He slipped into the crowd. Dorothea’s eyes searched frantically for his whereabouts, darting to and fro before she suddenly caught herself. What was she doing? Making a complete and utter ninny of herself, that was certain. How truly mortifying.

Scolding herself for squandering the opportunity to bask in the attention of the numerous gentlemen standing right in front of her, Dorothea blinked hard.

Sir Perry was still droning on about something. No matter.

“Gentlemen, my dance card looks woefully bare.” Her unexpected interruption startled Sir Perry into silence. Seizing the moment, Dorothea smiled flirtatiously at her circle of admirers. “Pray tell, whose name shall I write in for the first waltz?”

“Looking for anyone in particular?”

The male voice at Carter’s ear startled him, but he managed not to jump. “Not so much looking as avoiding,” he said drolly.

“Hmm, let me guess,” Viscount Benton said. His eyes swept the room and his expression grew puzzled. “Hell, there are almost too many unmarried ladies here to select just one that you need to avoid.”

“Yes,” Carter agreed grimly. “And nearly half of these females are on my father’s infernal list.”

The viscount’s brow rose. “I thought you were going to burn that damn list.”

The marquess shrugged. “I was, but then I reasoned it would be far wiser to memorize the names, so I know which females I must ignore.”

“And how is that going?” Benton asked, amusement edging his tone.

“Not well.”

“Perhaps we should retreat to the card room,” the viscount suggested. “Unmarried females generally refrain from sitting at the tables.”

“I think it is safer if we leave the ball,” Carter replied, wishing again that he had sent his regrets. He could hardly try to court a woman with his father here. Besides, the one female who most captured his attention was tonight’s honored guest, and she was already taken. By Arthur Pengrove, of all people. “There is a new girl working at Raven’s Paradise. Madame Angelina assures me she is supremely talented.”

The viscount cleared his throat. Confused, Carter looked closely at his friend. “Are you blushing, Benton?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Atwood,” the viscount scoffed. “I would be more than happy to accompany you to the brothel and I shall even wager that I will be the first to have a go at the new girl.”

“Then what is the problem?”

Benton looked away. He almost seemed…embarrassed. But that was impossible. Carter had known the viscount for years. And in all that time he had never once seen him as discomforted as he now appeared.

“I can’t leave yet,” Benton finally admitted. “I promised my grandmother I would do her a great favor and dance with the niece of her dearest friend. By any chance, are you acquainted with Miss Phoebe Garret?”

Carter started laughing. For all his swagger and bravado, his scandalous and outrageous behavior, at his core Benton had an honorable streak he could not eradicate. Though he certainly tried his damndest.

A favor for his grandmother. How priceless! Carter could hardly wait to tell Dawson, knowing their friend would appreciate the utter irony of it all. “Miss Garret is on my list,” he said. “The first name, actually.”

Benton grinned. “Then I am safe. If the duke has earmarked her as one of your potential brides, she will no doubt be very unimpressed with my lesser title and wealth. I can fulfill my duty to my grandmother without fear of giving Miss Garret the wrong impression of any interest in her.”

Carter tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “That is assuming Miss Garret will grant you a dance. She is a somewhat timid creature who will more than likely be frightened speechless when a rogue with your reputation approaches her.”

“What a perfectly delectable thought.” The viscount’s lips rose in a wider smile. “I had forgotten a blackened reputation can be a most useful tool when it comes to the marriage mart. It scares many a scheming mother away. You should consider acquiring one yourself.”

“God forbid. My reputation is already dark enough. Besides, a rake merely scares off one sort of female and attracts another.” Carter barely kept himself from shuddering. “No, thank you.”

“Tell me, which one of these simpering ladies is Phoebe Garret?”

Carter searched the room. He had only met Miss Garret a few times, but he well remembered her dark hair and full figure. “She is currently at the back of the ballroom, partially hidden by a massive potted palm.”

“Naturally. I am not surprised that she demonstrates the prerequisite characteristic of cowering that your father finds so endlessly appealing.” The viscount craned his neck in the direction Carter indicated. “Egad, she’s a bit long in the tooth,” he remarked. “No wonder her relatives are cornering men to partner her for dances.”

“She isn’t that old.” Carter shrugged. “Nearly four and twenty, I believe, which is younger than you or I.”

“She’s practically in her dotage.”

“That’s most unkind,” Carter replied.

“It’s just an observation. I don’t make these ridiculous rules. Nor do I follow them.”

The two men stared at Miss Garret. As if somehow sensing she was being observed, she slowly sank farther behind the palm fronds. Benton sighed.

“Age can add an interesting bit of maturity and depth to a woman’s countenance,” Carter remarked. “Alas, that is not the case with Miss Garret. I think she is simply too shy for her own good, and her natural hesitation coupled with her age and her anxious mother’s proclivity to rush her into a match unfortunately leaves the woman with a desperate air.”

The viscount’s eyes widened with concern. “Desperation in a female can be most unnerving.”

“And dangerous. Be sure to remember that, Benton.”

“Ah, there you are.” Peter Dawson’s voice broke into the conversation. “I told Roddy we’d find you two eventually.”

Carter smiled, pleased to see a few more friendly male faces. “Major, I’m so glad you could make it tonight,” he said sincerely.

“I assumed I had you to thank for the invitation, Atwood,” Roddington replied. “The Duke of Warwick is hardly within the circle of my acquaintances.”

“I had a feeling you might enjoy yourself this evening.” Carter looked around the room. “Most men of Warwick’s rank know how to throw an exceptional party.”

“Aren’t you the son of a duke?” Roddington asked.

Carter turned in surprise. It was hardly a secret, but he was startled that the major would be aware of the connection. “Yes, my father is the Duke of Hansborough.”

“Yet we try not to hold it against him,” Benton interjected in a dry tone.

“Is the duke here?” Roddy inquired casually.

“Somewhere.” Carter’s mouth twisted. “We are not much in agreement these days, my father and I. Especially when it comes to the subject of finding a marriageable young lady.”

The major’s eyes widened slightly. “For you or for him?”

For him? Carter nearly choked on his tongue. The idea of his widowed father taking a bride was something that had never once entered his mind. Though he supposed it was a reasonable question. Carter’s mother had been dead for many years. And his father was not yet an old man. In fact, men older than the duke had successfully married and even fathered additional children.

Dawson picked up the thread of the conversation. “That’s a rather intriguing suggestion. If the duke was saddled with a young bride to chase around, he wouldn’t be half as interested in what you were doing. What do you think, Atwood?”

Carter stared at Dawson dumbly. What did he think of the idea? It was bullshit, pure and simple. His father had deeply loved his wife and was devoted to honoring her memory. He would never, nor should he, consider replacing her.

“I think marriage is far too much on everyone’s minds these days,” Carter said sharply, refusing to examine his feelings on the matter too closely. “Come, gentlemen, let’s engage in a few obligatory dances and then leave the ball to find some true entertainment.”

Dorothea absently fingered the white satin ribbon on the skirt of her gown and drew herself farther into the corner. She had deliberately left the next few dances unclaimed on her card, leaving herself the option of resting or perhaps partnering with someone who had not presented himself to her. Like the Marquess of Atwood?

“Miss Ellingham?”

Trying to hide her yelp of shock, Dorothea nearly bit through her tongue. Gracious, he’s here! She offered him a polite curtsy. “Good evening, my lord.” She kept her expression cool, fearing she would be unable to smile without looking and feeling like a total ninny. “How good of you to attend my ball.”

“I would not have missed it for anything. Please, allow me to introduce a friend, Major Gregory Roddington, a recent hero of the war.”

Distractedly, Dorothea turned her attention to the handsome man beside the marquess. He bowed to her and smiled.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Ellingham. They are playing a quadrille. Would you do me the honor of standing up with me?” the major asked. “Though I’m afraid I can claim no great skill on the dance floor, I promise to try and execute the steps in the correct order.”

“Ah, but can you avoid crushing my toes, Major Roddington?” she asked with a flirtatious tilt of her chin.

“I can try,” he answered with a twinkling grin.

Dorothea swallowed a small sigh of disappointment. The major seemed to be a very pleasant, affable man, but it was Atwood’s attention she craved, not his friend’s. How marvelous it would be to dance, and flirt, with the marquess. But he had not asked her.

“I shall be delighted to dance with you, sir.” Pasting a bright smile on her face, Dorothea allowed the major to lead her onto the dance floor.