Adrienne Basso - How To Seduce A Sinner

“Atwood tried to steal her from me,” Lord Dardington said. “He was successful with the dance, but I prevailed when it came to the meal.”

Lady Meredith carefully examined Dorothea’s face. “At whose request did you intervene? Dorothea’s?” she asked her husband.

The marquess bristled at the question. “I am responsible for Dorothea’s welfare. I would never forgive myself if I let any harm befall her while she was under my care.”

Lady Meredith shot him a sharp glance. “Were you distressed, Dorothea? Did you need Lord Dardington to intervene?”

Dorothea slowly chewed on her veal, making certain to take a small bite so she wouldn’t choke. Lady Meredith possessed an uncanny ability to see a situation more clearly than one might wish. It was a habit Dorothea found worrisome when it was directed at her.

“Lord Atwood took me by surprise, but there was no harm done by him.” Dorothea knew what else she needed to say and she couldn’t quite meet Lady Meredith’s eyes as she strove to be tactful. “Though strictly speaking it might not have been necessary, I did appreciate Lord Dardington’s assistance.”

“As I said,” the marquess crowed to his wife.

“It was actually the second time I danced with Lord Atwood,” Dorothea interjected. “He partnered me at the Willingford ball several weeks ago.” Though clearly he did not remember me, she thought wryly.

“Two dances? I was not aware.” The marquess frowned as he poured them each some wine from the bottle the footman had left on the table. “’Tis no secret that his father wishes him to wed, but Atwood seems ill inclined to follow the duke’s dictates. Plus his reputation hardly recommends him as a man I would consider a suitable husband, despite his wealth and title.”

“Gentlemen with far worse reputations and reckless youthful behavior have managed to make solid matches and proven themselves to be good husbands,” Lady Meredith said affectionately. “You included, my love.”

The remark seemed to have a mellowing effect on Lord Dardington. “To be fair, I suppose Atwood isn’t all that bad. Yet I still contend it won’t be easy for any woman he takes as a wife. His father is a horror. Makes my own dear, autocratic sire seem like a tamed house cat in comparison.”

“Heaven save us all from self-important aristocrats.” Lady Meredith hoisted her wineglass and took a long sip. “Honestly, dukes can be the most dreadful snobs. Except for my father-in-law. He is a delightful man.”

Lord Dardington regarded his wife with an easy grin. “I am certain you are the only woman on this earth who refers to my father as delightful.”

She returned the smile. “It’s true.”

“Ah, how quickly you have forgotten the great struggle it took to make him your champion.”

Lady Meredith waved her hand dismissively. “That was ages ago. Besides, it was a challenge to bring him around. I like a challenge.”

“I like a challenge, too,” Dorothea said, internally scoffing at the notion that the handsome marquess was genuinely interested in her. She was a country lass, with an unimpressive dowry and very little family connections. “But I fear the Marquess of Atwood is a trifle too high in the instep to have any true interest in me. And I cannot even contemplate trying to impress his father, the Duke of Hansborough.”

“Still, this was your second dance,” Lady Meredith mused.

Dorothea shrugged. “Perhaps he was showing an interest in me merely to vex his father.”

“Stranger things have been known to happen. We shall assess his sincerity when he comes to call,” Lady Meredith decided.

Dorothea’s eyes widened. “I do believe we are getting ahead of ourselves. Lord Atwood did not indicate that he would be calling upon me.”

“That does not mean he won’t present himself on my doorstep,” the marquess grumbled. “Hat in one hand, flowers in the other. If he invites you on a carriage ride, I insist that you bring Meredith along as a chaperone.”

“Dashing young men his age drive those sporty phaetons, Trevor,” Lady Meredith said mildly. “There is only room for two. Where exactly am I to sit? On Lord Atwood’s lap?”

“If you did, I would be forced to challenge him to a duel. ’Twould be a pity to end the life of one so young.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lady Meredith reached across the table and placed her hand over her husband’s. He immediately turned his palm up and gripped Lady Meredith’s hand tightly. “There will be no duels, Trevor,” she said in a soft, yet insistent tone.

“I protect my own,” the marquess said with exasperation, “and that includes Dorothea.”

“Thank you,” Dorothea hastily replied. Though it was rather appalling to think of the marquess fighting a duel for her, it also heartened her to know there was someone who would stand by and make sure she was safe, guarded from any man who would abuse her.

Her uncle Fletcher had not shown anything near the same level of concern for any of his three nieces, though he vowed to reform just before Dorothea came to London.

“Of course you must protect her,” Lady Meredith said. “Using your intelligence and influence, not your sword or pistol.” Lady Meredith pulled her hand away and brushed a stray wisp of hair off her cheek. “Now, there shall be no more talk of violence. The very idea utterly ruins my appetite.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the marquess nodded. He speared a delicate scallop with the tines of his fork and held it toward his wife. With an impish grin, she accepted the peace offering, her lips closing suggestively over the tasty morsel.

Good. That was very nicely settled. Though she was far too often the cause of it, family discord always made Dorothea nervous. She was pleased that Lady Meredith and the marquess had so amicably settled their difference.

Only one hurdle remained. Dorothea took a deep breath. “Arthur Pengrove proposed to me earlier this evening,” she announced in a breathless rush.

Lord and Lady Dardington shared a cryptic glance before Lady Meredith’s delicately arched brow lifted. “Really?”

“There is no cause for you to look so worried,” Dorothea said with deliberate lightness. “I turned him down. Or rather, I convinced him he was far too young to take on the responsibility of a wife.”

“Thank you,” the marquess said sincerely. “Enduring a meeting with Pengrove would have been torture for me. I’m certain I would have felt as though I was kicking a rabbit when I forbade him to propose.”

Dorothea’s head swiveled in the marquess’s direction. “You would have turned him away?”

“Of course.”

The marquess nodded and returned to his meal, spearing a large piece of rare roast beef on his fork. Dorothea regarded him warily as he chewed his food with obvious relish.

“But what if I wanted to marry Mr. Pengrove?”

Lord Dardington paused, his fork halfway between his mouth and his plate. “Why in the world would you want to spend your life with Arthur Pengrove?”

“I don’t. But if I did, would you prevent it? Can you prevent it?”

“My dear girl, I can do just about anything I please,” the marquess answered in a firm tone. “And I want every gentleman within a ten-mile radius of London to be very aware of that fact.”

Dorothea swallowed her panic. It was daunting to be faced with the reality of how much power the marquess had over her, even though this was only a temporary arrangement. The prospect of having to find a man that met with his approval was unsettling. Most unsettling, indeed.

Lady Meredith must have sensed Dorothea’s distress, for she gave her husband a troubled look. “What Trevor means to say is that we have taken the responsibility for your future happiness very much to heart. We agreed to be your sponsor this Season so you would have the opportunity to meet and mingle with a variety of eligible men.