How To Seduce A Sinner

Chapter Eight

Carter smiled. It was precisely the type of challenging remark he had hoped she would make. Hearing it solidified in his mind the thought that had been swirling in his head ever since he had spoken with her at the Duke of Warwick’s ball and learned her progressive ideas about marriage. She would be an excellent wife. For him.

Oh, his father would not be entirely thrilled with her, given her lack of fortune and family prestige, and her limited connections. Not to mention the fact that she was not on the duke’s infernal list of potential daughters-in-law.

But those objections would soon disappear when Carter made plain his determination to take her for his wife. His lips curled in an ironic line as he realized selecting Miss Ellingham as his bride was eerily close to Benton’s idiotic plan to thwart the duke by finding an unsuitable woman and insisting she was the only one he would marry.

But Miss Ellingham was not unsuitable. She was a genteel woman, a gentleman’s daughter, raised as a lady. This was the obvious answer. He needed to take a wife. Sooner, rather than later. And thus he was perfectly sincere in his offer, in fact pleased with himself at finding such a brilliant solution.

This was no sham. They would marry. She would belong to him.

“Since it appears the only way I can procure that most desired second kiss, then obviously we must marry. My dear, won’t you say yes to my proposal so that we may kiss again?” He leaned closer, his eyes darkening with purpose. “Kiss and perhaps a bit more.”

It took a few moments for his words to register in her mind. Carter fancied he knew precisely when she had digested them fully, for she pursed her lips, shook her head, then drew a deep breath. “I fear you have drunk too much wine with dinner, my lord.”

“Only two glasses.”

“Then your head must have hit a branch or something when you jumped in the lake yesterday afternoon, for clearly your brain is addled.”

“I am serious.”

“About marrying me? We barely know each other.”

His smile broadened. The more she objected, the more the correctness of his decision was confirmed in his mind. “I have it on very good authority that knowing someone well and planning too much is not a requirement for a successful marriage.”

She was staring up at him with astonishment. No, it was more than astonishment. Disbelief and open skepticism were present, too. “And you dared to disparage my method of engaging in a single kiss to aid in the final choice? For shame, my lord.”

“On the contrary. I applaud your rather, hmm, unique ideas of choosing a husband. ’Tis progressive and most effective.” He eyed her from head to toe with deliberate slowness. “And thoroughly enjoyable.”

She rolled her eyes and attempted to step around him. He blocked the way effortlessly. For several seconds they simply stared at each other. The more he gazed into her lovely face, the more aroused he became. Yes, this was the right decision. He would no have difficulties providing the heir his father so keenly craved. No difficulty at all.

“Your proposal is so completely unexpected,” she finally muttered, still unconvinced and distrustful. “I need time to consider my answer.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she sputtered, crossing her arms under her breasts. “Unlike you, my lord, I take the idea of marriage most seriously.”

“But the kiss…” He let his voice trail off suggestively.

Cheeks blushing, she shifted from one foot to the other. “The kiss is but one part of my decision. There are other, equally important considerations.”

“I have taken those into account. My wealth, my lineage, my age, all make me an excellent candidate. My wife will not want for anything. She will eventually take her place among the highest ranks of society when I inherit the dukedom. Most women would be honored at the proposal.”

Her mouth quirked. “I am not most women,” she declared ruefully. “And while I certainly agree that you are considered by many to be the prize of the matrimonial Season, my requirements in a husband extend beyond his wealth and position. Temperament and compatibility are also key elements to be considered, not to mention character.”

“I will gladly compare my character to that of Lord Rosen,” he replied with confidence.

“That is hardly a testimonial. Napoleon would rank higher in character when compared to Lord Rosen,” she said. “Besides, I rejected him.”

Carter scratched his head, mystified by her reaction. This was not precisely how he envisioned his proposal being received. Though honestly, he had not spent much time planning it. Maybe that was the reason it was going so poorly?

“My dear, we both know very well that you have been actively seeking a husband. I, in turn, require a wife and have decided you would make me an excellent one. Even more beneficial, the spark of passion you require is very evident between us.”

The sound of her laughter carried no humor. “Is it really that simple, my lord?”

“It can be.” Carter creased his brow. Perhaps he had miscalculated with his impromptu proposal. Perhaps she wanted, needed more. “Unless you require a more chivalrous, romantic gesture?”

Her face alighted with interest. “If I did, would you provide it?”

“Reluctantly.”

He was surprised to see the flash of disappointment on her lovely face. Carter frowned. Maybe this was not the brilliant idea he thought, proposing so hastily. Perhaps Miss Ellingham was more of a romantic than she knew.

For a moment her expression turned wistful. Then she shook her head, blinked her eyes, and lifted her chin. “You are right, my lord. I deplore pretense, especially between a man and a woman. I would not appreciate any false show of regard or affection from you unless it was sincerely and honestly given.”

Damn! Carter surveyed her silently. While not enamored with the idea, he certainly felt enough genuine passion and regard for her that he could have enacted a more memorable marriage proposal. He simply had not realized it would be necessary.

He glanced at the nearest rose bush, his eyes resting on a single, perfectly formed bloom. It would take little effort to pluck the rose, brush it across his lips, gallantly present it to her and ask again if she would be his bride. Yet instinctively he knew that could be a fatal move. Surely she would regard the gesture as pure artifice.

For a long time she did not move, did not speak. Her lovely blue eyes remained clouded with confusion and mistrust. Carter began to pace about in the small space, the restless movement helping to contain his frustration. He was racking his brain, trying to formulate his next argument, when she let out a long sigh.

The sound of it hurt him somewhere deep inside and a swell of disappointment filled his throat. The emotions caught him completely by surprise. She is going to refuse! Without thinking, Carter abruptly went down on one knee and took her hand in his. “Please, Miss Ellingham, accept my offer of marriage. I vow you shall never regret becoming my wife.”

She considered him in silence, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. Then, at long last, her eyes softened and she slowly nodded. “I grant you my permission to speak with Lord Dardington. If he agrees, we shall marry.”

Carter’s heart leapt. Reacting purely on emotion, he stood up, grabbed her forcefully around the waist, and brought his mouth down upon hers.

It happened so quickly, Dorothea had no time to resist. Stunned, she languished in his strong, powerful arms, her body pressed intimately against his heated strength. There were times when she had not liked the press of a man’s lips against hers, had not liked feeling so dominated by a large, powerful male. But this was different. This was magical.

He angled his head to deepen the kiss, then flicked his tongue inside, coaxing her, daring her to respond. Dorothea’s hands tightened into fists on the front of his evening coat as she leaned into him, her emotions rioting.

She needed, wanted, craved. Dorothea rose up on her toes, returning the kiss, her tongue darting and teasing and tasting. Desire, bold and unexpected, roared through her veins. Opening her hands, she released his coat and twined her arms around his strong neck. He made a low noise deep in his throat and the sound seemed to vibrate through her.

It was a soul-searing kiss, a promise of passion and delight that left her body feeling weak, her mind numb. His hands felt strong and warm as they wandered over her back, then lower. Cupping her bottom, he pulled her closer to his hardness.

It was madness. It was passion. It was irresistible. Her body seemed to melt into his, tightening with longing at each kiss, each caress. He kissed her throat, pressing his lips against a sensitive spot right below her ear, and Dorothea forgot everything but the feelings exploding inside her.

“You are so sweet,” he whispered. “So incredibly delightful.”

Dorothea couldn’t catch her breath. She arched forward, kissing him back in growing abandonment. His hand moved from her backside up to her shoulder, then down across her chest. She felt her dress loosen, enough to allow his hand access. His fingers slid inside the garment, moving lightly across the curves of her breasts, caressing the bare flesh.

“Atwood…” she breathed shakily.

“Carter. My name is Carter. Say it.”

“Carter,” she whispered, hardly believing how wildly excited she could become by merely saying his name.

He inhaled sharply. With his fingertips he circled and teased her nipples until they hardened. Dorothea moaned. The shocking pleasure of his touch sent a bolt of passion spiraling through her. Moaning again, she arched herself forward until her breasts were even deeper into his large hands, her body quivering with want and longing.

“Exquisite,” he whispered, lowering his head.

He placed a trail of kisses down her neck and across her bare shoulder, then shockingly put his mouth on her breast. Dorothea cried out. He pulled the nipple fully into his mouth and pleasure shook her with such force she thought she might faint. Her pulse quickened and she wondered whose heart was thundering louder, hers or his.

Awash in a sea of pleasure, Dorothea felt the desire race through every part of her body. All of her awareness and concentration was centered on him and the fire he was creating deep inside her. His kisses, his touch, his strength. Yet when she felt his questing fingers sliding along the inside of her thigh, Dorothea’s addled brain awoke.

“Enough!” With strength she never knew she possessed, she pulled away.

Carter immediately moved toward her, his face dark with passion. “It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I am not afraid,” she lied. Her breath was billowing out in alarming gasps, her chest heaving. She felt raw and restless and so completely unlike herself it was damn near terrifying.

He reached out to brush an errant curl from her cheek. The graze of his knuckle made her skin tingle. “Your passion excites me,” he confessed in a husky voice.

And me. Shivering with yearning, Dorothea closed her eyes. Her complete abandon and lack of control was a startling discovery.

“We are not yet engaged, my lord, much less married,” she declared, opening her eyes and staring into his, wanting to impress upon him her genuine concern.

A slow, sensual smile spread across his face. “I was hoping you would be bold enough to anticipate those vows.”

Hot color washed into her cheeks. How mortifying! Even more so because it was true. With the right approach, Dorothea feared he could get her to do just about anything.

“I will pretend that I did not hear that insulting remark,” she bristled, inhaling deeply to control her mixed emotions. She needed to gain control of the situation, but that was somewhat difficult given her heightened emotions. And her loosened clothing.

Turning away, she began to hastily adjust the front of her gown, tugging her bodice into place. She felt him move closer and her body instinctively went rigid, but the hands at her back merely fastened the hooks of her gown. Which was only fair, she decided, since he had been the one to open them.

“There, all safely covered again,” he announced.

“Thank you.” Gathering up her courage, she turned to face him.

His eyes ran over her in a slow, sensual caress, sending a curl of heat into her midsection. “I will speak with Lord Dardington tomorrow,” he announced.

“Tomorrow,” Dorothea echoed. Her pulse began to thump as the full implication of his words registered in her brain. This was real, this was happening.

She had done it. She had secured a husband, had wrangled a proposal from one of society’s most eligible gentleman. Not only wrangled the proposal, but for all intents and purposes accepted it.

Saints above, I am going to be a marchioness. And someday, a duchess!

There was, of course, a very slight chance that Lord Dardington would refuse Lord Atwood’s offer. Yet given his current state of mind and excessive gratitude for Atwood’s rescue of his daughters, that seemed highly unlikely.

Besides, Carter clearly would not take no for an answer. Dorothea firmly believed if there were any objections put forth by Lord Dardington, they would be summarily disarmed.

She would marry him and in doing so achieve a noble and social status far higher than she had ever dared aspire. Yet shockingly, a sense of victory and accomplishment was not foremost in her heart.

“We should return to the drawing room, before someone is sent to fetch us,” Dorothea suggested.

“In a moment.” His hand caught hers, fingers entwined. She stiffened, but then he surprised her utterly by slowly raising her arm and tenderly kissing her palm. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. Temptation to once again melt into his arms reared at his gallant, lover’s gesture, but Dorothea strengthened her resolve. She would not succumb so easily, so predictably.

She had wanted a man whose kisses excited her, and Carter’s certainly did. Yet there was an edge to his passion she did not understand, an intensity that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. It was equally intoxicating and troubling.

In addition to passion, Dorothea also wanted a man she understood, a man she could exert some control over. Carter was neither of those things. He was a puzzle she did not comprehend, an unmovable force she could not manipulate. Well, at least not easily.

She initially thought him to be a provocative, yet guarded man, but his kisses disproved her opinion. There was far more to the Marquess of Atwood than she originally believed.

If only she could decide if that was a good thing. Frustrated at her mixed emotions, Dorothea tried to control another burst of excitement as it fluttered through her. There was still time to change her mind. No one would force her to go through with the marriage.

But honestly, she’d be a fool to turn him down. He was handsome, titled, and rich. Without question this was the best offer she would ever receive. Yet, as they rejoined everyone in the drawing room, Dorothea continued to wonder, if this was such a wonderful, extraordinary match, why was there a nagging dose of doubt crowding into her mind?

“Well?” Dorothea prompted anxiously. “What do you think of Lord Atwood?”

She lowered herself into a dainty, gilded chair and stared across the room at her older sister. Gwendolyn creased her brow thoughtfully, then firmly declared, “You don’t love him.”

“Thank God.” Dorothea did not bother hiding her shudder. Falling in love with Carter at this stage in their relationship would put her at a great disadvantage.

“Then why marry him?”

Dorothea groaned. “Surely your eyes cannot be so blinded by your adoration of your husband that you cannot appreciate the finer qualities of another man, sister.”

Gwendolyn folded her hands and rested them across her large, pregnant belly. “Lord Atwood is very handsome.”

“And rich, and titled, and a physically appealing specimen,” Dorothea added pertly.

“Hmm.” Gwendolyn seemed to ponder that remark for a moment. “So tell me, how does he kiss?”

Dorothea smiled mischievously. Ah, her sister had remembered. “Divinely. He kisses like a man who has not eaten for weeks and I am a feast he has stumbled upon.”

“Passing your ridiculous kissing test does not make him a good choice for a husband.” Gwendolyn’s voice grew stronger, more commanding, as she took on the role of protective older sister. “Especially since his reputation would imply that he has a great deal of experience kissing women. Naturally, he has some skill.”

Dorothea swallowed. Gwen was right. To a point. But Carter’s experience with other women was not something Dorothea wanted to focus upon. “That is hardly a fair statement. You married a man with a far worse reputation, a man many labeled a rake of the highest order.”

“True, but I loved him. As he loved me,” Gwendolyn answered. “Jason wanted me as his wife, knowing full well he would have to reform. I am proud to say he has succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations, though I never doubted him for a moment.”

Reform? Dorothea wondered if that was a word in Lord Atwood’s vocabulary. Her chair creaked as she readjusted her position. Silently, she looked around her sister’s finely appointed private sitting room, a recent gift from her husband. He had commissioned the room as a surprise when they discovered she was to have a child.

The pale greens and warm amber tones, inviting atmosphere, and comfortable furnishings captured Gwendolyn’s personality with alarming accuracy, but the costly furniture, rugs, and paintings reflected Jason’s exquisite taste in expensive furnishings. The home he provided for his wife was a testament to his determination to give her everything she could possibly desire.

Not that Gwen especially cared about material items. She had always been the more practical, down-to-earth sister, but love had mellowed her personality, had softened away any of her sharp edges.

Dorothea took a deep breath, trying to hide her annoyance. She had made a special effort to journey out from London for an afternoon to visit her sister, wanting very much for Gwendolyn to meet her future husband. Meet and approve of him, she silently admitted. Not question the choice.

“Love aside, I daresay you would not have married Jason if his kisses had not thrilled you,” Dorothea insisted.

Gwen snorted. “There is more to marriage than compatibility between the sheets.”

Dorothea’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Sex, Dorothea. I’m talking about the intimacy which occurs between a man and a woman.”

“I know to what you are referring, Gwendolyn,” Dorothea huffed.

“Yes, of course you believe you know, but you only understand the mechanics of the act. The biology behind it. The reality is far different.” Gwendolyn pursed her lips. “Without a deep emotional bond, a man of Atwood’s jaded tastes and experience will not be easy to keep entertained in the bedroom.”

Flustered, Dorothea squirmed on her chair. It had to be Gwendolyn’s advanced stage of pregnancy that brought on such frank talk. That, and Gwendolyn’s genuine concern for her happiness. Dorothea struggled to keep that in the forefront of her mind, hoping it would help her retain her equilibrium.

“Lord Atwood is a man of character,” she insisted. “He will treat me with respect and dignity. I cannot believe you don’t see it.”

“I can hardly form a judgment of his character after a ten-minute conversation in which we discussed your drive from Town and the unseasonably warm weather.”

“You may interrogate him over tea,” Dorothea decided. “We have several hours before we must begin our journey back.”

Gwendolyn leaned forward, then shifted back, obviously searching for a more comfortable position. Dorothea winced. Her sister’s distended belly was enormous. Though she was a tall woman, the baby she carried distorted her figure grotesquely. It hurt Dorothea’s back just to look at her.

“I cannot sit in a drawing room with a strange man and take tea in my condition,” Gwendolyn declared. “’Tis highly improper.”

“I assure you Lord Atwood is not especially strange,” Dorothea responded with a smile. “A bit odd at times and exceedingly vexing, but not that peculiar.”

“Brat,” Gwendolyn replied with affection. “If my back were not aching so horribly, I’d throw this pillow at you.”

“Enceinte or not, you would most certainly miss me by a mile.” Dorothea’s grin widened. “Well, at least I’ve finally coaxed a smile from you.”

“I warn you, it won’t last. My mood changes quicker than the weather these days,” Gwendolyn grumbled.

“It’s to be expected,” Dorothea said, though in truth she had no idea if that was the case. She had never before been around a woman so advanced in pregnancy, and frankly, the change in her sister was rather frightening.

Knowing it might take ten minutes for Gwendolyn to rise from her chair and pull the rope to summon a servant, Dorothea took the initiative to arrange for tea. The stately butler appeared in a moment, his expression blank as he averted his gaze from his employer’s expanded belly.

“Have tea brought in here,” Gwendolyn commanded. “There is sufficient room for the four of us to be comfortably seated if Mr. Barrington and Lord Atwood decide to join us.”

“Very good, madam.” The butler bowed stiffly. “Is there anything specific you would like Cook to include on the tea tray?”

“Whatever is freshly baked will be sufficient, but be sure there are a variety and quantity of sandwiches. I’m certain the men will be hungry.”

“I am sure Cook will not disappoint,” the butler declared, bowing a final time before leaving.

Dorothea watched him soundlessly exit the room, her mind turning. This was a far cry from the simple way they had been raised, with a handful of servants in a quiet, rural community. Yet Dorothea was heartened to see that her sister had adjusted well to a more formal atmosphere. She only hoped she too would adapt quickly, for she suspected her life with Lord Atwood would be even more structured.

“The men will be hungry?” Dorothea questioned.

“Well, if pressed I suppose I might be tempted to nibble on a sandwich or two,” Gwendolyn replied innocently.

“Only two?”

“Yes, yes, I know I look as though I have done nothing but stuff my face morning, noon, and night for the past few months, but there is a reason for my exceptionally large belly.” Gwendolyn bit her bottom lip. “I have not said a word about this to Jason, but the physician thinks I might be carrying twins.”

Dorothea managed to stifle her gasp of alarm, but was not as quick to conceal her expression of shock.

“Good Lord, Dorothea, must you look so terrified? I’m frightened enough at the notion of birthing two babies without having you scare me to pieces.” Gwendolyn inhaled a deep breath, then slowly released it. “My husband is a twin, therefore it was certainly within the realm of possibilities that I too would be so blessed.”

Dorothea blanched. Was it a blessing? Childbirth was dangerous business for a woman under the best of circumstances. Birthing twins would be a far greater risk for Gwendolyn and the unborn babes.

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of the gentlemen. Gwendolyn glared at her and Dorothea silently acknowledged the request. She would keep her sister’s counsel and not reveal what she had been told to her brother-in-law. In truth, he could do nothing to alter the situation and if it kept Gwendolyn’s nerves steadier having her husband in the dark for the time being, then so be it.

The presence of the two men seemed to dwarf the small, feminine room. Dorothea stared at the pair, unable to stop herself from making a comparison. They were both of a similar age and physical stature. Jason was fair in coloring, Atwood dark. Lord Atwood was slightly taller, while Jason was broader in the shoulders. Each man was appealing in his own way, though Dorothea thought Lord Atwood by far the more handsome of the duo.

He came to her side, unexpectedly grasped her hand firmly in his own, and brought it to his lips. Dorothea felt her body heat and her skin flush with color. Embarrassed, she glanced over to see if her sister or brother-in-law had noticed, but they were too preoccupied with each other to pay attention to much else.

“Jason, cease hovering,” Gwendolyn exclaimed in a strong whisper as her husband attempted to place another pillow behind her back. “Please.”

“Of course, my love,” he answered in a soothing tone. “Shall I ask Dorothea to pour our tea?”

“I am perfectly capable of lifting a teapot,” Gwendolyn grumbled in a petulant tone.

“I know, I only thought it might be easier if Dorothea did the honors.”

“Well, I would prefer to act as the hostess in my own home. I don’t know why you think that I would want to willingly shirk my duties when-”

Gwendolyn abruptly halted her tirade and stared at Lord Atwood, as though suddenly remembering his presence in the room.

“Please, there is no need for you to go to any additional fuss on my account,” he said congenially. “The last thing I would want is for our visit to place an added strain on you, Mrs. Barrington.”

“It hasn’t.” Gwendolyn’s eyes welled with tears. “I would never forgive Dorothea if she married someone before I had met him. I wanted so much to be with her during the Season, but my pregnancy prevented it. I had hoped I would be able to attend a few quiet affairs early in the social calendar, before my predicament became too noticeable. But it seemed as though my stomach popped out within a month of discovering I was with child and my belly has not ceased expanding.”

Gwendolyn lowered her head into her open palms and sighed heavily. “And now I have mentioned my condition openly in mixed company. How impossibly rude. Pray, forgive me, my lord.”

Carter’s face contorted with kindness. “I do not mean to cause you greater distress, Mrs. Barrington, but anyone with two functioning eyes is aware of your condition.”

Gwen let out a small laugh, but then her face crumpled. “I must look a fright,” she sniffed. “Bloated like a great cow, waddling about like a fat Christmas goose.”

“You are as beautiful as ever,” Jason cooed gently. “Even more so with our child growing inside you.”

“Oh, shut up, Jason,” Gwendolyn snapped, giving her husband a murderous look. “I’m not a simpleton. I can see my reflection in a mirror.”

“Yes, and it makes you more womanly, more enchanting,” Jason insisted.

“It most certainly does not,” Gwendolyn barked. “Does it, Dorothea?”

Dorothea wanted to sink through the floor. Her desire to make a favorable impression on Lord Atwood was going severely awry. Was it possible that they were now all openly discussing Gwendolyn’s pregnancy? How mortifyingly inappropriate.

Gwendolyn had always been the steady one, the one she could count upon to hold everything together. For years Gwendolyn had been ostracized by the social community of their Yorkshire village and she had borne the unfair censure with grace and dignity.

That, apparently, was no longer the case. Carrying a child, or God help them all, perhaps two, made her sister irrational, and weepy and weak. Dorothea shuddered. If Gwendolyn could not be counted upon to retain her good sense and equilibrium while pregnant, what chance would Dorothea have if she ever carried a child?

“You look lovely, Gwen,” Dorothea replied. “Entrancing in an entirely different way.”

They all seemed to hold their breaths as they collectively waited for Gwendolyn’s reaction to her sister’s remark.

“I vow I am not such a disagreeable harpy under normal circumstances, Lord Atwood,” Gwendolyn said wistfully.

Carter smiled kindly. “How very disappointing. I was hoping this marriage would bring me some lively, entertaining relations. Alas, my own are rather, staid, proper, and on occasion deadly boring.”

For a moment Gwendolyn looked as if she would burst into tears, then she started laughing. “Thank you, my lord. For treating me like a person and not a porcelain doll that would break if you came too near.”

“If I may be so indelicate, a woman in your condition should be allowed to do and say anything that she wishes.”

“Do you hear that, Jason?”

“Yes, I did, my love. Sound advice that I fully intend upon taking.”

Dorothea stole a glimpse of her sister as Gwendolyn poured the tea. She offered Lord Atwood the first cup, then poured a second for Dorothea. As she drank her hot tea, the sour feeling in the pit of Dorothea’s stomach slowly eased. Carter went out of his way to be charming and amusing, treading carefully around Gwendolyn’s unpredictable emotions. By the time they took their leave, Gwen was smiling and giggling.

Jason walked them out to the carriage. Carter tactfully pulled ahead to check on the horses, allowing her a moment of privacy.

“Atwood seems like a fine man, Dorothea,” Jason said. “You’ve done well.”

“So everyone keeps saying.” She tugged on the bonnet ribbon tied under her chin, making certain it was secure for the open carriage ride back to London. “It’s all happening so quickly, I feel that I’ve had no time to think.”

Jason laughed. “Trust me, that’s the best way to approach marriage. Let your feelings and emotions guide you. Love is never wrong.”

Dorothea lowered her head. Oh, dear, Jason had misinterpreted things completely. Feeling too embarrassed to correct the mistaken notion that she and Lord Atwood were in love, Dorothea hugged her brother-in-law good-bye.

“Take good care of Gwen and my future niece or nephew,” she admonished.

“I shall endeavor to do my best, no matter how ill-tempered she becomes.”

Dorothea spied Gwendolyn standing at the window and she waved until the carriage brought them down the drive and well out of sight of the house. Only then did she glance up at Carter.

He had his eyes firmly on the road, his hands tightly gripping the reins. She settled herself more comfortably beside him, enjoying the stillness, not at all minding the silence. It was a good silence, a comfortable quiet.

All things being equal, the visit had gone well. Carter had not been overly shocked at the unusual situation, although it might just be good manners that prevented him from being too critical.

But more importantly, Gwendolyn and Jason had liked Lord Atwood and approved of the match. Jason had even gone so far as to say he believed she had made a good choice.

They made a sharp turn and Carter’s left hand instinctively reached out to ensure she was safely seated. Dorothea smiled her thanks and her heart lightened. She fervently hoped that Jason was right.