How to Seduce a Sinner. Adrienne Basso
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at the numerous banquet tables. Somehow Lord Dardington located his wife, Lady Meredith, among the crush. After securing a secluded table for the three of them, he hailed a footman to bring them a selection of delicacies from the buffet.
“Are you enjoying the ball, Dorothea?” Lady Meredith asked as they waited for the food to be brought. She was a pretty, levelheaded woman, whose face and form gave no hint that she was the mother of three girls, the eldest nearly ten years old.
Dorothea had been shy at their first meeting, but soon warmed to Lady Meredith’s unpretentious spirit and kind demeanor. She admired the older woman’s sophisticated attitude and optimistic outlook. She was also slightly in awe of how Lady Meredith managed her very stormy, volatile husband.
“The ball seems to be a great success,” Dorothea replied, making a great show of interest in the china plate the footman placed before her and deliberately refraining from making any comments about her feelings on the events of the evening.
She swallowed her first bite of a delicate veal pastry, and had just filled her fork with another when she felt the marquess’s gaze measuring her.
“Do you want to tell Meredith what happened or shall I?” Lord Dardington asked. “’Tis your decision.”
“It was merely a dance,” Dorothea answered slowly, lowering her fork to her plate. “And a misunderstanding on Lord Atwood’s part that the set had been promised to you.”
“You cannot mean the supper dance?” Lady Meredith asked. “But you are here together. Did you not take to the floor as you planned, Trevor?”
Lady Meredith frowned and Dorothea understood her confusion. It was expected that those who partnered for the supper dance then partook of the meal together when the dance ended. Yet here she was with Lord Dardington; Lord Atwood was no where to be found.
“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