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 pestered no end by my grandmother on the importance of finding a woman with looks, breeding, and impeccable manners to make my viscountess.”
“The last quality being an extreme necessity since you can be such an uncultured, uncouth fellow at times,” Carter said with a grin.
“Possibly.” Benton grinned back. “But at least my grandmother does not share your father’s view and include cowering among the qualities that are diligently sought for a wife.”
“Lady Audrey isn’t cowering,” Dawson protested. “Well, not much, anyway.”
Damn, can this get any worse? Not only was he going to be forced to pay his respects to a female he had no earthly interest in meeting, his friends were being afforded a front-row seat to his humiliation.
Across the ballroom floor, Carter met the duke’s gaze straight on. The older man narrowed his eyes. Carter braced himself. At times like this it was essential that he remember his father was descended from generations of ruthless, strong-willed men.
That blood ran through his veins also, yet somehow Carter had been spared the full intensity. Or perhaps it was not yet fully developed?
Carter calculated it would take several minutes for the duke and Lady Audrey to reach them. At that point introductions would be made, some inane conversation exchanged, and then he would ask Lady Audrey to dance.
Once that was done, he could leave. And in the morning he would tell the duke he was not interested in the lady.
“Good luck, my friend.” Benton thumped him on the back. “As much as I would relish the fun of staying and watching you make an ass of yourself with the childlike Lady Audrey, the card room calls. Come along, Dawson.”
Peter Dawson looked hastily from one man to the other. “Perhaps Atwood would appreciate some moral support?”
“Hell, no,” Carter replied emphatically. “I counsel you both to save yourselves while you can.”
The two men slipped away into the crowd, which had mercifully lessened, Dawson looking concerned and Benton appearing amused.
Carter glanced again in his father’s direction and saw he and Lady Audrey were now engaged in conversation with the Earl of Wessex. It gave Carter a few moments to collect his thoughts, calm his emotions. Then suddenly the duke turned and caught his son’s gaze. He lowered his chin slightly in greeting, then gestured with steely gray eyes.
The marquess bristled. Clearly, he was being summoned. It would be prudent to obey, yet Carter’s feet stood firmly in place. The duke gestured a second time, the shade of his eyes darkening. Carter’s eyes also darkened. But his feet never took a step.
From long habit, he kept a tight rein on his escalating temper. It would be rude and pointless to vent his frustration in so public a venue. No, this discussion needed to be held in private, for it was a matter to be settled between him and his father.
Though he was loath to acknowledge it, even at this distance Carter could see that Lady Audrey’s hips were indeed unusually broad beneath the skirt of her silk gown. And her face, while passably pretty, had a most decidedly vacant look. Damn his father’s interfering ways.
The pair ceased their conversation and once again started moving directly toward him. Suddenly, all of Carter’s self-protective instincts kicked into high gear.
His father was being solicitous, almost conciliatory toward Lady Audrey. This was dangerous. Previously, the duke had allowed Carter to dismiss the women he presented after a single argument between the men, even as the duke balked at his son’s attitude.
With the celebration of Carter’s thirtieth birthday looming a few months away, the duke had become more adamant. The marquess worried that this time he would be unable to so easily dismiss his father’s choice.
The subtle scent of lavender assaulted his senses. Carter turned. Marvelous! A young woman stood on his left, mere steps away. He wiped his annoyance from his face and offered her a smile. “Good evening.” He bowed. “I am the Marquess of Atwood.”
“Yes, I know.” The young woman seemed taken aback by his forward manner, but she nodded cordially. “We met at Lord Willingford’s ball a few weeks ago. How are you, my lord?”
“Longing to dance. Won’t you please indulge me, fair lady?”
Without waiting for her to answer, Carter swept her into his arms. Mercifully, a section of the ballroom had been cleared for the dancing couples. He took immediate advantage and hastened toward the center, as far away from his father and Lady Audrey as he could get.
The woman in his arms let out a muffled sound of protest, but he ignored
