How to Seduce a Sinner. Adrienne Basso
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escape. He had promised his father, the Duke of Hansborough, that he would see him this evening, and his father had not yet arrived. Hence, Carter was trapped.
He turned a corner and followed the hedgerow down a gravel path. No lanterns had been lit in this section of the garden and the darkness seemed to creep in, erasing all sense of time and place. But Carter did not mind. The eerie stillness and inky blackness fit his solitary mood.
He paused beside a fountain, the tinkling sounds of running water soothing his spirit. Fifteen more minutes and he would return to the ballroom. Another hour and he would leave, his father be damned.
The merest trace of a smile broke the grim line of his lips as Carter speculated as to why his father was unaccustomedly late to the ball, knowing there had to be a specific reason. The Duke of Hansborough never did anything without calculated thought, and Carter had several theories about his father’s behavior tonight. Each of them pertaining to marriage.
To Carter’s great annoyance, marriage was very much on his father’s mind these days. And when his father got his mind wrapped around something, he was more tenacious than a dog with a bone, refusing to drop it until he was satisfied with the result.
Carter admired his father, respected his father, loved his father. Yet he often did not agree with the duke, and on this matter they were very much at odds. Carter did not oppose the idea of marriage. He knew it was his duty to take a wife and beget an heir, and he fully intended to do it. He had actually made up his mind to find himself a wife this Season, but this would be done on his own terms. A concept his father had a great difficulty understanding.
Carter resumed his walk about the garden, his footsteps echoing through the balmy spring air. As he rounded another corner, a muffled sound brought his head up. He spied a man and woman locked in an embrace, their lips fused together. He turned his head away, but a louder noise brought it back around.
He squinted a little, then arched an eyebrow as the couple ended the embrace and the man sank to one knee, prostrating himself before the woman perched so elegantly on the garden bench.
Bloody hell! He had stumbled upon a marriage proposal. The sight made Carter’s gut clench. The night clouds shifted and a shaft of moonlight fell upon the pair, revealing the slight frame and somber profile of the gentleman. It was Arthur Pengrove.
Good Lord, what was the world coming to when a young, inexperienced pup like Pengrove took on the responsibilities of a wife? Carter continued to stare at the couple, suddenly feeling very old.
The future Mrs. Pengrove turned her head and he caught a glimpse of her features in the moonlight. She was very pretty. Delicate and refined. He thought he might have danced with her a few weeks ago, but was not entirely certain.
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