Chapter 4

"There you are!"

Charles had stepped no more than one foot back inside the Ball Room when Lady Beatrice was on him. Quite literally. She didn't spot him across the room. She didn't shout out to him. Her arm grabbed his and held on tight as if for dear life.

"I was wondering where you had gotten to!" She was in his face, her green eyes big and wide and a little too eager. "I was beginning to worry that you'd left me."

Charles eyed the hand gripped around his forearm. "An impossibility, Lady Beatrice. Why, I suspect that even if I was to try, you'd pop up inside my carriage as if you could see the future."

"Oh, you!" she giggled and slapped playfully at his arm. "Your Grace, has anyone ever told you how funny you are?"

"Not lately."

"And how dashing, if I might be so bold?"

"I'm also quite tall," Charles joked.

"Ha!" She threw her head back and laughed as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. And, despite himself, Charles found that he enjoyed it.

Following the recent tongue-lashing that Lady Felicity had given him, Charles was wont to admit that it was nice to be treated with such interest and infatuation. Yes, he knew it was fake. And yes, he still suspected there was more to Lady Beatrice"s interest than a simple case of attraction. But for now, with the mood he was in, dammit if it didn't feel nice.

"So, you're not leaving, are you?" she asked eagerly, still holding him.

"Even if I tried, I doubt that you would let me."

"I would tie you up first!" she said a little too seriously. "Hopefully it won't come to that."

"I am afraid I left my rope at home."

"Ha!" she laughed again, squeezing his arm now, stepping in closer so her body was pressed against his own.

There was no denying how fetching Lady Beatrice was – any man could see it. Petite in stature, slim in frame, her strawberry blonde hair was worn in ringlets, while her white skin was powdered such that her cheeks had a permanent reddish hue. And with those big green eyes of hers, not to mention luscious lips, any man who called himself such would be glad to harbor her attention.

And once, many years ago, Charles would have been the same. Yes, even he could admit that. When he was younger, his reputation as a rake had developed because that was exactly what he was, a rake. A known bachelor who bedded women for fun, leaving scores of them in his wake as he searched for his next conquest. It wasn't a history he was proud of, but one that had been necessary for... well, reasons he preferred not to consider.

Nonetheless, that was the old him. Now, all Charles wanted was a quiet, simple life. He didn't wish to marry. He didn't desire love. He wanted to start his stud farm, grow it into something spectacular, and step out of his father's shadow and name once and for all, so people would see him as more than the scoundrel son of a drunk who didn't deserve his title of Duke.

Needless to say, he had no desire to entertain Lady Beatrice"s advances.

"And seeing as I have left my rope at home," he began cautiously. "I am afraid I must be --"

"Asking me for a dance," she cut him off quickly. "To which my answer is that I would love to." She rested her spare hand beside the other, which gripped his forearm, and the look in her eyes suggested she would sooner tear his arm from its socket than be denied.

"You took the words out of my mouth," Charles said, and then added under his breath, "Quite literally."

Lady Beatrice didn't waste any time. Still holding him by the arm, she led him through the ballroom to the dance floor, and before Charles knew what to think, he had one hand on her waist, the other gripped firmly in her right hand, and he was leading her in a waltz.

"There is no need to be so nervous," Lady Beatrice giggled, clearly sensing how stiff Charles was and misreading it. "Something tells me that you are a fabulous dancer."

"I can assure you that nerves are not the problem," he said with a forced smile. "It has just been a while, is all."

"Shall I lead?" she giggled again.

"No, that is quite all right..." He took a deep breath and focused on the waltz, feeling the music flow through him, following those who danced about them, eventually finding his feet. Soon, he and Lady Beatrice were swept up in the rhythms of the dance.

Charles enjoyed dancing. He did. But with Lady Beatrice, he wasn't so sure. She held him a little too close. She pressed her body a little too tight. And she tried to meet his eyes at every occasion; there was a hunger in them and already Charles was preparing what he would say so he could escape her the moment the dance ended.

"So, I spoke with Lord Tarrow earlier," Lady Beatrice began suddenly, a light in her eyes that suggested she was delighted by the fact.

"Is that right?" he asked carefully.

"Oh yes," she nodded. "And he had some very interesting things to say about you."

"I am sure he did."

She grinned. "It seems that you approached him with a business offer. One that he resolutely rejected."

"He didn't so much reject it as he did flee before I had a chance to pitch him the idea – but that isn't your concern," he hurried to state. "And Lord Tarrow should not be speaking to you of such things."

"Maybe," she said with a coy smile. "But the point remains the same. Even Lord Tarrow, a man who will do just about anything for clout, refuses to have anything to do with you. I wonder why?"

A response came to mind, but Charles bit it back. "I am sure he has his reasons," he offered instead, feeling angered now because this conversation wasn't just inappropriate but embarrassing.

"Oh, I know why," she giggled. "And so do you."

"Lady Beatrice," he began carefully as the music increased in pace. "I do not know what you are about to say, but I highly suggest that you keep it to yourself."

She sighed. "Your name is a bad bet," she said simply. "It is as simple as that and ignoring the fact won't change it. But it doesn't have to be, Your Grace."

He was about to reprimand her. To tell her to mind her business and not stick her nose where it belonged. Who did she think she was, saying such things? Where did she get off? But he caught his tongue as her words registered. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes flashed. "You have a bad reputation, Your Grace. It really is that simple. And it seems to me that what you are in desperate need of is a new one."

"Meaning?"

"Oh, there are several things you can do, but one that is a sure-fire way to change the ton's opinion of you." She couldn't have looked more excited, and even before she spoke, he knew what she was going to say. "A marriage. To someone respectable whose name is highly regarded among your peers. Doing so will prove to investors and anyone who cares to ask that you have changed your ways and the things said of you are no longer a concern."

"Is that what you think?"

"It is what I know. Even my father agrees – why, just last night he was wondering aloud why you were still single, thinking that if you were to marry, his opinion of you would be different to what it is now."

"And who is it that I should marry?" he asked dryly, again knowing the answer.

"Oh, I am sure I can think of someone." Her eyes flashed at him.

Charles frowned at her, choosing to say nothing as he retreated into his mind to ponder this most interesting point. A marriage? A statement of intent. Proof to the ton that the Wild Duke persona that haunted him was no more. As outlandish and ridiculous as it might have sounded on first inspection, the more Charles thought of it, the more he realized how clever an idea it actually was.

Oh, how shallow this town was. How easy they were to manipulate. It frustrated Charles in a way that such a simple act would do so much. Even if everyone knew the marriage to be one of convenience, the fact that he did it at all would be proof that he was trying his best; a sort of social stamp that might open doors that had long since been closed.

"Thank you for the advice," he offered with a smile. "I will think on it."

"See that you do," she pushed him. "As a Duke, you could have almost anyone. So if I was you..." She made sure to meet his eyes. "I would choose wisely."

The dance ended soon after that, and surprisingly Lady Beatrice didn't stay by Charles' side. She made sure to meet his eyes, offering him a suggestive pout, but she was playing her own game and knew that her point had been made.

For a moment, Charles did wonder if he should just agree to marry her and save himself the headache of searching for a bride – he had no doubt that she would say yes. Dammit, she would jump at the chance.

He pondered that for a moment. To marry Lady Beatrice. The obvious drawback to her candidacy was that she wouldn't stop at a marriage of convenience. She would want more. Likely, this was some sort of trap he was about to walk into. What Charles needed was someone who would say yes, while knowing that there would be no chance of love getting in the way...

... and that was when he saw her. Across the room, eyeing him with a sense of contempt that brought a smile to his lips. Lady Felicity. She had seen him dancing with Lady Beatrice and where it shouldn't have bothered her, or even registered with her, clearly it did just that.

The smile grew as Charles considered the situation. Was it possible? Would she even say yes? Lady Felicity, the spinster. It felt ludicrous to consider but if she was to say yes, Charles knew she would be a perfect candidate. Exactly what he was looking for.

There was just one drawback that Charles could see, that being her passionate dislike for him. But there was no reason that couldn't change or that she couldn't be made to see him differently. Because if he could convince her to say yes, all of Charles" problems would be solved in one fell swoop.

That prospect alone was enough to risk another bout in the lion's den.