He raised his eyebrows. “Did you think I was referring to myself? I don’t believe I’ve shown any particular partiality toward you, have I? At least, not yet.”
At that point she wanted nothing more than a huge hole to appear in the manicured lawns of St. James Park and swallow either her or, even better, the Viscount Rohan.
Did he know about Wilfred? God, she hoped not. That brief time of idiocy had been kept secret, thank heavens. Her one stupid fall from grace had only solidified her determination. But no, there was no reason to think he might know anything about it.
“Though Wilfred Hunnicut is, of course, another matter.” And with that bland statement he drove a stake through her fond assumption. “It is a great deal too bad no one warned you about him.”
Before she could gather her wits to respond he bowed. “Since you have no need of my accompanying you, I will bid you farewell, Lady Carstairs. I’m certain we shall meet again, and soon.”
“Not if you stay away from my girls,” she said, completely truthful.
His smile curved his mouth. “But what, dear lady, if I can’t stay away from you?”
6
In all, Benedick had been perversely pleased with his day’s work. He’d paid back the interfering Lady Carstairs in full. The expression on her face was such unflattering horror that he’d almost laughed out loud, and she’d taken her bevy of reclaimed doves out of the park at something close to a run. Sir Thomas Carstairs must have been even more of an ogre than was generally suspected, to give her such a disgust of men.
He wondered if she forced the girls to sit through endless sermons, poor things. She’d marry again, despite her disdain for his sex. She was too plump and luscious not to, and sooner or later someone, probably another fortune hunter, would overcome her scruples and pay dearly for it. She’d probably make him pray before he bedded her, lights out, nightgown lifted primly to her waist in the darkness.
Though chances were, the Honorable Miss Pennington might not have been much better. At least Lady Carstairs had compassion for her gaggle, if not for the male half of the world’s population.
Clearly he needed to set his sights on someone younger, more amenable than Miss Dorothea Pennington. He ran the risk of being cuckolded, he supposed, though with no false modesty he counted that unlikely. Women had an unfortunate tendency to love him. Unfortunate, as they tended to die.
Even Barbara had loved him in her way. At least someone like Dorothea Pennington wouldn’t mourn him overmuch—she was much too practical.
But that glimpse into her ice-cold soul in the park that day had been more than sufficient, and in the following weeks he had cast his eye around the ton, sorting through the eligible maidens and discarding each one, though he found any number that would have done for Brandon. Not that Brandon ever made an appearance at any of the functions created to parade nubile and marriageable flesh in front of jaded male eyes. In truth, his stray comment, meant to enflame, had struck close to the truth. The marriage mart wasn’t much better than a brothel, he mused, staring into the fire one rainy afternoon. Lady Carstairs ought to direct her energy there, preserving the virgins from a life of sexual indebtedness. There might be more freedom in being a whore.
He watched the flames, abstracted. So far, each of the contenders for the role of Viscountess Rohan had failed for one issue or another. One was too pretty, another too plain. One was too lively, another too drab. One had a shrill laugh, another had a vitriolic temper, yet another embraced too much religiosity. None of them would do.
He was having an equally difficult time with the more congenial form of feminine companionship. Despite Lady Carstairs’s best efforts there were still any number of available females eager for his attention, but so far the few who had managed to engage his interest for even a short amount of time were rare, indeed. Even Brandon might have noticed, had he ever been home. He was hollow-eyed, so thin a wind might blow him away, bad-tempered and mocking. His sweet, enthusiastic little brother was now an even greater cynic than he was, though in truth Brandon had more reason. He had seen death on a staggering scale; his body had been ripped to pieces in a