The only consolation was the fact that she’d be as keen to dissolve their union as he was, once she discovered his true identity. He couldn’t wait to watch those generous lips part in shock.

“What are you smiling about?” Alex shot him a sidelong glance.

Benedict shrugged. “Women. Or rather, one woman in particular.”

Alex’s brows lifted. “I thought we were here to pick up rumors, not find you a new mistress.”

Benedict sent him an enigmatic smile.

“She’s not married, is she?” Alex asked warily. “Married mistresses are more trouble than they’re worth, believe me. Widows are infinitely more amenable. No irate husbands to deal with, for a start.” He eyed Benedict’s evening attire with a severe eye. “You should have come in uniform. No woman can resist the allure of a military man. It’s a basic law of physics. The amount of scarlet, gilt braiding, and medals on your chest is directly proportional to how attractive a girl finds you.”

Benedict shook his head in mock disapproval. “So cynical.”

His companion shrugged. “We escaped relatively unscathed from Boney, when you consider it. Not a missing limb between us. No dashing facial scars.” He nodded across the room at a seasoned old soldier surrounded by a gaggle of admiring ladies. “Look at Uxbridge over there. Lost half his leg at Waterloo, and he’s a bloody hero.”

“I got a ball in the shoulder at Salamanca,” Benedict reminded him mildly.

“And I have a sabre cut on my thigh and a blind spot in my left eye,” Alex finished. “My point is, you can’t play the ‘gallant wounded hero’ sympathy card with injuries like ours. No one knows about my loss of vision unless I tell them about it. And by the time a lady sees my scar, we’re already a long way past the sympathy stage.” He grinned wickedly and tilted his head. “I wonder if I should contrive a limp?”

Benedict snorted. “As if you need any help getting women.” Alex took after his mother, who had been a famous beauty, and his sulky good looks had females sighing and salivating over him wherever he went. “If you must know, I’m looking for one of the Caversteed girls.” He enjoyed the look of surprise that passed over his friend’s face; he should have waited until Alex had a mouthful of champagne.

Alex turned to the dance floor and unerringly picked out a girl who was dancing with the Duke of Upton. “What, the fair Juliet? She’s a beauty, I’ll give you that, but you don’t stand a chance. She’s turned down a whole raft of suitors. You’re overestimating your charms if you think she’ll have a fling with a scapegrace second son who’s part owner of a gaming hell. The mother’s after a title. A marquis, at least.”