How To Seduce A Sinner

Chapter Seven

The dinner invitation from the Marquess and Marchioness of Dardington arrived later that evening, a few moments before Carter was set to leave for the Lancasters’ musical soiree. Written in Lady Dardington’s own hand, it was graciously and informally worded. Carter thought it totally unnecessary, but he understood the Dardingtons’ desire to tangibly express their gratitude for his assistance at the lake this afternoon. His only hope was that it would be, as the invitation promised, a small, family affair.

“The footman is waiting for an answer, my lord,” his valet, Dunsford, said.

“Tell him to inform Lady Dardington that I shall be delighted to attend,” Carter instructed.

The valet bowed and exited, but returned a few minutes later.

“Is there a problem, Dunsford?” he asked as the servant held out Carter’s evening jacket. “Does the footman require a written reply instead of a verbal one?”

“No, my lord. Lord Dardington’s servant has gone.” The valet adjusted the collar on the jacket, then stepped away, lifted his chin, and thrust his shoulders back. “His Grace, the Duke of Hansborough, has arrived. He wishes to speak with you.”

“My father is here?” Carter’s amusement at his valet’s stiff formality disappeared. His father never came to his bachelor apartments. Something must be wrong. “Does he appear upset?”

The valet shook his head. “His Grace maintained a proper, even temperament upon arrival and while being shown to the sitting room. He expressed no urgency in seeing you, but did however insist upon it.”

Of course. His father rarely displayed any sort of emotions in public, saving his anger and displeasure for those private moments between himself and his son.

“Very good, Dunsford. Please inform the duke that I shall be with him shortly.”

Carter picked up a brush and slowly applied it to his already groomed hair. He waited until he was sure his valet had enough time to deliver the message before striding across his bedchamber, through his dressing room, and into the spacious sitting area of his home.

His foot had barely stepped onto the Aubusson rug when a figure moved forward from the corner of the room. “Good evening, Carter.”

“Hello, sir.” Carter struggled to hide his surprise. The duke never came toward anyone. Much like a king with his subjects, the duke always waited for people to approach him. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Can’t a man stop in and say hello to his son?” the duke asked gruffly. “Does there have to be a reason?”

“When the two individuals in question are you and I, sir, there almost always is a specific reason.”

The duke cleared his throat and took another step closer. For an instant, Carter had the strangest sensation that the duke meant to embrace him, something he seldom did when Carter was a boy and never once after he had reached his tenth birthday.

Seeking to defuse the odd tension swirling about the room, Carter headed for the crystal decanters of spirits on the credenza. He poured them both a glass of whiskey, then slowly crossed back to his father, taking note of the older man’s appearance.

The duke was dressed formally for an evening out, confirming that nothing initially seemed amiss. Yet as Carter looked closer, something did seem different about his father. His hair appeared to have several additional gray streaks, his broad shoulders were slightly stooped. It must be a trick of the light, Carter decided. The duke was never anything but invincible.

The duke accepted the glass, then pulled himself up to his usual rigid stance. “A salute to your good health. May you never take it for granted.”

“To your good health, sir,” Carter replied automatically, and then he stopped short, his whiskey glass not yet at his lips.

Was his father ill? Was this the real reason for this unexpected visit? Carter’s stomach turned to lead. He took but a small sip of his whiskey.

“I can see that you are dressed to go out for the evening, so I shall be direct,” the duke began as he sat down. “I heard there was a bit of a commotion at Banberry Park today. Something about you taking a dunk in the lake?”

Carter waved his hand dismissively. “It was nothing.”

“There was also talk of an incident in front of the Bull and Finch tavern last week where some thug pulled a knife on you and nearly succeeding in burying it in your chest.” The duke took another swallow of his drink. “In light of this troubling information, I feel compelled to ask, is this merely a string of bad luck or are you deliberately courting danger?”

“To spite you?” Carter laughed at the ridiculous question, feeling almost giddy with relief. His father’s health was not in jeopardy. This time when he tipped the glass to his lips, he was able to take a long, enjoyable swallow.

“I asked you a question,” the duke said, his voice sharp.

Carter’s smile faded. The duke was serious. “It was too outrageous for a response,” he countered. “If I wanted to injure myself, there are far easier and less painful methods than drowning or getting knifed.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Carter downed his whiskey in two swallows. “These were two unrelated, random events in which I was an unwitting participant. Nothing more.”

The duke sat up, adjusting his lean frame in the elegant chair. “I am relieved to hear this is not a deliberate pattern of behavior. Yet these harrowing experiences serve to further illustrate my position. Time is of the essence. If anything fatal had occurred, you would have left this world without an heir.”

Ah, so now they came to the heart of the matter, the reason for the visit. His father was concerned about the continuation of the family line. “If I promise that I shall endeavor to keep myself alive long enough to father a legitimate heir, will that set your mind at rest, sir?”

The duke slammed his half-full whiskey glass on the nearby side table. “God Almighty, Carter, you are my only child. Do you not think I would be devastated at your loss, out of my mind with grief and pain?”

Carter simply stared at his father, too stunned to think of a response.

“I was at my club this afternoon when I heard that you had been in the lake and nearly drowned trying to rescue Dardington’s girls,” the duke continued. “I assumed there was some exaggeration to the tale, but it sounded dire. Most dire.”

“Of course I dove in to save the children. I daresay you would have done the same, had you been there, sir.” Carter rubbed his forehead. His father was clearly distressed, obviously concerned. It was completely…unexpected. “I was never in any great peril. I am a strong swimmer.”

“And the knife incident?”

“A tavern brawl that I happened upon. But I was not alone. Benton, Dawson, and the major were there, too. They had my back.”

“I suppose that is some consolation.” The duke picked up his glass, drained it, then leaned back in his chair. “The Marchioness of Dardington has sent me an invitation to a private dinner party she is having in your honor tomorrow evening. I am unable to attend. I must leave for Shrewsbury in the morning and will be gone for the remainder of the week. I have important estate business that requires my immediate attention. I wanted you to know I would have been there, if it were possible.”

Carter could barely hide his shock. “I understand. Thank you for telling me.”

The corner of the duke’s mouth trembled slightly. “Well, I wanted you to know.” Then, as though he felt guilty for revealing the depth of his concern and emotions, he added, “And I wanted to know how you were coming with your marriage plans. How many of the young ladies on my list have you spoken with recently?”

Carter felt a stab of emotion, akin to relief. The duke’s odd behavior had been surprising and unsettling. It felt better to be back on familiar ground. “May we drop the list for tonight, sir? In light of the trauma of this afternoon.”

“Neatly put.” The duke scoffed. “You were always one to press the advantage at any opportunity.”

“It happens so rarely when dealing with you, sir. I’d be a fool not to act when the chance presents itself.”

The duke allowed the remark to pass and even managed a tight smile. They continued a civil dialogue as they waited for the duke’s carriage to be summoned and parted with a firm handshake.

Yet when he took to his bed in the early morning hours, Carter was still trying to puzzle out the true reason for his father’s visit.

Carter was the first guest of honor to arrive at the Dardingtons’ elegant London townhome the following evening. He felt slightly uncomfortable at the effervescent praise he received the moment he crossed the threshold. Lady Dardington, who insisted he address her as Meredith, clung to his arm tightly, exalting his quick thinking and unselfish sacrifice and repeatedly expressed her thanks for his heroic efforts on behalf of herself and her daughters.

Yet her gratitude paled in comparison to her husband’s. It was somewhat shocking to see the normally stoic Lord Dardington in such an emotional state. There was a suspicious trace of moisture in his eyes when he shook Carter’s hand and echoed his wife’s thanks. The extent of his love and devotion to his wife and children was almost humbling to witness.

Thankfully, Benton and Roddington soon made their appearance, thus spreading the gratitude among the three gentlemen. The major took it all in stride, while Benton eagerly lapped up the endless praise and Carter tried to downplay his own heroics.

“I feel like a conquering Roman general victoriously returning from the wars,” the viscount confided to Carter with a lopsided grin.

“Don’t mention that to Dardington or else he’ll arrange for a bevy of Egyptian slave girls to entertain us,” Carter said ruefully. “I swear the man is so grateful he would give us the deeds to his estates if we even hinted that we were interested in acquiring them.”

“It never hurts to have a man of the marquess’s stature in our debt,” Benton observed wryly.

The two men abruptly ceased trading quips when the three Dardington daughters, along with their governess, entered the drawing room. The girls filed in front of their rescuers in a single line. Then, without prompting, each child executed a passable curtsy.

Carter stood uneasily beside Benton and Roddington, uncertain how to react. He was not much around children and knew next to nothing of them. Fortunately, little was required except to appear interested in the apparently rehearsed proceedings.

Dry, quiet, and up close, they were a remarkable pretty trio, inheriting the finest points of their very attractive parents. The eldest read a note of thanks she had composed before presenting a copy to each of them, along with a picture her two younger sisters had drawn.

The presentation concluded, the girls were quickly hustled off to the nursery. Carter seized the opportunity to let his eyes wander toward Miss Ellingham. She was dressed in a shimmering gown of pale lavender that made her hair appear golden and her skin creamy and delectable. He had always thought her a pretty woman, but tonight she looked positively beautiful.

The gown’s narrow bodice offered a delightful view of her perfectly rounded breasts, displaying her overabundant charms in an odd combination of virginity and sensuality that had him thinking the most inappropriate thoughts.

As if somehow sensing his randy thoughts, she suddenly looked away from the Countess of Marchdale, Benton’s paternal grandmother, with whom she was conversing, and caught his gaze. He inclined his head, captivated by the brightness of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

The way she returned his stare let him know she recognized his admiration. But did she appreciate it? Of that, Carter was far less certain.

Dinner was announced and the small party of guests entered the dining room. Carter was seated next to Lady Meredith on his left and the Countess of Marchdale on his right. Miss Ellingham was on the opposite side of the table, sandwiched between Benton and Roddington.

It was easy to be entertained by Lady Marchdale’s lively conversation and wicked sense of humor, yet throughout the meal, Carter remained very much aware of Miss Ellingham. He tried to distract his thoughts and concentrate on the delicious food, but then Miss Ellingham’s fingers glided over the stem of her crystal wine goblet, unwittingly drawing Carter’s gaze.

She had slender, elegant fingers. He imagined them moving across his body in a sensual, teasing stroke. The resulting fantasy made him hot and embarrassingly hard. Letting out a low, strangled sigh, Carter took a large bite of his sole in cream sauce.

Miss Ellingham smiled at something the major said to her, then turned in his direction and caught Carter’s stare. There was no lowering of her lashes, no maidenly blush. Instead her blue eyes met his with an unspoken challenge, as if daring him to intercede.

Damn. It was that challenge that intrigued him most of all.

“I applaud your taste in females,” the Countess of Marchdale remarked. “Miss Ellingham is a lovely girl. She has that elusive, alluring type of beauty that men find so irresistible. Her character appears solid also, a rarity among females with such prime looks. I think she could make any one of you a good wife.” Lady Marchdale waved her fork around the table, to include the major and the viscount, as well as himself.

“I shall be certain to mention that to your grandson,” Carter replied, not bothering to hide his smile. “No doubt he will want to act on it immediately.”

“We both know that is a bald-faced lie.” Lady Marchdale rested her fork on the edge of her plate, then with her free hand swatted his forearm with her fingertips. Carter nearly yelped in surprise. She had a strong slap for an elderly woman. “Sebastian will never seriously consider a girl once I give my approval of her. ’Tis like stamping the poor creature with the plague.”

Carter silently agreed. He and Benton were very much alike in this regard-they readily closed their minds to any female recommended by an elderly relation. “Perhaps on this occasion Benton will appreciate your advice?”

“When pigs fly,” Lady Marchdale scoffed. She signaled to the footman to refill her wineglass before continuing. “On second thought, Miss Ellingham is probably best suited as a wife for the major, given her family background and fortune.” She lowered her voice and leaned close to Carter’s ear. “Did you know he was a bastard?”

Carter nearly sprayed his mouthful of wine across the table. “You must not say such harsh, unfair things about a man’s character, Lady Marchdale. Major Roddington is a good and decent man, one I am proud to call my friend.”

Lady Marchdale let out a rather unladylike snort. “That is not what I meant, as you very well know. I was referring to his lack of a father, not impugning his character. Oh, I do wish I had my fan, young man, so I could rap your knuckles properly.”

Carter’s mouth twitched. It was no wonder Benton despaired at his grandmother’s outspoken opinions. “I don’t think that Major Roddington has any interest in marriage at this time.”

“No man wants to get married,” the countess declared. “Except those poor fools who are bewitched by a pretty face or desperate to escape debtors’ prison.”

“Well, since I am blessed with a considerable fortune and an immunity to bewitching females, does that mean I shall never be ready to take on a wife?”

She laughed heartily. “Men can be so infernally irrational. They feel they need to prepare for everything, as if that would make one whit of a difference when it comes to living with a woman. Marriage can be either heaven or hell. ’Tis up to you to decide which one you’d rather endure and then make it happen. I should know. I buried three husbands and they all went to meet their Maker with a smile upon their lips.”

Three? Carter had forgotten. But why did they die happy men? Because they had lived contented lives or because they were finally able to escape Lady Marchdale? Carter absently rubbed the sore spot on his hand and decided it would be prudent not to inquire too closely.

Disciplining his errant thoughts, he smiled at the countess. Her confident tone had piqued his curiosity. “Tell me, my lady, if a man can never truly be ready for marriage, how does he overcome his reluctance?”

“You like to gamble, do you not? Then find a lovely young woman who fires your blood and roll the dice. You might find yourself delighted with the outcome.”

She was right. Marriage was a step he knew he must take and it was far better to find a way to embrace his fate rather than fight it. His eyes naturally pulled themselves across the table toward Miss Ellingham. Was she his fate?

When dinner concluded, the ladies left the gentlemen to their port and cigars, as was the custom during more formal affairs. After a pleasant interlude, the men rejoined the women in the drawing room.

As he entered the room, Carter’s eyes sought out Miss Ellingham. She was standing near the French doors on the opposite side of the room. Roddington immediately joined her.

She smiled in greeting, her face showing true delight. The sight left Carter feeling oddly deflated. He turned to answer a question posed to him by Lord Dardington. Once finished, he returned his gaze to the French doors. Miss Ellingham was gone. So was Roddington.

“Dorothea is showing the major my prize-winning rose garden,” Lady Meredith informed him as she glided to Carter’s side. “Why don’t you join them?”

Carter lifted an eyebrow in feigned surprise, but the denial that he was eager for Miss Ellingham’s company died on his lips. It would be rude to lie when Lady Meredith’s perceptive eyes had clearly observed the truth of the matter.

“I believe I would enjoy some fresh air,” he replied. “Excuse me.”

It was a clear, cool evening. Carter walked with purpose through the large garden, following one, then another path of paving stones, his gaze darting to the many secluded alcoves artfully incorporated into the garden’s design. A design clearly done by a man with romance and privacy on his mind.

His diligence was eventually rewarded when he spied his prey in a cozy alcove bounded on three sides by boxwood hedges. The major appeared to have his arms around Miss Ellingham. Carter stepped closer, never moving his eyes from the pair. When he saw Roddington start to dip his head forward, Carter coughed. Loudly.

The pair instantly sprang apart. Looking guilty? Carter was unsure.

“Atwood.” Roddington smiled.

Carter return the grin, ignoring the flash of jealousy that drummed through his head. Poor sod. The major was no doubt relieved it was not Lord Dardington who had discovered them. “Enjoying the night air?”

“Yes, but there’s a bit of a chill out here. I was just going to fetch a shawl for Miss Ellingham. Will you keep her company while I’m gone?”

“My pleasure.”

Carter deliberately held his position on the pathway, waiting until the major drew near. “About Miss Ellingham,” he whispered as the major walked past. “Are your affections in any way engaged?’

Roddington stopped. “Not romantically.”

“A favor then, Roddington, if you please.”

“Anything.”

“Step away from her.”

The major’s brow rose. “For you?”

Carter nodded. “If you don’t mind?”

Roddington barely hesitated. “Not at all. Anything for a friend.”

Carter smiled inwardly, his spirits buoyed. This was all falling into place rather neatly. He waited another moment, gazing quietly in the distance before approaching her. She angled her head sharply in greeting, then twirled on her heel, presenting him with her back, a gesture that spoke volumes. A gesture he could not resist.

“Why is it, Miss Ellingham, that nearly every time I see you out of doors you are with a different gentleman? Locked in an embrace.”

Her shoulders stiffened, but she did not take the bait. “You exaggerate, my lord.”

“Not really. First it was Pengrove, then Rosen, and now Roddington. Is this some sort of contest? Do you hope to kiss every unwed man in London this Season?”

That remark got her attention. She turned toward him, her eyes blazing with emotion. “Do not presume to judge me, my lord,” she said hotly. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know that you have a fondness for kissing,” he replied, with a subtle challenge in his voice that practically dared her to refute him. “And an interest in passion.”

“Who I kiss and where I kiss them is none of your concern.”

“What if I decided that it should be?”

“Ha!” She tossed her head, revealing the slender column of her throat. Lord, what he wouldn’t do for the right to nibble at that delicate nape.

Carter reached out and placed his palm beneath her chin, bringing her face around so their eyes met. Then he slowly, gently brushed his thumb across her lips.

“You overstep your bounds, my lord,” she said with a small shiver. From the cold or from his touch? Carter was uncertain.

He repeated the motion and she tried to back away, but her legs bumped into a garden bench. Her eyes blazed with frustration. Carter stared down at her, sucking in a sharp breath. He took note of the rapid rise of her breath as she fought to calm her temper, saw the pulse quicken in the hollow of her throat.

She truly was a tasty morsel, never more appealing than when she was in high emotions. No wonder so many men longed to kiss her. She had a mouth that begged to be tasted.

As if reading his thoughts, she suddenly moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. They glistened in the moonlight, so soft, so plump, so tempting.

“Ah, to hell with it,” Carter muttered as he reached for her. He was not a man accustomed to denying himself. When he wanted something, he took it, and that especially included the woman he intended to make his wife.

Their mouths melded together as he boldly captured her lips. She acquiesced with a sigh, her entire body softening against him. He tightened his embrace, running his tongue along the line of her pressed lips. She trembled, parting them. His tongue found hers and he stroked it boldly, eliciting a sharp response of delight.

The pounding of emotions coursing through his body shocked him. It was more complex than the painfully hard erection in his breeches. That was familiar, understandable when kissing a beautiful woman. But the primitive feelings of possession, the erotic need to conquer and then comfort was unmistakable and entirely new.

It felt as if her body was coming alive in his arms, responding instinctively to his desire. It was an exquisite sensation, building the fever within him to a nearly uncontrollable pitch. He felt a stab of something deep in his chest. Puzzlement? Frustration? He couldn’t define or understand it.

With a cry deep in his throat, Carter broke off the kiss, breathing hard, as if he’d just run a long race. A tangible desire filled the air between them. It was remarkable, unusual, and completely unexpected.

Dorothea was stunned. She fought to remain on her feet, feeling decidedly weak-kneed. A chill skittered across her skin and she tingled all over. There was a passion, a spark, an energy that she had never felt before in any other kiss.

For the first time in her life, she understood the real power of sexual attraction. It took every measure of her self-control to keep from throwing herself forward into his embrace and begging for more.

Speaking was difficult, maintaining a normal tone fairly impossible. Yet somehow, Dorothea managed. “I did not give you permission to kiss me, my lord.”

“Permission? Truly, Miss Ellingham, that would have taken all the fun out of it, don’t you think?”

“Hardly.”

A devastatingly handsome smile flooded his features, heightening his appeal even more. As if that were even possible, Dorothea thought grimly to herself.

“So, where do I rank among those kisses?” he asked with an impish gleam in his eye.

At the very top. Dorothea’s hand flew to cover her mouth and then thankfully she realized she had possessed the presence of mind to keep that particular thought to herself. “This is not a contest, my lord,” she said primly. “I do not rate the content or quality of a gentleman’s kiss.”

“I thought that was the more polite way to phrase it.”

Dorothea’s body went still as heated embarrassment flooded her cheeks. He said that deliberately, to taunt her. Annoyed, she pulled a leaf from a nearby plant and crumbled it in her fingers.

“If you must know, I only kiss a man I am strongly considering for marriage.”

His gaze remained puzzled and then his eyes lit as the revelation struck. “After you kiss him, you decide if you will marry?”

“’Tis not as ridiculous as you are making it sound,” Dorothea insisted. “Many other factors about the gentleman have been carefully considered before that point.”

“The kiss is the final test?”

“In a manner of speaking, though I would hardly phrase it in that particular way,” she remarked in rising embarrassment, for it was precisely as the marquess described it. “I think a kiss says a great deal about the potential success of a marriage.”

“Spoken like a starry-eyed virgin.” Lord Atwood’s handsome face brimmed with knowing superiority. “A passionate kiss will not ensure a happy marriage. Over time, lust fades. Sometimes quickly, other times gradually, but it does eventually disappear.”

“Spoken like an experienced rake,” Dorothea countered. “I am not a green girl from the country, my lord. I know something of love and lust and the lack of it in marriage.”

“From experience?” he mocked.

“From observation.”

“And yet you are still eager to embrace marriage?”

“I am,” she replied. “I am willing to make sacrifices, to do my part to make my marriage a success. When necessary, I can put all my efforts into making my husband’s life easier. I will run his household efficiently, plan his social life accordingly, and be an asset in any and every way. I will not, however, be referred to as the burdensome wife by a husband who is dutifully and miserably tied to me.”

He offered her a sly smile. “How can you avoid it?”

“By ensuring there is passion in the beginning. By marrying a man whose kiss excites me beyond measure.”

He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “And you claimed not to be a romantic, Miss Ellingham.”

“That is true. I am not. I do not pine to find my soul mate, my one true love. What I require in a mate goes beyond the basics of good character, sensible temperament, and compatibility. I know I must marry a man I find attractive, exciting. Equally, he should feel an attraction for me. With that firmly in place, I believe anything is possible.”

“What happens if it does not go beyond that stage? If you and your husband never fall in love?”

“I will be content. ’Tis far more than many other couples achieve.” Dorothea glanced up at him, her face open and honest. “I do not have an overly inflated expectation of marriage. I expect my opinion to be respected, my feelings considered, my worth to be appreciated by my husband.”

“Passion will fade, and if love does not exist, why would you remain faithful?”

“A vow is a vow, Lord Atwood. There are no exceptions or codicils.”

“Even under the most trying of circumstances?”

Dorothea bit back a grimace. “I will honor the fidelity of my marriage vows and expect my husband to do the same, even though some might consider that naïve and unfashionable.”

He nodded as if he understood, even agreed with her answer. That was unexpected. Many wealthy aristocrats kept mistresses while their wives kept silent.

Dorothea’s heart started beating hard. She caught the scent of his warm skin mingled with the sweet aroma of the spring blooms. It was erotic, intoxicating. His handsome face was contemplative as he stared intently down at her. What was he thinking? Feeling?

“You know, Miss Ellingham, you never did answer my question. About my kiss?” Reaching out, he lifted a stray wisp of hair and brushed it behind her ear.

Dorothea’s eyes widened. She held herself very still, concentrating on retaining her composure and ignoring the riot of emotions that claimed her at his touch. “On the contrary, my lord, I have answered a great many of your questions. Far too many questions that were far too personal.”

His eyes narrowed as he smiled. “What about my kiss, Miss Ellingham? Do you decree it worthy enough to be your husband? Or do you require a second sample?”

Dorothea swallowed the squeak that rose in her throat. He could not possibly be serious. Marriage between them? She did not dare to believe it could really happen. Lord Atwood was a man who liked to flirt and tease. Surely he was teasing her now. Still, she could not deny the thrill she felt at the thought of actually winning his regard, of becoming his wife now that she had experienced his kiss.

“A second kiss?” She tossed her head, striving to look offended. “Impossible.”

“Afraid?” he taunted in a soft voice.

“Not at all.” She lifted her chin and attempted to look calm. Yet deep inside, she feared if he kissed her again, she might very well swoon. “I am merely being practical, my lord. I have never kissed a gentleman a second time and I vowed the only occasion I ever would do so was after I agreed to be his wife.”