Chapter 2

CHAPTER2

The Glendale ball was proving to be a dreadful bore to Evan Hatcher, the seventh Duke of Leonbridge, and his two friends—the Viscount of Drew and the Marquess of Repington. The ballroom was filled, as usual, with a gaggle of young ladies eager to find a suitable match for themselves.

Unfortunately, none of them had been able to catch his attention for he felt they were all the same—shallow, vain, and well-versed in the art of spending a gentleman’s well-earned money.

There were exceptions to the rule, though.

He raised his eyes languidly from the glass he had been sipping and met with a pair of vivid green eyes from across the ballroom. His lips curled into a smirk at that.

Lady Amy Clarke was the bane of every young gentleman’s existence with her sharp tongue and fiery temper. She was also possessed of some very odd notions about how society should function—none of which the ton—or Evan himself—would ever take to heart.

An odd outlook for an extremely odd creature, he thought to himself. Perhaps, it was only to be expected.

"Who are you looking at?" Charles Lock—the Marquess of Repington—queried drolly, following Evan’s line of sight. When his gaze landed on Lady Amy Clarke and Lady Esther Follet, his lips curled into a sneer. "Do not tell me you are intrigued by the two of them?"

Evan snorted. "Do not be daft, Lock. Why should either of them interest me?"

Benedict Burk, the Viscount of Drew, regarded the pair from across the room with a hint of amusement in his gray eyes.

"I saw Lord Chauncey walking off the ballroom with a supremely satisfied look earlier," he remarked. "The Lady Esther, however, looked rather pained."

"That is because Chauncey is an absolute nincompoop," Evan shook his head. "And Lady Esther is a verified bluestocking."

The two other men nodded in agreement at that observation.

"Well, if Chauncey had approached her friend, he would have found himself in a much livelier discussion," the Marquess chortled. "Lady Amy would have flayed him alive with that vicious tongue of hers."

"I swear, no man would ever dare to associate with her," the Viscount agreed. "The woman is a virago of the worst sort."

"Well, perhaps it takes someone made of sterner stuff to be able to withstand the lady in question," Evan remarked. "After all, no woman is impervious to wooing."

He smiled at that. A little arrogantly, perhaps, but Evan was rather proud of the fact that no lady could ever refuse him. All he had to do was simply walk into a ballroom, and every unmarried young miss and her mama would be falling over him, eager to be his duchess.

As if his titles and wealth were not enough, he was also possessed of the physical attributes that would render any woman’s defenses nonexistent.

But Evan was not looking for a wife. He was only in it for the physical pleasure which was why he steered clear of innocent misses who wished to tie a matrimonial noose around his neck.

No, he very much preferred the wild widows, the gorgeous opera singers... even the occasional ethereal ballerina.

All of them, of course, were quite willing to spend some time in his bed.

A wife would only put a damper on his fun. Or bankrupt him.

After all, wasn’t that all a woman was good for? To please a man in bed, give him heirs, and spend his money?

"Perhaps," Benedict mused, cocking an eyebrow at his friend, "no woman has ever refused you because you have never spent enough time with a single one—outside of bed, that is." He shook his head. "Truly, Evan... it is almost like you treat women as objects."

"That is definitely not true," he argued.

"Oh, but it is," his best friend grinned at him.

Evan was about to refute it when Charles beat him to it.

"And is that not just a woman’s place in society, though?" he smirked. "Such delightful creatures in bed but outside of it? Do men and women truly have anything in common?"

He sounds just like my father, Evan thought derisively. His sire hardly inspired any fondness in Evan, and he was quite honestly relieved that the man had passed on to the afterlife...wherever that might be.

When he had been alive, the sixth Duke of Leonbridge held very much the same beliefs as the Marquess of Repington did.

And while he had raised his son to succeed him, Evan did not share his father’s beliefs. Or those of his friend.

"I do think that a man and a woman can find something to agree on. The survival of the species has to rely on us sharing a common goal."

"Which is basically what Charles just said," Benedict smirked in triumph. "You think you need women simply to satisfy your physical needs and make heirs. There you have it."

For some reason, the thought of it irked Evan. Of course, that wasn’t it, but his own history with women offered very little in the way of proof. He did sleep with them to slake his own physical desires, but it was hardly anything like the way Benedict was making it out to be.

The reason that he was never in a long-term relationship with anyone of the female persuasion was simply because...he was not exactly a prime candidate for a spouse or fiancé.

"You know that is not the point," he insisted. "I just have not found anyone of interest yet."

"Well then, prove it," his friend challenged him. "How about you spend two weeks with a lady and not be rejected."

Evan raised an eyebrow idly at that. "Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

Charles merely stood back and regarded their argument with some amusement. "A sort of societal experiment then? This should be interesting..."

Evan smirked at his two companions as he cast his gaze over the crowd in the ballroom. His blue eyes wandered over the familiar ones until he settled on a voluptuous woman clad in deep blue velvet.

"That one!" he declared.

"The Countess of Hamilton?"

Evan nodded in affirmation. The countess in question was a widow with very particular tastes, and as he could recall, they were well-matched in bed. He could easily spend two weeks with her, romping about in the sheets.

But Benedict snorted at his suggestion. "You merely intend to bed her for two weeks, not get to know her."

"Oh on the contrary, I do know her, and I know that she will not refuse me. Is that not what you want?"

"And that will only prove that you associate with the female population merely to slake your lust." The Viscount shook his head. "How is that any different from what Charles is claiming?"

"Oh, do keep me out of this. I would much rather be a spectator in all this."

"How about her then?" Benedict gestured to a pair across the ballroom.

Evan dragged his gaze to where his best friend was pointing to a young woman with hair the color of rich chocolate.

He was pointing at Lady Amy Clarke!

"Absolutely not!" he retorted. "We agreed on a woman, not a viper."

"Well, she should provide a fair challenge to you," Benedict grinned. "And not only that, but she would also be remarkable proof of your infallible charms, should she agree to accommodate your presence for two weeks. Nothing physical, mind you."

I hardly think that I might even be able to approach the bloody creature without being flayed alive!Evan bristled at the thought of that.

But his pride was on the line here, and Benedict did have a point—if he could approach Lady Amy Clarke, accompany her for two weeks, and still live to tell the tale, it would be the perfect way to prove that he, Evan, was right.

The only problem was that the Lady Amy Clarke was just as determined to resist every man in existence.

"Well, good luck with that!" Charles chuckled, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. "This should be an entertaining two weeks. I look forward to your... ah, excursion, Your Grace."

Evan shot him a brief glare. Somehow, the Marquess gave off the impression that he was mocking him and his title.

"So, do you accept, or do you give up?"

Just how did I get myself into such a conundrum?Evan thought to himself.

Still, his pride was on the line here, and now, he wanted nothing more than to shove it all back into his best friend’s face. It was much too early for Benedict to be gloating about the whole affair.

"Be prepared to lose, Burk," he muttered with gritted teeth.

"Oh, I most certainly look forward to it, my friend. In fact, you can start charming the lady right now. She seems otherwise unoccupied."

That is precisely because she would castrate any man who dares to approach her!

He shot his best friend a glare before downing the rest of his glass and handing it off to a passing servant’s tray. Perhaps the alcohol would give him the courage to survive this insanity.

Only insanity would have landed him in such a dilemma because, really, they should have left such antics back in their youth when they were all sillier.

With newfound resolve, he stalked across the ballroom to where Lady Amy was conversing quietly with her friend. As he walked, he could feel all eyes on him.

Although he did attend such balls regularly, it was unprecedented for him to ever approach an unmarried young lady.

But now, he was going to do it—all for a stupid challenge.

I must have gone mad to have allowed myself to fall prey to Benedict’s cheap tricks!

Finally, he reached both ladies. He was close enough to stand directly behind Lady Amy and pluck out the jeweled pins on her deep brown hair. Close enough to get a whiff of that surprisingly nice, clean fragrance that hung about her like a soft cloud. Close enough to see the soft swells of her breast above her supposedly sensible neckline.

Just where the hell have these bloody thoughts sprung up from?

Lady Amy was hardly the person one would consider... attractive.

But this close, he could point out several of her attributes that called out to him in a physical sense.

Except that he was not supposed to seduce her or get her into his bed.

A pity, he thought and found himself quite surprised at the direction of his thoughts.

"Lady Amy," he said in a low voice.

The young lady let out a surprised sound as she turned around to face him. Immediately, he found himself staring into vivid green eyes the color of emeralds. She looked quite surprised for a moment before her eyes narrowed at him as if his mere presence offended her.

"Would you do me the honor of this dance?"

Evan gave her his most dashing, debonair smile—the kind that ensnared young widows into his bed.

Lady Amy regarded him with something akin to suspicion at first, and Evan was prepared to be soundly refused. In fact, he was already rehearsing in his head the lines that would get her onto the bloody dance floor.

But to his immense surprise, she smiled up at him tentatively, and he noticed for the first time just how luscious her lips looked.

Absolutely delectable.

"It would be my pleasure, Your Grace."

Wait... did she just purr at me?Evan thought wildly. There is no way in hell that she would sound so inviting!

But there was no time to dwell on that thought for the musicians had struck up the chord for the next dance, and his body immediately fell into the familiarity of dancing.

Except that when his hand grasped hers, and they began to move together to the music, there was nothing familiar about it all.

What in bloody hell is going on? There is no way that a woman like Lady Amy Clarke could elicit such reactions in me…

Evan felt like he was sailing right into uncharted waters with her, and to his shock, he did not find it as dismal as he initially thought he would.

In fact, he actually found it all exhilarating.