who were regarding them with great curiosity, Dorothea kept a congenial smile plastered on her face. A smile she suspected fooled no one, yet hid some of the worry churning in her mind.

  “Ah, so you gentlemen are acquainted with each other,” she muttered. “How lovely.”

  She widened her smile, aware that their audience had grown in numbers. Good heavens, they must all think I’m a simpleton. Yet better to be thought a half-witted female than a scandalous one.

  For an instant, the two men turned in her direction, each appearing slightly puzzled that she had spoken. She realized that their focus had been so exclusively on each other, both had temporarily forgotten she was standing there with them.

  “I shall deal with this, Dorothea,” Lord Dardington declared with quiet authority. “No need to trouble yourself.”

  “There really is nothing to deal with, my lord,” she replied, striving to keep her tone neutral. “’Twas a simple misunderstanding.”

  “Hmm, perhaps. Or perhaps not, at least not on Atwood’s part,” the Marquess of Dardington said in a frigid, calm voice as his angry gaze returned to her dancing partner.

  Reflexively, Dorothea took a step back. The growing alarm that had taken up residence in her chest heightened, even as she admired the steely nerve exhibited by Lord Atwood.

  The Marquess of Dardington was a formidable man, in physical stature and in temperament. There were few who possessed the nerve to meet him so directly. Apparently the Marquess of Atwood was one of those few.

  Easily half the ton feared Lord Dardington’s volatile outbursts while the other half thrived on his antics and the endless gossip they produced. His wife, Lady Meredith, had assured Dorothea that Lord Dardington had mellowed with age, but she saw no evidence of that now. In truth, the most unsettling of all was the apparent calm Lord Dardington was currently demonstrating, despite his obvious displeasure.