How To Seduce A Sinner

ask, were you in love with Lord Dardington when you married?”

Lady Meredith frowned. “Not at first.” She thanked the eager young footman who removed their dirty dinner plates and then turned back to Dorothea. “Is that what you want? To fall in love and then marry?”

Was it what she wanted? Dorothea felt a small shiver move through her. Slowly, she shook her head. “I suppose what I want most from the man I marry is the possibility of falling in love.”

“Well, there are all sorts of marriages that are deemed very successful by society’s standards,” Lady Meredith said. “For the most part, being in love with one’s spouse is considered rather bad form by many of the ton. Either before or during the marriage.”

“Yet both you and your two brothers married for love.”

Lady Meredith laughed. “Yes, the Barrington family is well known for its eccentricities. And I for one am very glad of it.” The older woman’s expression sobered. “I shall give you one piece of advice and ask you to consider it most carefully. Don’t rush yourself, Dorothea. I can bear witness that the old adage, marry in haste, repent at leisure, is unfortunately true.”

“Ladies, I come bearing gifts.” The marquess’s deep voice cut into the conversation. Lord Dardington appeared at their table with two footmen carrying large silver trays in tow. “’Twas too difficult to decide upon a single sweet, so I brought one of everything.”

Both Dorothea and Lady Meredith let out a squeal of delight. With broad smiles they hastily made space on the small table for all the plates. The marquess resumed his seat and within minutes they were all busy tasting and then passing around the dishes, each exclaiming over their favorites and encouraging the others to have a sample.

As Dorothea chewed on a sinfully rich piece of cake, her thoughts turned to Lord Atwood. He had pulled her into a dance this evening without knowing her name. He had called her the future Mrs. Arthur Pengrove. How on earth did he know that Arthur had proposed? Dorothea believed she could say with a fair degree of certainty that the two men were not friends, making it impossible that Arthur would have confided his plans to the marquess.

Dorothea spooned a generous portion of raspberry trifle into her mouth. As the sweetness of the berries burst upon her tongue, she paused for a few seconds to relish the flavor. She took a second bite and decided this was most likely a puzzle that might never have a proper resolution.

Chapter Three

It was a pleasantly warm, cloudless afternoon. Carter rode cautiously through the clogged streets, as fast as the London traffic would allow, all the while thinking he should have brought his carriage. That vehicle most assuredly would have been moving at a snail’s pace as his driver sought to negotiate around the other carriages, carts, riders, and pedestrians.

Carter was in no hurry to reach his destination. Far from it, really. His father would still be in a furious mood, no matter what time he called. The tersely worded message had arrived at Carter’s bachelor rooms at the unfashionably early hour of nine a.m. His anxious valet had woken him the moment it was delivered, deciding a summons from the duke was sufficient reason to ignore his master’s long-standing order never to disturb him when the bed curtains were drawn tightly shut.

Carter had thrown the unopened letter at his servant’s head, rolled over, and pulled the covers to his chin. But his sleep had been effectively disrupted and he had been unable to restore it. Rousing himself two hours later, he bathed, allowed himself to be shaved and dressed, then ate a hearty meal. Deciding he could put it off no longer, the marquess reluctantly ordered his horse to be brought around.

The sunshine of the day had initially boosted his mood, but those good spirits diminished as he drew closer to his father’s residence. Grimacing, Carter steered his mount around a tipped vegetable cart, secretly hoping his horse would stop to nibble on the greenery strewn about the street. But the animal kept his head lifted proudly in the air, disdaining the bounty beneath his hooves.

All too soon he reached the doors of his father’s stately London mansion. It was the largest, and the oldest, residence in the square, a testament to his family’s aristocratic ancestry, position, and wealth. Three reminders Carter did not need at the moment.

The same stoic butler who had never failed to intimidate Carter when he was a boy answered the door a split second after the brass knocker fell.

“Lord Atwood.” The butler bowed respectfully. “May I take your hat and coat?”

Carter could not contain the smile that broke through as he divested himself of his outwear. His father’s servants always managed to seem surprised when he appeared on the doorstep, as if he had journeyed from a great distance instead of from across Town.

Then again, most days he felt as though he lived a world away from this place and all it represented.

“Please inform my father that I have arrived,” he said, brushing away an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his blue superfine jacket.

“The duke asks that you await him in his private study,” the butler replied.

Carter nodded, then held up his hand to refuse the footman’s escort. Honestly, sometimes the formality of his father’s home was not to be believed. He had grown up in this house, well, this house and several other estates. He certainly did not require assistance in finding his way to the duke’s private study.

When he arrived, the room was predictably empty. And ominously quiet. Even the ormolu clock on the mantel barely made a sound as it ticked off the minutes. Restless, Carter remained on his feet, resisting the urge to pace.

Yet the longer he waited, the longer he was forced to review the events of last night in his mind. Dancing with Miss Dorothea Ellingham had been a mistake. She was a newly engaged female; he had no right to be flirting with her, no right to enjoy her company so very much; no right to use her as a way to avoid an introduction to the woman his father had expressly said he wanted Carter to meet.

And not dancing with Lady Audrey Parson last night had been an even graver error. It was that action that brought him to the predicament he faced this afternoon.

Finally, the duke entered the study. He spared a brief glance at his son, then perched himself regally on an ornate chair behind an enormous mahogany desk. Carter settled himself against the very uncomfortable straight- back chair opposite that desk.

“I thought to ask you for an explanation for your behavior last night, but have decided it would be a waste of your breath and an even greater waste of my time. There is simply no acceptable excuse.”

Carter strove to elicit an appearance of calm. Yet all the while, his stomach churned and his jaw ached with the effort it took to keep it firmly shut. Arguments with the Duke of Hansborough were seldom won. Especially when the duke was in such a high temper.

“I was humiliated!” the duke roared at his son. “Made to look like a complete ass in front of half the ton. By my own son, no less.”

“It was not my intention to insult you or show any disrespect, sir.”

The duke’s face darkened. “Intention or not, it was the result.”

“True, I was aware that you wanted me to meet Lady Audrey. Yet there was a crush of people at the ball. It was easy to become lost in the crowd,” Carter said.

“You did it deliberately,” the duke accused, his voice dripping in irritation.

It was the truth and they both knew it. Carter had no ready reply, no adequate defense. He turned the conundrum over in his mind and wisely decided it would be foolish to try and talk his way around his father’s ire. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

The duke hesitated and then apparently saw the sincere apology in his son’s face. Nevertheless, a lecture ensued. Carter barely listened. It had all been said before, countless times. He will run out of breath, Carter told himself. Eventually. Carter waited, soundlessly adjusting the angle of his leg, trying to remain as serene as possible.

Finally, the duke paused. The color on his face was no longer a stark, bright red; it had dulled to a healthy- looking glow. “You shall marry by the end of the Season. I have made a list of females I find acceptable, women