Adrienne Basso - How To Seduce A Sinner

© 2010

London, Spring, 1818

Dorothea’s heart leapt with excitement as Mr. Arthur Pengrove shifted his position on the marble bench and moved close to her, perilously close. A gentle spring breeze blew the sweet scent of the exotic flowers from the garden into their secluded hideaway; the night sky glowed with dozens of twinkling stars; the muffled strains of music from the ballroom drifted near. It was a picture-perfect night, tailor-made for romance.

“Your eyes are the most enchanting shade of blue, Miss Ellingham. They remind me of a summer sky after dawn has struck, alight with the promise of a glorious day,” he whispered as his eyes dropped to her mouth.

“Oh, Mr. Pengrove.”

Dorothea’s eyes fluttered shut as she leaned forward in subtle encouragement. Finally, he was going to kiss her! She had given Arthur Pengrove her exclusive attention for the past two weeks and now she was about to discover if he was the man she would marry, the partner with whom she would spend the rest of her life. It was a momentous, life-altering moment and her heart beat with excitement.

His breath wafted across her cheek. Valiantly, Dorothea tried to still her racing heart, tried to remain calm and in control. Hesitantly, timidly, Mr. Pengrove’s lips at last touched hers. They felt soft, almost babyish, as they grazed her own. Her initial instinct was to recoil, but she squashed it, hoping the kiss would improve.

Alas, it did not.

How dreadfully disappointing! This was nothing at all like the tantalizing yearning she had longed to feel, the heady desire she so desperately sought.

Dorothea made a small, low sound in the back of her throat, thinking it would stimulate her reticent beau. But the noise succeeded only in startling him. Mr. Pengrove’s limp, moist lips scuttled across hers a second time, then abruptly pulled away.

Dorothea’s shoulders slumped. The stab of disappointment was a physical pain, deflating her body as well as her spirits. She honestly believed he could have been the one. He was the third man who had courted her this Season, the third man she had allowed to kiss her. Yet apparently her aunt Mildred’s favorite adage of saying the third time was the charm was soundly flawed.

With effort, Dorothea resisted the strong need to lower her face into her palms and sigh heavily with frustration. It would be unforgivably rude to act so insensitively. Instead, she pressed her fingers hard against her temple, trying to ease the sudden pounding in her head.

Her despondency so overtook her awareness that she was barely conscious of Mr. Pengrove’s actions until out of the corner of her eye she saw him sink down on one knee.

Oh, heavens! Now on top of her vast disappointment she was going to have to refuse his marriage proposal. The evening, which had started out with such promise and optimism, was fast turning into an unmitigated disaster.

Mr. Pengrove took her hand, placing it between his cold, damp palms. Dorothea’s head snapped up, her mind racing to formulate a response that would firmly discourage him while at the same time spare his feelings.

“Miss Ellingham.” His voice was a high-pitched squeak. He cleared his throat, then tried again. “Dearest Miss Ellingham. Dorothea. These past few weeks we have spent together have been a joy. More than anything, I wish to formalize our attachment, to make permanent our relationship and legalize our union. However, before I make a formal declaration to you, I must speak with your guardian. If you are agreeable?”

Dorothea stared down at him, unsure where to begin. He looked unfailingly earnest in the moonlight and terribly young. “My uncle, Mr. Fletcher Ellingham, is my legal guardian, but as you well know he has not journeyed to London for the Season,” she replied.

“Then I suppose that role is now relegated to your sister,” Mr. Pengrove said slowly. “Or rather her husband, Mr. Jason Barrington. I believe I must apply to him with my request.”

Mr. Pengrove blanched slightly as he spoke, and Dorothea could not fault his reluctance. Her brother-in-law was something of a ton legend, known for his wild, scandalous behavior, his daring feats and dangerous exploits. He was hardly the sort of man Arthur Pengrove usually came in contact with, let alone knew.

“Actually, Gwendolyn and Jason are also not in Town. They are at home, awaiting the birth of their first child,” Dorothea reported, seizing on what she thought would be the best way to extricate herself from this sticky situation. “As you no doubt remember, Jason’s sister kindly agreed to be my sponsor for the Season. It therefore has fallen to her husband to act as my guardian.”

Mr. Pengrove blinked. “The Marquess of Dardington?”

“Yes. And I do confess he has taken his role as my protector most seriously.”

The remaining bit of color on Mr. Pengrove’s earnest face drained away. Jason Barrington might be an intimidating presence, but the Marquess of Dardington was positively lethal. She did not blame Mr. Pengrove one iota for feeling ill at the prospect of facing that haughty, powerful aristocrat.

“I am certain he will require a formal request for a meeting.” Mr. Pengrove removed his white linen handkerchief and wiped at the sweat forming on his brow. “It will take me several days to properly compose a letter that will adequately convey the seriousness of my intentions.”

“Mr. Pengrove…Arthur.” Dorothea gentled the tone of her voice. “I think it better for both of us if you do not rush to make an appointment to see the marquess. The household has been in an uproar lately as things have not been going as he wishes in the House of Lords. I daresay, he has been in the very blackest of tempers for the past week, far worse than usual.”

“Egad!” Arthur’s eyes widened.

Dorothea patted his arm solicitously. She genuinely liked Mr. Pengrove. He was but a few years older than her own age of twenty-one, possessed a pleasant face, a tall, lanky frame, and friendly, uncomplicated eyes. He had an agreeable temperament and a kind nature. Many in society labeled him dull, but Dorothea found his unsophisticated, straightforward manner soothing. He had a comfortable fortune and a lovely estate in Kent that he studiously and successfully managed.

She had been more than willing to overlook his close attachment to his overbearing mother, his somber style of dressing, and his enthusiastic passion for collecting insects. But the emotionless, soulless kiss they had just shared could not be overlooked. She shuddered, imagining herself spending the rest of her life trying to endure those kisses.

“I suppose it would be prudent to wait before approaching the marquess,” Mr. Pengrove muttered, more to himself than to her. “So as to be sure I do everything correctly, properly, and most importantly in a manner that will not offend him.”

Dorothea shook her head slowly. “I think ’tis even more prudent to reconsider our future.”

“Reconsider?”

“Yes. I am honored beyond words to receive such marked attention from you, yet I must speak frankly. I think you are too young to wed, Mr. Pengrove. And I am certain that is what the marquess will say to you.” She cleared her throat. “Among other things.”