How to Seduce a Sinner. Adrienne Basso

who you are,” he blustered. “We met at the Willingfords’ ball. You are Arthur Pengrove’s future bride. And I should like to add that he is one very lucky fellow.”

      Her blue eyes filled with shock and regret, then quickly returned to a mischievous gleam. It was such a brief expression of emotion that Carter would have missed it had he not been observing her so closely.

      “You do not find that to be a particularly odd name, my lord? Arthur Pengrove’s future bride? Please, try again.”

      A stark challenge, plain as day, was written all over her lovely face. Damn. He wished he really did know her name, just so he could win this game. But alas, he had no earthly idea. Which was another surprise. How could he have forgotten such an enchanting woman?

      He cleared his throat, stalling for time. “How amusing. This is rather like that fairy tale about the odd little man who helped the beautiful miller’s daughter spin straw into gold. What was his name again?”

      “Rumpelstiltskin.”

      “Yes, that’s it.”

      “You are avoiding the question.”

      “Am I? I admit my thoughts are jumbled. Consumed by the events in the fairy tale. And fascinated at the similarities to our current situation. Truly, your hair puts spun gold to shame.”

      She muttered something under her breath. A word that no lady should know, let alone speak. Carter smiled. “Pardon?” he queried.

      Though he highly doubted it was her intention, she had successfully entertained him as no woman ever had. Outside of the bedchamber, of course. Females often grew tongue-tied around him, no doubt because they were eager to make a favorable impression.

      He knew that was not the case with his mysterious beauty. If anything, she seemed most eager to get away from him, which caused him to like her even more. Her wit was sharp, her attitude bold. Her voice had a warm pitch he found oddly sensual. The sound of it sent an unexpected potent spark of desire right through him.

      Brought on, no doubt, by the knowledge that she was already claimed by another man. Truly, nothing added more to a female’s allure than the knowledge that one could not have her.

      “You have a devious mind, my lord,” she finally said.

      “Precisely. Therefore I understand how they work.”

      She laughed. It was a joyful, melodious sound and Carter found himself joining her in a wide smile. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the music had stopped and the dance was over. Regretfully, he released her from the circle of his arms, then almost immediately felt the presence of another person standing near.

      Carter turned, fully expecting to see her newly acquired fiancé, Arthur Pengrove. Instead, his eyes clashed with the Marquess of Dardington.

      A rather angry, visibly annoyed, Marquess of Dardington.

      Chapter Two

      “Atwood.”

      “Dardington.”

      The two men stood toe to toe, first staring, then glowering at each other, neither giving an inch. The scent of impending disaster swirled around them, permeating the air. Dorothea’s breath hitched with panic. The last thing she needed was to be at the center of a very public disagreement between these two gentlemen.

      Especially after she had faithfully promised her sister, Gwendolyn, that she would behave with the utmost propriety and decorum while in London. Instead, she appeared poised to become the unwitting star in a drama of Shakespearean proportions.

      So, for the sake of all those guests who were regarding them with great curiosity, Dorothea kept a congenial smile plastered on her face. A smile she suspected fooled no one, yet hid some of the worry churning in her mind.

      “Ah, so you gentlemen are acquainted with each other,” she muttered. “How lovely.”

      She widened her smile, aware that their audience had grown in numbers. Good heavens, they must all think I’m a simpleton. Yet better to be thought a half-witted female than a scandalous one.

      For an instant, the two men turned in her direction, each appearing slightly puzzled that she had spoken. She realized that their focus had been so exclusively on each other, both had temporarily forgotten she was standing there with them.

      “I shall deal with this, Dorothea,” Lord Dardington declared with quiet authority. “No need to trouble yourself.”

      “There really is nothing to deal with, my lord,” she replied, striving to keep her tone neutral. “’Twas a simple misunderstanding.”

      “Hmm, perhaps. Or perhaps not, at least not on Atwood’s part,” the Marquess of Dardington said in a frigid, calm voice as his angry gaze returned to her dancing partner.

      Reflexively, Dorothea took a step back. The growing alarm that had taken up residence in her chest heightened, even as she admired the steely nerve exhibited by Lord Atwood.

      The Marquess of Dardington was a formidable man, in physical stature and in temperament. There were few who possessed the nerve to meet him so directly. Apparently the Marquess of Atwood was one of those few.

      Easily half the ton feared Lord Dardington’s volatile outbursts while the other half thrived on his antics and the endless gossip they produced. His wife, Lady Meredith, had assured Dorothea that Lord Dardington had mellowed with age, but she saw no evidence of that now. In truth, the most unsettling of all was the apparent calm Lord Dardington was currently demonstrating, despite his obvious displeasure.

      The calm before the storm? Dorothea shivered, suddenly feeling alarmingly light-headed. Topping the evening off by having her guardian make a public spectacle truly would make this the worst night of her life.

      “Miss Ellingham had promised me that dance, Atwood. But you spirited her away,” the Marquess of Dardington proclaimed. “Whatever were you thinking, man? Or rather, not thinking?”

      The deep timbre of the Marquess of Dardington’s voice vibrated along Dorothea’s spine. She risked a small glance at the Marquess of Atwood. His face paled slightly; his jaw flexed. Her fear of an unpleasant scene increased.

      “I was unaware of the circumstances, sir,” Lord Atwood replied. There was a pause, a long silence, and then finally, “my apologies.”

      Lord Atwood rigidly inclined his head as he offered his apology. His voice held the proper amount of regret, his contrition appeared genuine. On the surface. Yet something in Lord Atwood’s tone caught Dorothea’s attention.

      She would bet every shilling of her weekly allowance that the young nobleman would have done precisely the same thing even if he had known the entire circumstances.

      Lord Dardington darkened his glare. Apparently he shared her view. The tension in the air escalated. The two men now locked eyes, much as two rams would lock horns. Dorothea supposed it was better than knocking heads, though that might come later, depending on how this conversation concluded. Wide-eyed, she licked her lips.

      Fearful of her own safety if she dared to step between them, Dorothea tried to manage a disarming smile. But she need not have bothered. Both men were once again ignoring her, too intent on each other to be aware of much else.

      She remembered suddenly the first time she had met the Marquess of Dardington. He had been cordial, pleasant, even charming. But then her temporary guardian had succinctly outlined his expectations of her conduct and the rules he expected to be obeyed without questions while she was a member of his London household.

      He had also, rather graphically, described what would happen if she broke any of those rules. It had taken until the next morning for Dorothea’s knees to stop shaking.

      But the Marquess of Atwood did not appear to be having the same difficulties. Lord Dardington was casting him a stare that would cause any sane, mortal man to quake in his boots. But the Marquess of Atwood barely blinked.

      Dorothea