“You’re blocking our way.” Benedict switches me to his other side, putting himself between me and the man. His brother, if my guess is correct.
“Come on, introduce me,” he goads, flashing a dimple. He’s handsome enough, I guess, in a bland, frat boy way.
I nudge Benedict.
He blows out a breath. “Miss Beaumonde, my brother. The Marquis Dupree.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Franz mocks. Sibling rivalry aside, Franz is a jerkhole. I seriously consider punching him, right in the dimple. Probably wouldn’t make the best first impression.
Franz downs the rest of his beer and sets the empty bottle on the tray of a passing waiter. He looks me up and down, and I get the impression he doesn’t like what he sees. But he keeps the cocky expression pinned to his face as he comes forward, hand out. “D
