She had slender, elegant fingers. He imagined them moving across his body in a sensual, teasing stroke. The resulting fantasy made him hot and embarrassingly hard. Letting out a low, strangled sigh, Carter took a large bite of his sole in cream sauce.

Miss Ellingham smiled at something the major said to her, then turned in his direction and caught Carter’s stare. There was no lowering of her lashes, no maidenly blush. Instead her blue eyes met his with an unspoken challenge, as if daring him to intercede.

Damn. It was that challenge that intrigued him most of all.

“I applaud your taste in females,” the Countess of Marchdale remarked. “Miss Ellingham is a lovely girl. She has that elusive, alluring type of beauty that men find so irresistible. Her character appears solid also, a rarity among females with such prime looks. I think she could make any one of you a good wife.” Lady Marchdale waved her fork around the table, to include the major and the viscount, as well as himself.

“I shall be certain to mention that to your grandson,” Carter replied, not bothering to hide his smile. “No doubt he will want to act on it immediately.”

“We both know that is a bald-faced lie.” Lady Marchdale rested her fork on the edge of her plate, then with her free hand swatted his forearm with her fingertips. Carter nearly yelped in surprise. She had a strong slap for an elderly woman. “Sebastian will never seriously consider a girl once I give my approval of her. ’Tis like stamping the poor creature with the plague.”

Carter silently agreed. He and Benton were very much alike in this regard-they readily closed their minds to any female recommended by an elderly relation. “Perhaps on this occasion Benton will appreciate your advice?”

“When pigs fly,” Lady Marchdale scoffed. She signaled to the footman to refill her wineglass before continuing. “On second thought, Miss Ellingham is probably best suited as a wife for the major, given her family background and fortune.” She lowered her voice and leaned close to Carter’s ear. “Did you know he was a bastard?”

Carter nearly sprayed his mouthful of wine across the table. “You must not say such harsh, unfair things about a man’s character, Lady Marchdale. Major Roddington is a good and decent man, one I am proud to call my friend.”

Lady Marchdale let out a rather unladylike snort. “That is not what I meant, as you very well know. I was referring to his lack of a father, not impugning his character. Oh, I do wish I had my fan, young man, so I could rap your knuckles properly.”

Carter’s mouth twitched. It was no wonder Benton despaired at his grandmother’s outspoken opinions. “I don’t think that Major Roddington has any interest in marriage at this time.”

“No man wants to get married,” the countess declared. “Except those poor fools who are bewitched by a pretty face or desperate to escape debtors’ prison.”

“Well, since I am blessed with a considerable fortune and an immunity to bewitching females, does that mean I shall never be ready to take on a wife?”

She laughed heartily. “Men can be so infernally irrational. They feel they need to prepare for everything, as if that would make one whit of a difference when it comes to living with a woman. Marriage can be either heaven or hell. ’Tis up to you to decide which one you’d rather endure and then make it happen. I should know. I buried three husbands and they all went to meet their Maker with a smile upon their lips.”

Three? Carter had forgotten. But why did they die happy men? Because they had lived contented lives or because they were finally able to escape Lady Marchdale? Carter absently rubbed the sore spot on his hand and decided it would be prudent not to inquire too closely.

Disciplining his errant thoughts, he smiled at the countess. Her confident tone had piqued his curiosity. “Tell me, my lady, if a man can never truly be ready for marriage, how does he overcome his reluctance?”

“You like to gamble, do you not? Then find a lovely young woman who fires your blood and roll the dice. You might find yourself delighted with the outcome.”

She was right. Marriage was a step he knew he must take and it was far better to find a way to embrace his fate rather than fight it. His eyes naturally pulled themselves across the table toward Miss Ellingham. Was she his fate?

When dinner concluded, the ladies left the gentlemen to their port and cigars, as was the custom during more formal affairs. After a pleasant interlude, the men rejoined the women in the drawing room.

As he entered the room, Carter’s eyes sought out Miss Ellingham. She was standing near the French doors on the opposite side of the room. Roddington immediately joined her.

She smiled in greeting, her face showing true delight. The sight left Carter feeling oddly deflated. He turned to answer a question posed to him by Lord Dardington. Once finished, he returned his gaze to the French doors. Miss Ellingham was gone. So was Roddington.

“Dorothea is showing the major my prize-winning rose garden,” Lady Meredith informed him as she glided to Carter’s side. “Why don’t you join them?”

Carter lifted an eyebrow in feigned surprise, but the denial that he was eager for Miss Ellingham’s company died on his lips. It would be rude to lie when Lady Meredith’s perceptive eyes had clearly observed the truth of the matter.

“I believe I would enjoy some fresh air,” he replied. “Excuse me.”

It was a clear, cool evening. Carter walked with purpose through the large garden, following one, then another path of paving stones, his gaze darting to the many secluded alcoves artfully incorporated into the garden’s design. A design clearly done by a man with romance and privacy on his mind.

His diligence was eventually rewarded when he spied his prey in a cozy alcove bounded on three sides by boxwood hedges. The major appeared to have his arms around Miss Ellingham. Carter stepped closer, never moving his eyes from the pair. When he saw Roddington start to dip his head forward, Carter coughed. Loudly.

The pair instantly sprang apart. Looking guilty? Carter was unsure.

“Atwood.” Roddington smiled.

Carter return the grin, ignoring the flash of jealousy that drummed through his head. Poor sod. The major was no doubt relieved it was not Lord Dardington who had discovered them. “Enjoying the night air?”

“Yes, but there’s a bit of a chill out here. I was just going to fetch a shawl for Miss Ellingham. Will you keep her company while I’m gone?”

“My pleasure.”

Carter deliberately held his position on the pathway, waiting until the major drew near. “About Miss Ellingham,” he whispered as the major walked past. “Are your affections in any way engaged?’

Roddington stopped. “Not romantically.”

“A favor then, Roddington, if you please.”

“Anything.”

“Step away from her.”

The major’s brow rose. “For you?”

Carter nodded. “If you don’t mind?”

Roddington barely hesitated. “Not at all. Anything for a friend.”

Carter smiled inwardly, his spirits buoyed. This was all falling into place rather neatly. He waited another moment, gazing quietly in the distance before approaching her. She angled her head sharply in greeting, then twirled on her heel, presenting him with her back, a gesture that spoke volumes. A gesture he could not resist.

“Why is it, Miss Ellingham, that nearly every time I see you out of doors you are with a different gentleman? Locked in an embrace.”

Her shoulders stiffened, but she did not take the bait. “You exaggerate, my lord.”

“Not really. First it was Pengrove, then Rosen, and now Roddington. Is this some sort of contest? Do you hope to kiss every unwed man in London this Season?”

That remark got her attention. She turned toward him, her eyes blazing with emotion. “Do not presume to judge me, my lord,” she said hotly. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know that you have a fondness for kissing,” he replied, with a subtle challenge in his voice that practically dared her to refute him. “And an interest in passion.”

“Who I kiss and where I kiss them is none of your concern.”

“What if I decided that it should be?”

“Ha!” She tossed her head, revealing the slender column of her throat. Lord, what he wouldn’t do for the right to nibble at that delicate nape.

Carter reached out and placed his palm beneath her chin, bringing her face around so their eyes met. Then he slowly, gently brushed his thumb across her lips.

“You overstep your bounds, my lord,” she said with a small shiver. From the cold or from his touch? Carter was uncertain.

He repeated the motion and she tried to back away, but her legs bumped into a garden bench. Her eyes blazed with frustration. Carter stared down at her, sucking in a sharp breath. He took note of the rapid rise of her breath as she fought to calm her temper, saw the pulse quicken in the hollow of her throat.

She truly was a tasty morsel, never more appealing than when she was in high emotions. No wonder so many men longed to kiss her. She had a mouth that begged to be tasted.

As if reading his thoughts, she suddenly moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. They glistened in the moonlight, so soft, so plump, so tempting.

“Ah, to hell with it,” Carter muttered as he reached for her. He was not a man accustomed to denying himself. When he wanted something, he took it, and that especially included the woman he intended to make his wife.

Their mouths melded together as he boldly captured her lips. She acquiesced with a sigh, her entire body softening against him. He tightened his embrace, running his tongue along the line of her pressed lips. She trembled, parting them. His tongue found hers and he stroked it boldly, eliciting a sharp response of delight.