Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

" W hat do you think about Miss Mallory? Her shock of red hair is unfortunate but that's why there are dyes, powders and whatnot."

Victor shot his mother an unimpressed look.

"Well," she continued, "I am not quite sure I shall want the next Duke getting that ghastly head full of red. What do you think?"

"I don't believe I am familiar with any of the ladies you've so patiently named and taken your time to extol their virtues," he informed his mother.

On the other side of him, his sister let out a decidedly unladylike snort. The look he shot her would have made a man quake in his boots but she only grinned at him.

"Victor!" the dowager duchess cried. "How do you intend to find a wife with an attitude such as this?"

The Duke held back his retort that he had no plans of finding a wife this season or even the next. He had only just gotten his feet on the ground when it came to his title and now, he planned on getting Georgie a good match after which he would be free to live a little.

But he wasn't going to tell his mother any of that. She may just pass right out from the shock of it.

"This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation," he gritted his teeth as he led the aggravating women in his life up the wide stairs leading to the front door of Carlton house where a ball was in full swing.

If a passerby managed to overhear the topic of discussion between them, he was sure that it would be on the tip of every tongue in attendance even before he stepped foot inside.

And then he would be hounded the rest of the night... And the rest of his life.

Even now, he still had desperate mamas pushing their pale, pastel-colored clad daughters at him at every turn. If word ever got out that he was in search of a wife, he could only imagine the sort of pandemonium that would ensue.

"This is in fact very much the time and the place," The dowager duchess countered, "I can begin by introducing you to some of the women I've mentioned. I'm sure nearly all of them will be in attendance."

"Lady Amelia is the diamond of the season," Georgie said, "And you are the most eligible duke with the deepest pockets. A perfect match I would say!"

"I do so hope you shall not blurt out whatever comes to your head while you're speaking with a gentleman," their mother was appalled.

The Duke's mouth twitched. After all these years, his mother still wasn't used to how much personality Georgie had. He truly pitied whoever would set their cap for her.

As the party of three approached the double doors, the footmen gave a deep bow before pushing the doors open to reveal a glistening hall full of activity.

"His Grace, the Duke of Wyld in attendance with the Duchess of Wyld and Lady Georgianna," the steward announced, drawing attention toward them.

The Duke sighed as he felt assessing eyes on his person. It was a good thing that unlike his sister, he didn't have to look polite and welcoming at all.

"Oh, there's Lady Amelia," his mother said, "and I believe I can see Miss-"

"If you'll excuse me, I think I see Lord Dillon," he cut in hurriedly.

"Where?" Georgie asked.

"I'm not letting you escape with me," he bent his head to whisper to her.

"I am not asking you to make a decision right now. I am only asking that you meet them at least. You may be pleasantly surprised," the dowager duchess said.

He cut his eyes over to Lady Amelia. Just like his sister had said, she was a blonde surrounded by eager bucks. She was beautiful, of course. But she was just another society mold that anyone could fit into. There had been a hundred Lady Amelias and there would be a hundred more.

Pleasantly surprised indeed.

"Do not stray from Mother's line of sight," he narrowed his eyes at Georgie.

"Yes, Your Grace," she rolled her eyes.

He ignored her and his mother's disapproving scowl in favor of spinning on his heels and disappearing into the crowd as fast as he could.

Patrick, Lord Dillon shot him an amused look, "I will take a wild guess and say that you're escaping from the Duchess's marriage machinations."

"I knew there was a reason I always bet on you during card games," Victor replied, "What the bloody hell are you doing here anyway? Do not tell me you are jumping into the marriage mart."

Patrick made an irritated sound in his throat, "Trust me chap, the Carltons' stuffy ballroom is the last place I want to be. My aunt is making me do this."

"I need a drink," he glanced at the drink in his friend's hand, "Is there anything stronger than waterlogged lemonade here?"

"You know the answer to that," and then he tapped his breast pocket, "it's a good thing I came prepared."

Victor cursed under his breath, "Georgie had better get herself well on her way to the altar before the week ends. If I have to deal with more of this, I shall go insane."

Patrick slanted him a gaze, "I would not accept a sudden offer if I were you."

He knew that of course. His sister's large dowry and her relationship to a duke would make her an object of interest to fortune hunters and societal climbers. Which meant that no matter how much he wanted to foist her off to the first man who took an interest, he couldn't.

Damn it all to hell.

On the other side of the room, Miss Lavinia Proctor was trying her best not to fuss with her dress. Her lady's maid had cinched her corset too tight and she was beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

"I doubt anyone is going to approach you with you wearing that glower," her cousin's voice cut into her thoughts and she directed said glower at him.

"If you pulled us any further into the shadows," Noah continued, "we shall find ourselves standing outside the building."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," she said.

Lavinia couldn't think of anything better than finding her way out of here, locating their carriage and making their way back home.

He shot her a dry look, "at this rate, you are never going to make a match. Not even the footmen have managed to catch a glimpse of you."

"Good," she nodded, brown ringlets flying, "it means that I'm doing a good job."

His mouth curved up, "you are going to end up on the shelf."

"Again, I do not see the problem here," Lavinia told him. "It's actually quite ridiculous that at twenty and two years, I should be considered a spinster while men are allowed to sow their wild oats far into their dotage and are still considered very much eligible till the end of their lives. Take Lord Griffin, for instance."

As one, their heads turned to the dance floor where a balding man stood with a repulsed looking debutante in his arms.

Her cousin pressed his mouth into a thin line to bite back his laugh and she merely made a face at the couple.

"Lord Griffin still has about six years in him," he teased.

"Six years before his body turns into manure," she corrected. "The marriage mart is silly, Noah. Women are bartered off like meat at the butchers. How is one to decide they fancy someone if we are only meant to show a small percentage of ourselves? The rules are meant to turn us into exact replicas of each other. It is a bit like going to the modiste and trying to choose between several of the same dresses."

"Standing at the sidelines and bleeding my ear off about it is not going to do anything to change it," he said mildly.

Lavinia pursed her lips but didn't argue the point. "The fact is that women have everything to lose in a marriage and almost nothing to gain while men lose nothing at all and gain a broodmare."

"You cannot say things like that," he hushed her, glancing around wide eyed to make sure no one had overhead. With a groan, he dragged his palm down his face. "How about a compromise?"

She immediately perked up, "a compromise?"

"I'm here as not just your escort but to ensure you do not spend the whole evening hiding out in the Carltons' library."

The sheepish look she gave him told him quite clearly that he was on the mark.

Noah sighed, "eventually you shall have to speak to other people, so let me begin by introducing you to some of my friends."

She began to protest that his rascal friends were the last people she wanted to associate with, but he immediately cut her off.

"I am not trying to matchmake. Trust me, Vinny, I would not wish any of my friends for a husband to even a lady I detested."

"Why are you friends with those buffoons anyway?"

He led her to where three men stood in a group talking about hunting dogs of all things.

"Thornton!" One of the men exclaimed, "where have you been, man?"

"For a moment there, I was beginning to think you had been leg shackled and gone off to marital bliss," another one guffawed.

"Allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Proctor," Noah said with a stiff smile, "Vinny, meet Lord Vale, Lord Remington and Mr. Forsyle."

"My lords, Mr. Forsyle," she dropped into a curtsy.

"Oi, Thornton, where have you been hiding her?" Lord Vale asked.

Lavinia laughed along, wondering what was so hilarious about the question. The men were too self-absorbed to realize they were talking to her and not with her. There was a clear difference between the two. It was a good thing that she had no intentions of wasting her breath on them.

She was trying to swallow back another yawn when she caught sight of a flash of red hair.

"If you will excuse me, I see someone I know," she interrupted Lord whatever his name was embellished story about touring the world.

"Leaving so soon?" the storyteller asked, "but I was just getting to the good part."

Lavinia really doubted there was any good part to the tall tale.

"I would really love to hear the rest of it," a suggestive smile curled her mouth. "Perhaps this will be an excuse to speak to you again."

The man's eyes lit up.

"Good evening, gentlemen," and with that she hurried away towards the redhead standing behind a large potted plant.

"Jen," a smile split her face as the girl turned and peered at her, "it's me, Lavinia."

Miss Jennifer Mallory was helplessly visually impaired and her mama wouldn't let her wear spectacles because they made her look like a bluestocking.

"How glad I am to see you," Jen said, "or not see you."

The two girls burst into laughter at Jen's words.

"I am far more relieved to see you," Lavinia told her, "you will not believe the sort of gentlemen Noah introduced me to."

"I am parched," Jen linked her arms with her friend's, "escort me to the refreshments and tell me all about it on our way."

"Of course."

They stepped out of the nook and made their way to the other side of the room where the tepid lemonade was positioned. For once, Lavinia wished a host would offer something better than the watered down, lukewarm juice.

She filled her cup and helped Jen fill hers too.

"I do so hate it when gentlemen talk at you," she began, "one of Noah's friends was telling me about his travels. If I was ever free to travel the world, I would not waste my time going to Paris and-"

Her words ended with a shriek as someone brushed past her and bumped his arm against hers, causing her to lose hold of her glass.

The contents of the glass ended up spilling down the front of her and soiling her dress.

With an outraged cry, she turned to the culprit and all the vile words she had wanted to spit at him caught in her throat as she came face to face with the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life.

"You should watch where you are going," the man said in irritation.

She gaped at him for a second, shocked at his audacity. How dare he? All her outrage came back two fold, the utter perfection of the man forgotten. "You bumbling idiot!"

"Excuse me?" The man stared down at her.

Her green eyes flashed at him. "This is the part where you apologize."

He took in the rest of her surreptitiously. Her hair was a deep brown wrapped up in a complicated style with two some loose tendrils left to fall around her face. Framing her expressive eyes were thick, sooty lashes, she had a small rosebud mouth that begged to be kissed and a jaw that ended in a stubborn point. His gaze flicked from her face down to the expanse of smooth milky skin exposed by the scooped neckline of her dress. Further down, he saw the damage he had done to her dress and his retort died on his lips. "My apologies, my lady."

The woman didn't seem all that satisfied with his apology and only narrowed her eyes at him.

"I fear your dress may have been ruined because of my carelessness," he continued.

"It has most definitely been ruined by your carelessness," the woman replied.

Despite himself, he found himself smiling and it only made the woman stiffen further.

"I was leading up to an apology, but now I'm beginning to think you don't need one," he said.

"An apology isn't going to fix my dress," the woman hissed.

"Say the word and I shall have the modiste here in no time at all with a selection of new dresses for you," he teased. "Or is there a color you are partial to?"

A flash of red bloomed high on the woman's cheekbones and she advanced at him, "You-"

"Vinny!" the woman beside her hissed. "You're going to cause a scene."

Victor reluctantly dragged his gaze away from the green eyed woman to her red-haired friend. He hadn't noticed the other woman until she spoke, which was strange.

He suddenly remembered his mother telling him about a lady with a shock of unfortunate red hair.

What had she said her name was? He couldn't for the life of him remember.

"I apologize for calling you a bumbling idiot," the woman said reluctantly, not sounding apologetic.

"It's quite alright, my lady."

A teasing smile pulled at his mouth, "I have never been called an idiot before and I must admit that it was an experience from you."

"The people in your life have not been honest with you."

His eyebrows shot up with shock, "So you were not honest about your apology."

She thrust her pert chin in the air, staring him down even though he was several inches taller, "I apologized for saying it, but it does not make it any less true."

"Vinny!" Her friend gasped.

Her plump mouth tightened, and then she dropped into a shallow curtsy that was over before it began, "my lord."

Victor didn't bother correcting her, "my lady."

And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd with the redhead in tow.

Patrick approached him, staring after the women and then at him, eyebrows hiked to nearly his hairline, "what was that?"

"I find myself as perplexed as you are."

"I caught the end of that exchange, and it seemed the lady had no idea who you were."

Wasn't that something? Victor thought with more amusement than the situation called for. It was rare for him not to be recognized immediately by a member of the ton , which left him wondering who the lady was.

"Perhaps her family has only just come into a title," his friend mused, "Or she doesn't come from the peerage. A businessman's daughter, if I were to guess. The dowager duchess will know her. She knows everybody."

Victor scoffed, "I would much rather put up an advertisement in the newspaper demanding the lady's identity than ask my mother. I do hope she did not see that exchange."

The other man let out a bark of laughter, "No one will be so cruel to push that sharp-mouthed lady on you, least of all your mother. I'm sure she already has her hands full with Georgianna, and she will not want a daughter-in-law who will only encourage your sister."

The Duke shuddered at the thought of it. When he was ready to take a wife, it would be someone submissive and biddable. He had just about had enough of exasperating women.

"There you are, Victor."

Speaking of the Devil.

He turned to his mother with a smile fixed on his face, "Mother, how nice to see you. Where is Georgie?"

She pointed toward the dance floor, and he followed her finger to where a gentleman was twirling his sister. The Duke didn't recognize the man, but if his mother was letting her dance with him, then he must have passed muster.

"How delightful," he said honestly.

"Your Grace," Patrick bowed.

"Do you need something, Mother?" Victor asked.

"May I introduce you to Lady Hannah," his mother began just as a dark-haired woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "She's the last daughter of the countess of Farhall. Lady Hannah, the Duke of Wyld."

Victor stiffened. He should have suspected that his mother would pull a trick like this. It was just like her always to get her way.

"Your Grace," Lady Hannah dropped into a curtsy.

"My lady," he said, "how do you do?"

"I believe that is my cue to leave you two," Lord Dillon smirked at his friend, enjoying the mildly annoyed look he was trying to hide.

The look the Duke shot Patrick was a desperate plea for him to stay, but the man just chuckled and walked off.

A worse friend than Lord Dillon, the Duke would be hard-pressed to find in the whole of England.

The lady batted her lashes at him and giggled, and he bit back his groan.

"I believe I can hear the first strains of the waltz," the older woman said meaningfully, "Do you enjoy dancing, Lady Hannah?"

The woman smiled shyly at the Duke, "I am a most accomplished dancer."

"How perfect then," the Dowager Duchess cooed.

"Shall we, my lady?" Victor asked the woman with a smile he didn't feel.

She placed her smaller hand into his and he led her out to the dance floor, ignoring his mother's look of triumph.

If she thought that she had successfully thrust him into the marriage mart, she was going to very disappointed. He was going to dance with Lady Hannah but that was all.

The lady looked content to stay quiet for the rest of the dance, a placid smile on her face.

"What are your interests, my lady?" he asked, trying not to wince at his own predictable question.

"I embroider, I play the pianoforte and I'm interested in building a family," she recited mechanically.

The Duke wondered how many times she had had to give that reply.

"How wonderful," he smiled at her.

The woman tittered and ducked her head, hiding her pleased smile.

"Anything else?" he enquired.

Lady Hannah looked startled, blue eyes flying up to meet his, "I-uh- I write letters to my cousins in Scotland. I write often. I'm excellent at that, too."

He kept his expression carefully blank, "But do you enjoy it?"

She blinked at him, "of course, Your Grace. I was hailed as having the finest penmanship in my year when I was a student at Mrs. Ravensbruck's finishing school for genteel ladies."

Victor remembered his mother repeatedly trying to press him into enrolling his sister in the finishing school. He had put his foot down about the matter much to his mother's chagrin and she never ceased to remind him that Georgie's outspokenness and free spirit was his own fault.

The two were quiet for a while, just going through the intricate motions of the waltz.

"And yourself, Your Grace?" Lady Hannah remembered to ask, "what are you interests?"

"I like to ride," he replied, an answer as mechanical as hers, "Do you ride, Lady Hannah?"

"Uh," she looked nervous for a second but quickly pasted on a smile, "Of course, it is one of my many interests."

Victor was tempted to invite Lady Hannah for a ride the next day just to see her squirm. From her reaction, he could tell that not only was riding not one of her vast interests, but she was also terrified of it. It was a good thing that he was neither cruel nor did he have any intention of spending further time with her.

As soon as the dance came to an end, the lady dropped into a deep curtsy.

He waited for her to get up and then offered her his arm. Victor all but dragged her off the dance floor and back into the dowager duchess's side.

He was beginning to suspect she didn't know the difference between enjoying something and being good at it.

"My dance card is full, Your Grace," she said, "But I managed to reserve the waltz."

She shouldn't have bothered since he had no intention of taking her for a spin on the dance floor. If he indicated that he was interested in Lady Hannah, his mother would find a way to get them to the altar by the end of the week.

"Is that Lord Charleston?" he asked no one in particular, staring off into the distance, "I have meant to discuss something urgent with him."

"Now?" The dowager duchess cried, "Must it be now?"

"If you will excuse me," he said, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Hannah."

She blinked at him, shocked by the abrupt end of their conversation. Then she dropped into a curtsy, "it was a pleasure as well, Your Grace."

"Mother," he nodded at her, and before she could get in a word, he had marched off, long strides carrying him far from the pair.

From across the room, Lord Dillon caught his eye and raised a glass at him, mouth curled up into a mocking smile.