Free Mistress by Amanda Quick Page B

few of the more interesting soirees.”
    “Which ones?”
    “I don’t remember precisely. The Broadmore ball, for one, I believe. And I think we stopped briefly at the Fosters’ levee.”
    “Did you enjoy yourself?”
    Bennet met Marcus’s eyes for an instant and then his gaze slid away. He shrugged. “You could say that.”
    “Bennet, I’ve had enough of this evasiveness. If something is wrong, tell me.”
    “Nothing is wrong.” Bennet glowered at him. “At least not with me.”
    “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
    “Very well, Marcus, I shall be blunt. I understand you made a spectacle of yourself last night.”
    “A spectacle?”
    “Hell and damnation. They say you carried your new paramour out of the Fenwicks’ ballroom in your arms, for God’s sake. Talk about causing a scene.”
    “Ah, so that’s the problem.” Marcus’s hand tightened on the handle of his knife. He cut into his sausage with grave precision. “Did I embarrass you?”
    “Marcus, are you going to spend the rest of your life titillating Society with your bizarre behavior?”
    “I did embarrass you.” Marcus forked up a bite of sausage and chewed meditatively. “Try not to take it to heart, Bennet. Society has seen worse.”
    “That’s hardly the point, is it?” Bennet slathered butter on his muffin. “The thing is, a man of your years should behave with some sense of propriety.”
    Marcus nearly choked on his sausage. “A man of my years?”
    “You’re thirty-six. You ought to have remarried yearsago and settled down to the business of filling your nursery.”
    “Bloody hell. From whence springs this sudden concern with my nursery? You know full well that I do not intend to remarry.”
    “What about your obligation to the tide?”
    “I’m quite content to see the tide go to you.”
    “Well, I don’t particularly want it, Marcus. It’s yours and it should go to your son.” Bennet scowled in obvious frustration. “It’s only right and proper that you should see to your responsibilities.”
    “I perceive that my actions last night have, indeed, humiliated you,” Marcus said dryly.
    “You must admit, it’s a trifle awkward to have an older brother, a thirty-six-year-old unmarried earl, no less, who has no compunction about becoming the latest
on dit.”
    “This isn’t the first time.”
    “It’s the first time that you’ve caused a scene in the middle of a fashionable ballroom.”
    Marcus cocked a brow. “How would you know? You’ve hardly spent any time at all in Society.”
    “Miss Dorchester told me as much,” Bennet retorted, clearly goaded.
    Marcus stilled. “Juliana Dorchester?”
    “I had the great privilege of dancing with her last night,” Bennet muttered.
    “I see.”
    “Whenever you say ‘I see’ in that particular tone, it generally means you disapprove. Well, you had best not say anything unpleasant about Miss Dorchester to me, Marcus. She is a beautiful young lady with extremely refined sensibilities who would never dream of getting involved in a scandalous scene.”
    “This is Juliana Dorchester’s second Season,” Marcus said grimly. “She has to secure a husband this time around because the Dorchesters cannot afford a third Season for her. Do you comprehend me, Bennet?”
    “You’re trying to warn me off her, aren’t you? Well, it won’t work. She is an unrivaled paragon of womanhood and I shall be forever grateful that she allowed me into her presence last night.”
    “She is no doubt thanking her lucky stars right this minute that you took notice of her. She’ll be plotting to appear in whatever ballroom you happen to show up in this evening.”
    “Damnation. She’s not the type to plot anything. She’s too innocent, too gentle, too sweet-natured to
plot.”
    “She’s plotting right this minute. Trust me.”
    “How would you know?”
    “She’s Dorchester’s daughter and I know Dorchester. He’s desperate to marry Juliana into money. And her mother