How to Seduce a Duke (18 page)

“Mary?”

Belatedly, Mary realized that the musicians had finally stopped playing at last, and that Lady
Upperton
was peering pointedly at her. “Oh, dear, I do apologize, Lady
Upperton
. I found myself quite taken by the woman in that painting.”

“You would not be the first.” Then it almost sounded as if Lady
Upperton
huffed. “Sir Joseph possesses many paintings by the artist George Romney, but this one is his prize.”

“Why is that?”

“Because ’tis rumored that the Prince Regent himself commissioned the painting... when the lady was his mistress.” Lady
Upperton
caught Mary’s arm and pulled her near. “But when she lost his favor to another, he never paid the commission or claimed the painting. So there it sat in Romney’s studio until his death, when the house and its contents were sold by his heir.”

Mary leaned back in her chair and gazed up at the painting.

From the corner of her eye, she could see that Rogan was looking up at it as well.

“She was a classic beauty,” he admitted, punctuating his words with a greatly affected sigh.

Mary did not look at him. Instead she directed her next question to Lady
Upperton
. “Who was she?”

“Are you serious? You really do not know?” Rogan rudely broke into the conversation. “My, you
are
a country miss, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” Mary glowered at him. “But I was not addressing you, Your Grace.”

Rogan chuckled. “My, my, Miss
Royle
. Either you have taken a sudden dislike to me... or you are working very hard to play
unattainable.
Which is it?” He lifted one eyebrow, which only served to infuriate her further.

“I think you know, Your Grace.” Mary glared at him, holding her angry gaze as long as she could manage.

Those ladies and gentleman of society who sat nearby suddenly quieted and watched them, as if eagerly awaiting a sparring match between the country miss and the highborn duke.

Lady
Upperton
noticed the other guests’ focused attention and was quick about stopping the heated exchange.

She snorted an overdone laugh. “Goodness now, the war is over, let us not begin another.” She tapped Mary’s arm with her fan, forcing her to break her daggered gaze, then tamped down her tone. “The woman is Frances, Countess of Jersey.”

A cold finger seemed to run down Mary’s spine. “You do not mean
the
Lady Jersey.”

The woman who wrapped up the cold, blue babies in her shawl and handed them off to Papa?

She shook the idea from her head.

Impossible. Impossible!

“Yes, I do.” Lady
Upperton
sighed. “As you can see, she was quite beautiful in her day. And she took full advantage of that beauty.”

“So, she is no longer living.”

“No, Miss
Royle
, she is alive. I saw her only last year,” Rogan mentioned nonchalantly. “She... was an acquaintance of my father’s.”

“You actually have been introduced to Lady Jersey?” She asked, with badly feigned indifference. As much as she wished she was not interested, she was.

“I was, only in passing though.” Then, his tone grew richer, as smooth and sweet as port and chocolate. The sort of voice a man draws forth to lure, to woo. His tone dropped as well, and he began speaking so quietly that Mary was compelled to lean nearer to hear what he was saying at all.

“She no longer resembles the siren in these paintings, however,” he told her. “She is handsome enough, but no longer beautiful,
unlike you,
my dear.” He paused for several moments and merely stared into Mary’s eyes, making her heart pound ridiculously.

He reached out his hand then and for the briefest moment slid two fingers down the length of a dark curl dangling at her throat. “Her hair color is not silky and rich, as yours is. Instead, it is gray.”

Mary swallowed hard.

Rogan’s gaze slid slowly down her form, riding every curve like a lover’s caress. “She no longer possesses the slim yet supple body a man dreams of pressing against his own.”

Mary flipped open her fan. The gallery had grown very warm now that the audience had started to move about. How she wished he would just go away. Go speak with his brother...
and his lady friend.

She turned away from Rogan, hoping that perhaps Lady
Upperton
had heard something of the duke’s lascivious words and would cease creating opportunities for their meeting. But the old woman was deep in conversation with Lord
Lotharian
, too preoccupied to have noticed that anything was amiss.

Rogan evidently noticed this too. For he brought his mouth to Mary’s ear and whispered hotly into it. “Shall I tell you more, Miss
Royle
? Or would you like to step into the courtyard for some cool air? I seem to recall you enjoy night walks in the garden.”

She stared at him. “I cannot believe your gall. No, no, that is not right. I
do
believe it. I just should have expected it.”

“You wound me, Miss
Royle
.” He took her free hand in his and pressed it to his heart. “I only sought to make you feel better... after your upset.”

She raised her open fan beside her mouth. “And you expect me to believe that? You are quite wicked, Your Grace,” she told him in a hushed tone.

She had wished her words to carry power, but instead they’d come out weak and
missish
.

It was all she could manage, for suddenly she found herself quite breathless.

Oh, botheration.
Snapping her fan to her side, she tore her gaze from Rogan’s and rudely interrupted the conversation in progress beside her. “Lady
Upperton
, does Lady Jersey still reside in London?”

It was a valid question, not just a means to avoid Rogan and his annoyingly heated whispers. Perhaps Anne and Elizabeth could speak with Lady Jersey and put their fanciful notions of being blood royals to rest.

Lady
Upperton
shrugged. “I vow, I have not seen her in society in many months. I had heard she was in Cheltenham recently.”

Rogan suddenly stood from his chair, startling Mary with his overwhelming presence. She couldn’t help but stare up at him. Once again she was taken with how enormous he really was.

His height was nothing less than extraordinary, and his form, well, it was muscled and solid—so different from Quinn’s lean, elegant body.

She tried to act calm and collected as she gazed up at his strong, square jaw, glittering dark brown eyes, and... those lips. Oh, she remembered that mouth all too well. Mary swished her fan before her face.

It was sweltering in the gallery. Was she the only guest who noticed?

Rogan smiled down at her, making her flush.

She could not deny that some women might find him incredibly handsome, if they favored that dark, rugged look of his. Which, of course, she did not.

Still, there was something very appealing about him. Though that was reasonable. He was Quinn’s brother after all, and they did share blood.

Still, nothing about them was similar. While Rogan’s wavy hair was dark as ebony, so black that it glinted blue in the candlelight, his brother’s hair was fair and brought to Mary’s mind the color of wheat just before harvest.

She raised her eyes from his lips and, to her embarrassment, met his gaze directly.
Lud
, he’d been all too aware of her study, and the grin on his lips told her he was quite amused by it as well.

Unexpectedly, he extended a hand to her. “Despite what you
think
you saw happen a moment ago, I know Quinn would be most pleased to see you, Miss
Royle
. He mentioned his hope that you would be in attendance this evening.”

“Really? He did?”

“He did, indeed.” Rogan’s voice had instantly returned to a more civil, less rakish tone. “I was about to go and convince him and his guest to drink a glass of wine with me. Would you care to join us?”

Was it possible she had misinterpreted Quinn’s affection for Lady Tidwell?

She supposed it could have been compassion in his eyes for a widow lost in her melancholy.

She turned a smile up at Rogan. “Yes, Your Grace. I should very much like to... if Lady
Upperton
will permit it.” Mary looked at the plump elderly woman, who exchanged a quick glance with
Lotharian
beside her.

“Very well, Mary,” Lady
Upperton
said, “but we’ll away within the hour. Take care that you have returned to us before then.” Her painted red lips slanted with amusement. “I trust you remember where the clock is?”

Mary flushed at the comment. “Yes, I do.” She looked up at Rogan again, then, lifting her hand, placed it gently in his gloved palm.

His fingers curled around hers, and at once she felt the heat of him, even through her silk gloves.

The warmth rose into her cheeks again, much to her humiliation, as he drew her up from the chair. He offered her his arm, and together they walked past the conductor arranging his music and down the crowded center aisle toward Quinn.

And Lady Tidwell.

Mary rose up on her toes as they squeezed through the crush of guests, hoping to snare a glimpse of Quinn, her viscount. Her intended.

Rogan, whose height in this instance was a clear advantage, did not share her problem of impeded view.

“Damn me,” Rogan hissed. “He’s gone.”

“What?” Mary heard the desperation in her own voice and cringed at the sound of it.

She had no desire for Rogan to detect her lack of confidence. Though what else should she feel, when her future husband was obligated to take the arm of a beautiful, lonely widow every night?

And so Mary added, “The musicale was longer than most, don’t you agree? Your brother has likely gone to the refreshment table.” She looked up at Rogan and smiled prettily at him. “Shall we do the same?”

Rogan locked her arm tightly against his side while they walked, as if he thought she might flee. He looked down at her then with a gaze so smoldering that Mary trembled, suddenly realizing the danger of her feigned flirtation.

But he wanted her to feel that way, didn’t he? Nerve-shot and unsure of herself?

This was how rakes maintained the advantage, was it not?

And at that moment, as she and Rogan walked down the aisle together, it occurred to her that there was no avoiding the duke, no escaping him, no matter how diligently she plotted to do just that.

As much as she hated to believe it, she knew that she must accept the fact that Rogan had taken control of her relationship with his brother.

If she neared Quinn, Rogan would simply taunt her with his wickedness, and in an instant she’d be knocked from her footing.

He knows just how to shake my confidence. I should slap him.
She gazed
firecely
at the duke.
Again.

Yes, he was a master at wielding his sensuality like a weapon against her. He had had years of practice playing the rake, after all.

From what she’d heard, he’d had years of experience too, thrusting and parrying with the most skilled and beautiful of society women.

She, however, was naught but an inexperienced country miss.
Clearly, I am no match for him.

Mary stilled her step suddenly as a thought occurred to her. She peered into his eyes as he gazed down at her.

Or am I?

How adept is he in warding off the advances of an innocent?
A little smile pulled upward at her lips.

Well, she decided, perhaps it was time to find out.

Rogan, feeling her delay, paused too. “Are you well?” he asked.

“Perfectly.” Mary smiled up at him.

For now I have the perfect plan.

One that you, given your nature, cannot possibly be prepared for.

One that would send the Black Duke running for his country house.

Yes, the seducer was about to become... the seduced.

C
ourage
. That was all she needed to regain control of her future with Quinn.

Sadly, though, as Rogan led her into the dining room toward the refreshment table, Mary knew she sorely lacked that important commodity.

“Odd.” Rogan was scanning the bustling room in earnest. “I do not see Quinn in here, either. I was sure he’d be fetching Lady Tidwell a libation.”

A glass of wine. Yes.

What did it matter if her constitution had little tolerance for spirits of any sort? The smallest amount had the power to make her all muddleheaded. But tonight, it might be just the thing to boost her bravery.

While Rogan was distracted with the task of peering through the crowd to locate his brother, Mary took the opportunity to extricate her arm from the duke’s steel-banded grasp.