“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 it, pulling her along with him. She was small in stature, barely reaching his shoulder. She was also very pretty, with delicate, fine-boned features, silky blond hair, and a slender, willowy figure that boasted high, firm breasts. There was something vaguely familiar about her…
Carter narrowed his eyes and studied her further, then nearly missed a step of the waltz when he realized her identity. Good Lord! It was the female from the garden, Arthur Pengrove’s newly acquired fiancée. ’Twas no wonder she was glaring at him with obvious disapproval. No doubt this dance had been saved for her intended.
Oh, well. There would be other dances for her to share with Pengrove. A lifetime of them. For now his need was greater, and besides their dance had already begun. Actually, it was a good sign. His luck must be changing.
His even mood restored, Carter smiled down at his partner. “I have recently arrived at the ball. Tell me, has anything of great interest occurred?”
He expected her to blush and stammer and then gush about her very recent engagement to Arthur Pengrove. He would nod and smile and listen to her subsequent chatter, thus alleviating the burden of conversation. In fact, if he were very fortunate, he could lead her to the opposite side of the room and, at the end of the dance, slip quietly from the ballroom. Without seeing his father. Or meeting Lady Audrey.
But the very pretty future Mrs. Pengrove did not reveal the secret of her engagement, nor even hint that the momentous event had taken place. Instead, she gazed at him with a boldness that was nearly disconcerting.
Carter’s eyes moved down her face, settling on her lips. She had an especially sensual mouth. His pulse quickened and he was suddenly assaulted with a fierce urge to kiss her. Pure lust, of course. Still, it seemed a pity that it would be Pengrove who enjoyed the taste of those lush, tempting lips.
“Why did you ask me to dance? Or rather, why did you pull me against my will onto the ballroom floor? Your haste was most extraordinary. Are you running from the law, perchance?”
Carter arched his brow. He could not possibly have heard her correctly. “Pardon?”
“I asked why you insisted that I dance with you,” she replied calmly.
For a moment, Carter’s mind went blank. Her forthright manner caught him very much unawares. Females generally blushed and stammered in his presence or else sent him sly, seductive glances. They never challenged him so directly.
“I was overcome by your beauty, fair lady,” he said, deciding to disarm her with some harmless flattery. “It drove me to bold madness.”
“What a bunch of rot. You barely glanced at my face before carting me away like a sack of grain.”
Carter’s brow raised as he feigned indignity. “I am the Marquess of Atwood, my good woman. I do not cart females away. I gracefully, elegantly sweep them away.”
“Do you really? Even when they have promised the dance to another gentleman?”
Ah, it was as he suspected. She was piqued because he had stolen her away from her intended. “Your previous partner will have a lifetime to enjoy your dances. ’Tis only fair he give others a chance, dear lady.”
She tipped her head to one side. “You don’t know my name, do you?”
Caught! Carter bestowed his most charming, heart-melting smile on her, hoping to distract her question. But it didn’t seem to work. Her gaze remained