Marquess of Menace (Lords of Scandal 10)

He’d attempted to think of other ways to right the title, but the only real asset he had to leverage at this point was…well…his looks.

Dylan had been born handsome. A fact he’d utilized to its fullest advantage for most of his life and one he’d use again now to repair the title and prove to his family that he was capable of doing something no one else had done in the past few generations: be a successful marquess.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and heard one of the ladies sigh. Longingly.

He should ask one of them to dance.

But dread churned in his stomach. He couldn’t do it.

Still, he’d have to introduce himself to one of the taffeta confections at some point. If for no other reason than he needed to discern which of these women had the largest dowry and would make for the best candidate to become a marchioness.

To a sham marquess.

Neither reared for the duty nor holding the necessary dignity for the position, he was sure to disappoint.

He looked back at the girls, picked the one with the most lace and ribbons in her hair and winked. It was the only metric he could think to choose one of them over the others.

He knew this was not how most titled lords went about courting. There were introductions and pretty words and formal dances and blah blah blah. But he didn’t have the time or energy for such pleasantries.

The sooner he wed and repaired his finances, the sooner he could go back to his old life of drinking and gaming hells. Where he was comfortable. Where he excelled.

And it turned out that debutantes and working women had a great deal in common because all three ladies blushed and giggled, and the fans moved even faster.

Perhaps courting wouldn’t be as awful as he’d imagined.

“Good evening, my lord.” An older woman stepped in front of the three young ladies and gave him a smile, coquettish and obvious as she dipped into a curtsy. “I am Lady Price, and these are my daughters, Lady Judith, Lady Penelope and Lady…” He ceased listening.

Each of the girls dipped into a matching curtsy to their mother’s as they lowered their fans. Judith’s bow was awkward, Penelope’s teeth were horse-like, and whatever her name was…just no.

But he stood there making polite conversation for what seemed like hours before another matron introduced herself and her daughters and then another and another.

Each more painful than the last.

Finally, not able to stand another moment, he slipped from the crowd that had developed around him and started toward the terrace. He needed air or a carriage to whisk him from this party to the nearest gentlemen’s club or, better yet, the Den of Sins. Where men unabashedly participated in cursing and drinking and womanizing.

But just as he reached the doors, he glanced over and saw her. Miss Eliza Carrington.

Tall and statuesque, her dark brown hair was piled high atop her head. Her coiffure lacked the ribbon and lace of so many other girls, which only added to the appeal of the lush locks. Dark lashes fringed her large, warm eyes, making them extremely mesmerizing.

Her nose was small and straight, set off by high cheekbones and her mouth was so full and lush it made a man ache. He didn’t allow his gaze to sweep down her body. He already knew that her full curves would set him off into a riot.

He’d met Eliza on two separate occasions. One, very proper. The wedding of his best friend

, the Duke of Devonhall, to Eliza’s sister, Isabella Carrington.

But the other time made him grin. It had been the least proper meeting of a proper girl that he could think of. Which meant it had been exceedingly fun. In addition, Eliza was nothing like the rest of these girls. She had spirit and spunk and…he stopped.

Eliza was a distraction. Nothing more.

Even now two men stood near her, both intent upon her while she hardly looked at either of them. She was a woman made to tease men.

Normally, he’d love to allow her to tease him, but he had a future to prepare for. She didn’t have the connections or funds he required and he needed to leave her be.

Which was why he kept moving and headed out onto the terrace. Eliza Carrington was not the right woman for him. Nor was he the right man for her. She struck him as the sort that would see right through his wicked ways to the black heart he hid underneath.

Eliza watched the Marquess of Milton head out the doors. Cad.

To his friends, he was just Menace. An apt name.