Free Candice Hern by Just One of Those Flings

questions about her Season.
    Emily was no fool. She knew she had to win the approval of the duke and duchess if there was ever to be any hope of winning their son. Within minutes, she had the duke smitten. He never dropped his regal demeanor, but the tiniest gleam in his eye signaled his appreciation.
    Well done, Emily .
    "And this is my son," the duchess said, drawing that gentleman forward. "Lord Thayne, and his friend, Mr. Burnett."
    The Marquess of Thayne wore patrician detachment like a cloak, never cracking a smile as the duchess made introductions. He kept his hands behind his back and made a crisp bow to Beatrice. His dark eyes studied her for a moment, then moved on to Emily. Beatrice experienced a sharp twinge of heat as his eyes had looked into hers so intently. But it had been the same with other dark-eyed, dark-haired men lately. Damn that maharaja for making her so aware of — what? Male potency? Was she doomed to imagine secret couplings with every dark-haired man she met? Even one as cool and distant as the marquess? Once again, she cursed herself for bringing on this confusion through one irrational moment in an unlit garden on a moonless night. Despite the encouragement of her friends, she regretted that encounter more with each passing day, and was now determined to put it behind her and concentrate on the delicate business of securing a rich husband for her niece.
    She watched as the marquess made his bow to Emily, who tilted her head at a flattering angle and gave him her most dazzling smile, the same smile that had captured the heart of almost every man in London, or so it seemed. But so far, she had not allowed her own heart to be captured. She was holding out for the perfect match, which meant rank, fortune, and good looks, in that order.
    Who better to meet Emily's ambitions than this handsome marquess?
    But the gentleman seemed unaffected by Emily's charms. He acknowledged her with the cool arrogance of the true aristocrat. Emily would have to work hard to crack his shell. Beatrice hoped he wasn't the priggish sort who looked down his noble nose at the rest of the world. Did she really want Emily to align herself with such a cold fish? When she thought of how warm certain men could be — one man in particular came to mind — Beatrice wondered why anyone would give a second thought to a man like the Marquess of Thayne.
    The long-limbed Mr. Burnett was quite the opposite of his friend. Boyishly charming with an open and friendly countenance, he quite won over Beatrice with his lopsided smile. She liked him at once. He tried to keep from staring at Emily, but his gaze was drawn to her like a lodestone.
    "And will you finally tell us, my dear," the duke said, "what Lady Somerfield or Miss Thirkill has said to make you laugh so?"
    "Lady Somerfield's charity is going to use Doncaster House for a ball," the duchess said. "It is to be a masquerade ball, and I was just musing over what we should wear. I believe we should unearth your Cardinal Wolsey costume."
    The duke gave a bark of laughter. "A splendid idea!" He turned to Beatrice. "Her Grace knows how much I enjoy parading about as the old scoundrel, with a red cap on my head and a ridiculously heavy gold chain across my chest." Returning his twinkling gaze to his duchess, he asked, "And who shall you be, my dear?"
    "I won't tell you," she said. "But I promise it will be an appropriate complement to your cardinal. Oh, this will be great fun, Lady Somerfield. Will it not, Thayne?"
    "A masquerade?" His brow furrowed and an odd expression crossed his eyes for an instant, and then was gone. "Yes, of course. How delightful." His tone and stony aspect, however, did not evidence delight.
    Beatrice tried not to scowl at the provoking man. Must he be so stiff and reserved? Emily didn't seem to mind. She continued to smile and preen, trying to attract his attention. His rank and fortune and good looks were enough for her, it seemed. It didn't matter that the man