How to Seduce a Duke (24 page)

Couldn’t be helped. She was not about to let go of the shawl.

And so she looked straight ahead, chin upright, and walked through the gallery, then the passage, and to the front door, where Lady
Upperton
and Lord
Lotharian
were waiting with the
Harringtons
.

Three gleaming carriages made their way from the Harrington house on Cavendish Square to the opulent Argyle Rooms, where the Heroes’ Fete was to commence.

Mary stared out the window as the Duke of Blackstone’s carriage rumbled down the road.

She could not believe she was sitting upon the same seat where just the night before the man now opposite her had taken her maidenhead.

She could feel Rogan’s heated gaze upon her, no doubt feeling the irony of the situation, just as she was.

Tonight they each sat on opposite sides of the carriage, gloved hands folded in their laps.

How ironic. Less than twenty hours past, they’d been panting, and kissing... and, well, tonight was completely different, that was all.

My, it was warm in the carriage.

She glanced over at Elizabeth, who seemed not at all bothered by the heat.

Moisture had begun to bead at Mary’s own brow, and the lace trim of her
underdress
was beginning to stick to her skin.

The only part of her that wasn’t steeping in the closed carriage was her hand holding the shawl in place beneath her skirts. Her hand was ice cold from gripping the Kashmir so tightly, and deuce it if it wasn’t beginning to cramp.

“How did Lady
Upperton
convince you to extend an invitation for the fete to the
Harringtons
?” Elizabeth suddenly asked the duke. “Did you break a valuable at their musicale and feel you owed them something in return?”

“Elizabeth,”
Mary hissed. Involuntarily her gaze lifted to Rogan’s face, and she saw that he was watching her.

“No, nothing like that.” Rogan’s gaze was quite serious. “She simply asked me to do it as a personal favor to her. And in exchange, she would give me something I require.”

Elizabeth braced her hands on her knees and leaned forward. “And what would that be? Will you tell us?”

“Sister, you are being most rude. Sit back please and stop questioning the gentleman.”

That wicked grin of his suddenly appeared on his lips. “I will tell you, since Lady
Upperton
has already given me what I needed.”

Mary could not breathe. She had no idea what he might say next, only that it would not be good given the way he was now looking upon her.

“I asked her to ask
Lotharian
, your guardian, for his blessing.”

“His blessing? Whatever for?” Elizabeth asked.

“As a gentleman, without it I could not ask your sister here to marry me.” He did not smile, did not move. “But you will be pleased to know he gave it without hesitation.”

Good heavens.
He was not serious. He could not be.

Rakes did not marry.
Lud
, there was a whole club full of aging rakes on Cavendish Square that proved that unequivocally.

And then she saw it. A tiny smile twitching on his mouth. Ah, it was just another of his depraved games.

“So, Miss
Royle
, what say you? Will you marry me?”

Mary sat up straight in her seat and met his steely gaze with one of her own.

She could see it in his eyes. He was not serious. No, this new game of his was called “retribution” for stopping him from slaking his lust with her last night.

She was certain his proposal was not sincere. He didn’t drop to one knee, or confess his undying love.

This was just a game. A competition.

Who would back off first?

Well, she could play along. Make him cringe with her next words.

“Yes, I will.” Mary smiled confidently, though already this game of nerves was exhausting her. “How soon?”

Rogan leaned forward too, until their noses almost met in the middle. “Tonight, if you like.”

Mary shook her head. “We’d need a special license.”

Rogan nodded thoughtfully, then, as if he’d just remembered something, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a special license. “Oh. Fancy that. I happen to have one. So tonight, is it?”

God, he was good!

“Your brother is being honored tonight. It would be horrid of us to steal his moment.”

“You’re right.” He paused for a moment and peered out the window.

Ha, he was backing down.

Then he snapped his head back around. “How about just after the fete? We’d have plenty of witnesses—no doubt there will be several ecclesiastical authorities present at the Heroes’ Fete.”

“Several, you say?” Mary gulped. “Well then, we shall have our choice.”

Rogan gave her a flat smile. “So, we are agreed then.”

“Absolutely.” Mary’s hand began to spasm. So distracted was she by the discussion that she inadvertently flexed her hand, and the shawl slipped to the floor.

Oh, perdition!
Mary frantically lifted her foot and dragged the edge of the Kashmir shawl beneath the cover of her flowing skirts and into the narrow gap at the base of the carriage seat.

When she looked up again, Elizabeth was staring at both her and Rogan in turn, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.

“No... this is pure folly.” A small nervous laugh escaped Elizabeth. “You will not truly marry this evening.”

Rogan folded his arms at his chest. “I assure you, I am most serious in this matter. I fully intend to marry your sister before the sun rises.”

Mary’s heart played a riotous tattoo in her chest. She sniffed in three short breaths, trying to calm herself.

No matter what he said, she told herself, this was just a grand game of nerves.

A
game
—one she intended to win.

“What say you, Miss
Royle
?” he asked, just waiting for her to back down. But she wasn’t going to do that.

Mary could not meet Elizabeth’s gaze. She had to sound confident, and she knew that if she looked into her sister’s eyes, her voice would quaver. “Oh, yes. Definitely before the sun rises.”

Elizabeth squealed and clapped her gloved hands enthusiastically. “I cannot believe it. Anne will be so disappointed that she had to ride with Lady
Upperton
and Lord
Lotharian
! She is missing everything! What wonderful news, Mary!”

“Yes, wonderful,” Mary murmured.

Leaning across, Elizabeth hugged Mary, then stared up at Rogan and began chattering away in her excitement. “Our sister Anne will be beside herself. She was certain she’d be the first wed. But no—’tis our Mary!”

Mary swallowed deeply. What was she doing? She was actually lying to her sister to beat Rogan at his own horrid game.

But she’d set everything to rights at the fete. She’d pull both her sisters aside at the celebration and explain everything. They would understand. They would.

It wasn’t as if she was really going to marry the Duke of Blackstone.

By the time the Blackstone carriage wheeled before the entrance to the Argyle Rooms, Mary was numb.

During the course of her brief journey from the
Harringtons
’ home to the fete, she had not only kicked beneath the seat the only shred of evidence they possessed of their births but she had also agreed to marry the man she despised most in this entire world.

She should have never risen from bed this morning, for the day could not have unfolded more wrongly.

Unaware that the shawl was wedged beneath the seat, Elizabeth practically leapt from the carriage, so eager was she to share the news of Mary’s surprise nuptials. “Are you coming, Mary? Do hurry!” Without waiting for a reply, she started for the doors.

Rogan rose and offered a hand to Mary, but she pretended not to notice and sat very still. There was no possible way she could retrieve the shawl without him taking notice and asking questions.

Then, given his nature, he would use the shawl as leverage or as a flag to wave over his head to humiliate her. She wanted neither, so she decided it was best to leave the shawl inside the carriage for now and retrieve it later.

As she rose to climb from the carriage, she surreptitiously slipped her fan into the narrow gap between the carriage wall and the seat.

Then, she took the footman’s hand and descended the steps to the pavers, where she waited several heart-pounding moments before Rogan emerged from the cabin. She worried for naught, however, for his hands were empty, and his slim-fitted coat did not reveal any shawl-like lumps or bumps.

Mary smiled inwardly. More likely Rogan had needed a few spare seconds to collect himself before facing all of society—and Quinn—if indeed he had the nerve to announce his plans to marry an unsophisticated country miss.

“Mary, please.” Elizabeth stood just outside the door, waiting—something that she had never excelled at.

“Your Grace.” As a taunt, Mary lifted her arm for him to take and to lead her inside.

“My darling,” he replied.

Then, while Mary still reeled from his words, he caught up her hand and raised it slowly to his mouth. Before she could snatch her hand away, he pressed a hot kiss that seemed to sear the tops of her fingers right through her glove.

A tingle raced upward from her hand and spread like fire across the whole of her body. She blinked slowly and moistened her lips.

A chaste kiss to her hand and she was all atwitter.

Oh, God.

I can’t do this. I can’t.

When Rogan straightened and looked her in the eyes, it was the wryest of smiles that greeted her. “Allow me to be the first to tell you, my dear, how very lovely you look on your wedding day.”

And then he gave her a furtive wink.

Mary stiffened, her resolve instantly renewed.

“Shall we go inside, Your Grace?” she replied excitedly. “I know Elizabeth is eager to tell everyone our joyous news.”

Rogan’s jaw tightened, and the corded muscles that ran the length of his neck tensed.

That was all she needed to see.

For now she knew with all certainty that she was ready for his game.

Ready to win it.

D
espite Mary’s best efforts to hurry along her
betrothed
so that she might catch up with Elizabeth to speak with her before reaching the Argyle Rooms, her sister’s excitement to share the glad tidings seemed to have imbued her with an unmatched lightness of step.

As they passed through a set of crimson folding doors, Mary finally slipped her arm from Rogan’s. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I would like to ask my sister to refrain from announcing our nuptials... until after your brother and the other heroes have been honored.”

Mary glanced up to see Elizabeth midway up the grand staircase ahead of them.

Lifting the hem of her gown from the floor, she started forward, belatedly pausing to toss a coquettish glance over her shoulder. “Please excuse me—
my love.
”

At first, both of his eyebrows shot toward his hairline, but then he returned an amused grin.

Mary hastened up the treads, finally catching Elizabeth at the top of the staircase. She grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her into a lounge at the head of the staircase.

At first, Mary was completely distracted by her surroundings. The lounge resembled a Grecian temple of old, complete with classical statues and Ionic columns for support.

Elizabeth tried to remove her hand from her grasp. Mary wrenched her gaze back to her sister. “You mustn’t say a word to anyone about what you heard. Promise me.
Promise.
”

“But why? Were I marrying a handsome, rich duke, I would stand in the middle of the Argyle Rooms and shout it to the
ton.
” She freed her hand. “And so should you. But if you won’t, I shall.”

“You can’t, Elizabeth.”

“Why not?”

“Because he has no wish to marry me, nor I him.”

Three vertical lines appeared between Elizabeth’s eyes. “I do not understand. I saw the special license. I know he means to marry you.” Elizabeth’s cheeks colored. “I
saw
it.”

“What do you mean,
saw it
?” Mary stared at her sister for several seconds. “Oh, no.
No.
I thought we were beyond all of this.”

“I still have the dreams, Mary. Only I no longer tell you and Anne about them. I know the two of you do not believe me, but I tell you, I can see the future unfold—and I saw you marry the Duke of Blackstone. You will become his wife,
tonight.
”

A high-pitched screech rode inside Mary’s laughter. Yes, it was true that sometimes Elizabeth did forecast events before they happened. But then, just as often, she was completely wrong about her so-called predictions. Why, one could just as easily flip a coin into the air and have the same degree of accuracy as her sister.