Dorothea glanced curiously at the duke. His remarks suggested there might be some sort of history between him and the Aldertons, but Dorothea was not about to ask any questions.
“I think Miss Ellingham should be commended for coping with the disaster in such a skillful, refined manner,” Carter remarked.
“And you think gracefully handling a single society mishap qualifies her to become a duchess?” the duke challenged.
“No, Your Grace,” Dorothea interrupted. “I think the incident demonstrates how very essential it is to not overestimate one’s own importance.” She took a small sip of water from the lovely crystal goblet to clear the dryness from her throat. “If Lord Alderton had not been so concerned about his appearance, he would have allowed his tailor to make a garment that fit him properly, rather than trying to stuff himself into an outfit two sizes too small.”
The duke stared at her so long Dorothea felt the hairs on the back of her neck starting to rise in alarm. Yet she refused to lower her gaze or defend her comments. Then, unexpectedly, miraculously, the older man offered her the barest hint of a smile.
“You have a great deal to learn about London society,” he said.
“I know. I’m sure I shall make many mistakes.” She lifted the white linen napkin from her lap and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “Though I promise I shall never burst out of my clothing at a society affair.”
“Bravo,” Carter commented with a grin.
“And I know there would be far fewer blunders if I had someone to guide me, to assist me in the murky society waters,” she added pointedly, her eyes on the duke.
“That is women’s domain,” the duke declared dismissively.
“Not entirely.” Dorothea forced a smile. “You gravely underestimate the male influence, especially among the bullying society matrons. I know they would defer to the opinion of a man they respected.”
“You mean someone like me.” The duke flicked his gaze over her, his expression cagey. “I see what you are trying to do, Miss Ellingham. Buttering me up in order to gain my approval and support.”
“Is it working?”
Lord Atwood coughed. Dorothea turned her head, pleading with her eyes for him not to intervene. This was between her and the duke.
“I’ll have to let you know.”
“Fair enough, Your Grace.” Dorothea glanced down at her plate and realized she had eaten almost half her creamed fillet of halibut. And she didn’t even like fish. With a crooked smile she forked up another mouthful.
To her vast relief, the duke decided to drop the brunt of his disapproving manner as the roast beef course was served. An undercurrent of tension lingered, but it was not as all-encompassing and oppressive as when they first arrived.
Despite the recovery of the evening, Dorothea’s head was plagued with a dull ache by the time they departed. When Carter handed her into his carriage, she gratefully sank back against the velvet squabs and closed her eyes, willing the tension to ease from her mind.
Seeming to understand and respect her need for solitude, her fiancé allowed them to sit in silence until they were nearly halfway to the Smith-Johnsons’ ball.
“About my father—”
“There is no need to apologize,” Dorothea interrupted. “You were not responsible for his behavior. Though I feel I need to ask. Does the duke improve upon further acquaintance?”
“Honestly?”
“Please.”
“Not really.” A glimmer of amusement flickered in Carter’s eyes as he appraised her with a measuring gaze. “Well, you did ask for honesty.”
“I did. And I appreciate the truth.” Her chin jutted out determinedly. “Never fear. I will learn to handle him.”
“Or avoid him.”
Dorothea’s eyes widened. It was a telling comment. One that explained a good deal about the animosity that swirled beneath the surface between father and son. Avoidance had apparently been the method that Carter had decided to enact when coping with his father. And clearly that tactic had been employed with limited success.
“Thank you for the warning,” she said quietly.
“I will protect you as much as I can,” he promised. “And once you have given birth to an heir, I feel certain his criticism will ebb.”
Dorothea wasn’t sure she could wait that long. “I have been surrounded by women for most of my life, with the exception of my uncle Fletcher, a gentleman who keeps his thoughts and opinions to himself. These many females are a strong-willed, opinionated group. In order to survive, I have learned how to deflect an argument, ignore most criticism, and hide as many of my missteps as possible.”
“I am heartened to learn of it.”
“I do, however, have one request.”
Carter’s eyes lit with a momentary start of suspicion, but then it vanished, replaced by a cautious curiosity. “After you endured this evening with such grace and dignity, I feel I owe you anything.”
Dorothea smiled. She very much liked the idea of having him in her debt.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
Punctuating her request with a likewise action, Dorothea lunged forward and wrapped her arms around a very startled marquess. He felt strong and solid and smelled divine. Bringing her mouth to his, she slowly skimmed her lips back and forth across his. He smiled faintly and allowed her teasing, doing nothing to either encourage or reject her advances.
Charmed at the notion that she was in control, Dorothea cupped his face in her hands. She would not be satisfied with merely pressing their mouths together. She wanted the passion and excitement she knew he could arouse in her. Boldly, she nibbled his lower lip, seeking entrance, and slowly, tantalizingly, he opened to her. Her tongue curled against his, tasting and teasing, and he responded by kissing her back with total abandon.
Dorothea instinctively began to move her body, amazed at the intense jolt of desire she felt, captivated by the tumbling sensations. He heated her blood in a way that no one else had ever done, in a way she did not fully understand. She only knew it intrigued and excited her and she wanted more. Much more.
His mouth was magical, enthralling her utterly. His hands moved on her throat, down the column of her neck, across her shoulders, then lower, his fingers lightly stroking her skin as he discovered the roundness of her breasts.
Dorothea found herself arching forward into his hot touch, blindly seeking the pleasure he was arousing so effortlessly in her. All too soon, he broke off the kiss, even as she felt her entire body growing restless and edgy.
She leaned against him, gulping air in deep, uneven breaths, frantically trying to figure out how she could get him to start kissing her again.
He exhaled raggedly. She lifted her head. His eyes were closed, his thumb and forefinger clenching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to rein in his passion.
“We are to be married,” she purred, in her best seductive voice. “Sharing a kiss or two is perfectly acceptable.”
He wiped a palm down his face and stared at her, his expression unreadable. “It is quickly progressing beyond a kiss. And as much as I want you, my dear, I will not take my future wife’s virginity in the back of a carriage.”
The flat, blunt statement washed over Dorothea like a bucket of ice water. She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and pulled away as a wave of deep embarrassment heated her cheeks.
“I hardly meant for things to go that far,” she muttered, her voice displaying only a partial tremor of mortification. She felt hot all over, certain her face was turning an unattractive shade of red. She desperately needed a draft of cool air to embrace her, but she dared not reach out to lower the window and draw even more attention to her plight.
Was it not a few days ago he had wickedly whispered his hope that she would be amenable to anticipating their marriage vows? Had he not tried to seduce her in the moonlight, to encourage a wanton and uninhibited response? What had changed so suddenly? Did he no longer feel a passion for her?
She te
nsed, yet dared to risk another glance at his face. The spark of heated desire revealed in his gaze soothed her wounded vanity. He was not unaffected by their embrace. He was merely able to control it better. The realization made Dorothea feel exposed, vulnerable.
There was no opportunity to ponder those feelings, for the coach rambled to a full stop. A footman opened the carriage door and lowered the step. Routinely, Dorothea extended her hand and allowed herself to be helped out. She turned, waiting for Carter to descend, but he remained seated, leaning his upper torso forward to speak with her.
“I bid you good evening, my dear. I do hope you will enjoy the party.”
“You aren’t coming inside?”
“Alas, I have other plans.”
“Oh.” Dorothea struggled to stretch her mouth into a strained smile. The sting of disappointment she felt was swift and sharp.
“You will, however, need an escort to take you inside.” He turned his head and scanned the few carriages that were arriving at the front gate.
Dorothea straightened, her pride bristling at being passed over to another man as if she were a burdensome old maid. “There is no need to fret on my account. Lord and Lady Dardington have most likely arrived. I should not have too much difficulty locating them once I am inside.”
She pivoted on her heel, but he was at her side before she had taken her first step. “Don’t be ridiculous. Naturally I shall escort you safely inside.”
He was all elegance and good manners, and that angered Dorothea even more. She wanted him to stay with her because he desired it, not because he felt it was the proper thing to do.
Nevertheless, she allowed him to take her arm and walk her into the party. It was the typical crush, with people everywhere, but somehow Carter found Lord Dardington among the masses.
He greeted the older man cordially, then bowed over her hand and bid her a crisp good night. As she watched his broad back fade from view, Dorothea felt a sharp pang of loss. Inexplicably she found herself fighting back a brace of tears.
She could feel Lord Dardington’s cool gaze upon her. Dorothea glanced down at her hands, then lifted her chin, doing her best to appear unconcerned. The wedding announcement had been made, the agreement struck. She would marry the marquess and make the best of the situation. Surprisingly, that knowledge and resolve brought a flood of relief to her confused emotions.
She had chosen the right man. Now all she needed to do was to wait until he realized it.
Carter did not want to leave the ball, or more specifically, he did not want to leave Dorothea. But he had made plans to spend the evening with Benton, Dawson, and the major, and Carter felt he must stick with those arrangements. Acquiring a fiancée, and soon a wife, was going to alter his life but his friendship with these men would remain strong.
“I read the most appalling bit of news in The Times today, Atwood,” Viscount Benton said as he discarded one of his playing cards and reached for another. “There was an announcement of your marriage. Surely that was some sort of ghastly error?”
Carter blinked through the smoke-filled air and smiled cagily at the men seated around the table. They had been drinking, smoking, and gambling for nearly five hours and not a word had been said concerning his upcoming nuptials. He wondered briefly why Benton sought to introduce the topic now, but concluded his friend had most likely just remembered. After all, the viscount had been on a winning streak for most of the night.
“’Tis true, Benton,” he answered. “Miss Ellingham and I are to be married.”
Benton shot a wicked smile in Carter’s direction. “Dorothea Ellingham, the very same female under Dardington’s protection? Then I know it must be true. Only a simpleton would cross Dardington. Unless your brains have gone missing?”
The viscount looked so hopeful that Carter burst out laughing. “I am merely following your advice, Benton. I tossed out my father’s list of potential brides and found a woman on my own to marry.”
“Ah, so this is my plan in action?” The viscount squinted down at his cards for a long moment, then tilted his head to one side. “But you were supposed to find someone unsuitable and then pretend to want to take her as your bride. That would have bought you more time as a bachelor. Miss Ellingham is a perfectly acceptable female, therefore you will have to go through with it.”
“I am very aware of that fact,” Carter answered as he slid the last card across the table to Dawson.
Dawson accepted it with a smile, then frowned when he turned it over. The man really did have the worst face for cards, far too open and honest. “I confess I was also surprised to read the announcement,” Dawson added. “I thought it was Roddy who had Miss Ellingham in his sights.”
The three men turned toward the major. He abruptly ceased shuffling the cards in his hands when he realized they were staring at him. “I took her on a single picnic,” he declared, straightening in his chair.
“Ah, well, I for one wish you great happiness, Atwood,” Dawson said sincerely. “She is a lovely woman.”
“And I wish you a return to your senses before the date,” Benton quipped. “There is still time to escape. I hear the hunting in Scotland can be prime this time of year.”
Carter smiled. “I have no desire to escape. The marriage is on my terms and I’m pleased with this decision. Won’t you be happy for me?”
Benton shook his head violently. “I would be happier if I did not believe you had lost your mind.”
“To Atwood’s marriage,” Dawson said, lifting his glass.
Roddy followed suit, but Benton slumped forward, propped his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. “I cannot condone this decision, however lovely the future bride. You will not be able to exchange her for a new one, you know. She will be a part of your life forever. Perhaps, if the vicar is to be believed, into eternity.” The viscount shuddered visibly at the notion.
“You’re drunk,” Carter declared.
“Damn right. You should be, too. No sane, sober man would take this step unless he was under the hatches.”
“But it’s what I want,” Carter replied mildly.
“And you always get whatever you desire, don’t you, Atwood?” Roddy declared before lifting his glass and draining it in one long gulp.
Carter narrowed his eyes at the major’s venomous tone. “You told me you had no interest in the lady. Were you lying?”
“I’m not a liar!” Roddy snarled.
He lunged toward Carter. Despite his minor inebriation, Carter managed to tilt himself out of the way. Before the major could regroup, Dawson jumped between the two men.
“Calm down, Roddy!” Dawson shouted. “There’s no need for any of this nonsense.”
The major shrugged off Dawson’s hand and stood on his feet. “He called me a liar.”
“Oh, do shut up,” Benton moaned. “That racket is playing havoc inside my head. Atwood meant no insult, did you?”
“I’m sure he did not,” Dawson interjected. “Nor did the major. I fear we’ve all had too much good brandy tonight.”
“Hell, Dawson, there is no such thing as too much brandy,” Benton insisted. He refilled each glass before casting a stern glance at Carter and the major. “To friendship.”
Carter waited expectantly for Roddy to make the first conciliatory move. With a sheepish grin, the major raised his glass in salute. Carter accepted the unspoken apology and did the same, but he was not entirely certain that too much brandy was the true reason for the major’s tirade. And the thought left him very unsettled.
Chapter Ten
The wedding ceremony between Carter Grayson, Marquess of Atwood and Miss Dorothea Ellingham took place promptly at ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning the third week of May. St. George’s Church at Hanover Square was near bursting at the corners as gentry and common folk alike crowded inside the stately building, craning their necks for a glimpse of the bride and groom.
Dorothea wore a lovely gown of pale blue satin trimmed with exquisite lac
e and a small matching bonnet. The ride from Lord and Lady Dardington’s home was brief, and she was grateful, for it left no time for her nerves to flutter and catch hold.
Lord Atwood was waiting on the church steps when she arrived. Dressed in a blue superfine coat with a gold embroidered waistcoat and a fall of elegant Belgium lace on his cravat, he looked devilishly handsome and noble. Dorothea nearly felt the need to pinch herself, scarcely believing she was about to marry such an elegant, aristocratic man.
He sauntered down the church steps the moment the coach halted and insisted on helping her himself. She shifted the prayer book that had once belonged to her mother to her left hand, placed her right in his, and stepped down to stand beside him.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Lady Meredith bustled behind her, adjusting the lace on the short train of Dorothea’s gown. When she was satisfied with the result, Lady Meredith bent toward her and kissed her cheek.
Dorothea gulped back the emotions rising in her throat. Lady Meredith had been so much more than a social sponsor. She had been a kind, loyal friend and Dorothea knew she would very much miss being an everyday part of the Dardington household.
Lord Dardington embraced her next, paying careful attention to his wife’s admonishment not to muss her hair or bonnet. Then he turned to take Lady Meredith’s arm and escort her inside the church.
Dorothea’s heart lurched as she watched them leave. But she was saved from an embarrassing display of emotions by a rustling noise. She lifted her head and for the first time noticed Viscount Benton was also on the church steps, looking utterly ridiculous holding a dainty, feminine bouquet of white roses tied with white satin ribbon.
“Benton is standing up with me,” Carter explained.
“He hardly looks pleased at the idea,” Dorothea blurted out, apparently loud enough for the viscount to hear, for he stepped forward and bowed gracefully.
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