Adrienne Basso - How To Seduce A Sinner

The two couples made a second, slow circuit of the dance floor and then finally the other guests joined them. Dorothea’s breathing gradually returned to a steady cadence as the polished ballroom floor quickly became crowded with additional couples.

After a few minutes, the music ended. Lord Dardington steered Dorothea toward his wife and father, and the four of them left the dance floor together.

“Ah, now you shall have an opportunity to practice your skill at coquetry,” the duke observed dryly as a gaggle of gentlemen eagerly converged on them. “Meredith tells me she is impressed with your approach when it comes to capturing their attention.”

Dorothea blushed and lowered her chin. In Yorkshire, she had considered herself something of an expert in the fine art of flirting, but here in Town the level of pretense that men and women engaged in was far beyond her talents. “I fear I have much to learn,” she whispered.

“I believe you are a quick study,” Lord Dardington interjected. “However, if you encounter any problems, I am here to assist.”

Dorothea could not help the skeptical look she gave Lord Dardington, uncertain how much help he could offer. More than likely, he would scare off a large number of her potential suitors, and that would not be much help when her intent was to find a husband. Then again, would she truly wish to marry a man who could not hold his own against an intimidating opponent?

She smiled coyly as the gentlemen clamored around her, trying not to be obvious as her eyes searched the group for one man in particular. One man she feared was not in attendance.

Carter Grayson, Marquess of Atwood. He had remained in her thoughts these six days since the Earl of Wessex’s ball. Lady Meredith had expressed mild surprise when there had been no note, no flowers, no call from the handsome marquess, but Dorothea knew this would be the outcome. She had no expectation of being pursued by a man of his stature.

Still, it had been disappointing to be proven correct.

“Miss Ellingham, I simply must insist that you allow me a dance.”

Dorothea turned and her eyes fell on the impressive girth of Sir Perry. His florid face flushed, he bowed as low as his corseted chest would allow. When he straightened, the tuff of pale blond hair that grew on the crown of his head remained over his eyes. Hastily he pushed it back over his scalp.

“Of course I shall reserve a dance for you,” she answered, hoping Sir Perry was not going to make a nuisance of himself. “A quadrille would be perfect.”

“I am honored.” He poked at the strands of hair that had again fallen over his eyes. “And for the second dance, perhaps a waltz?”

Dorothea inwardly groaned. She had been introduced to Sir Perry the second week she arrived in Town and during that initial conversation had ruled him out as a possible husband. He was too old, too self-important, and much too boring.

Still, she thought it cruel to cut him directly. He was harmless and it never hurt to have a circle of admirers. A waltz, however, was far too intimate a dance to consider engaging in with him. It would most certainly give him the wrong impression of her feelings.

She smiled vaguely in response to his request, but Sir Perry did not seem to notice. The sound of his own voice was the only thing he preferred to his meals, and he soon dominated the conversation. The other gentlemen appeared to be waiting for him to catch his breath so they could get in a word.

Dorothea’s smile widened as she appreciated the ironic humor of the situation. Tuning out Sir Perry’s prattle, she began to look about the ballroom.

Her gaze halted on one gentleman in particular and a shiver of awareness went down her spine. Atwood! She recognized him instantly. His broad shoulders were unmistakable, his dark hair brushed and gleaming in the candlelight. He was tall and athletically built; his midnight blue eyes clear, intelligent, and assessing.

Dorothea could not contain the sigh that fell from her lips. The marquess was what her younger sister Emma would call dangerously handsome.

Unexpectedly he turned and looked directly at Dorothea. Their eyes met and her breath hitched. He was standing on the opposite side of the room, and yet she felt the full force of his regard. His expression never altered; it remained calm, open, and pleasant. Yet she read within it an unspoken challenge.

A ripple of nervous energy went through her, along with an unfamiliar flush of heat. It was as if her entire body was blushing.

Against her better judgment, Dorothea commanded herself to stare at him directly. He was dressed in formal evening clothes, as he had been the other night. They were luxurious and expertly tailored and she wondered briefly what he would look like in more casual attire, or even more shocking, what he would look like wearing no clothing at all.

The image brought another flush to her face. Dorothea nearly groaned out loud. Drat! She had wanted to remain poised and inscrutable when she next faced the marquess. Instead, she appeared gauche and naïve.

She took a deliberate breath and waited for her wits to stop spinning. Really. He was just a man. No different certainly from most of his gender.

Yet for all his refined looks and manners, he had a rugged appeal that she found alarmingly attractive. And the glimpse she had been given of his humorous side had only whetted her appetite for more.

He slipped into the crowd. Dorothea’s eyes searched frantically for his whereabouts, darting to and fro before she suddenly caught herself. What was she doing? Making a complete and utter ninny of herself, that was certain. How truly mortifying.

Scolding herself for squandering the opportunity to bask in the attention of the numerous gentlemen standing right in front of her, Dorothea blinked hard.

Sir Perry was still droning on about something. No matter.

“Gentlemen, my dance card looks woefully bare.” Her unexpected interruption startled Sir Perry into silence. Seizing the moment, Dorothea smiled flirtatiously at her circle of admirers. “Pray tell, whose name shall I write in for the first waltz?”

“Looking for anyone in particular?”

The male voice at Carter’s ear startled him, but he managed not to jump. “Not so much looking as avoiding,” he said drolly.

“Hmm, let me guess,” Viscount Benton said. His eyes swept the room and his expression grew puzzled. “Hell, there are almost too many unmarried ladies here to select just one that you need to avoid.”

“Yes,” Carter agreed grimly. “And nearly half of these females are on my father’s infernal list.”

The viscount’s brow rose. “I thought you were going to burn that damn list.”

The marquess shrugged. “I was, but then I reasoned it would be far wiser to memorize the names, so I know which females I must ignore.”

“And how is that going?” Benton asked, amusement edging his tone.

“Not well.”

“Perhaps we should retreat to the card room,” the viscount suggested. “Unmarried females generally refrain from sitting at the tables.”

“I think it is safer if we leave the ball,” Carter replied, wishing again that he had sent his regrets. He could hardly try to court a woman with his father here. Besides, the one female who most captured his attention was tonight’s honored guest, and she was already taken. By Arthur Pengrove, of all people. “There is a new girl working at Raven’s Paradise. Madame Angelina assures me she is supremely talented.”

The viscount cleared his throat. Confused, Carter looked closely at his friend. “Are you blushing, Benton?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Atwood,” the viscount scoffed. “I would be more than happy to accompany you to the brothel and I shall even wager that I will be the first to have a go at the new girl.”