How to Seduce a Duke (26 page)

Suddenly Lady
Upperton
whirled around. “Oh! He’s coming back. Turn away, turn away, Mary!”

A moment later, Rogan turned from the orchestra stand and strode toward the ladies.

Mary turned her head and saw the man Rogan had paid only a quarter of an hour before was now standing near the conductor, with a parcel under his arm.

“Lady
Upperton
, Miss
Royle
.” Rogan stood erect. As he spoke, his eyes did not leave Mary’s for an instant. “Will the two of you do me the honor of joining me in the Turkish room for a few minutes?” He gestured toward the doors near the grand staircase.
“Please.”

Lady
Upperton
looked confused. “Why, yes, Your Grace.” She looked to Mary, who offered no explanation.

“Miss
Royle
?” Rogan offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Mary nodded dumbly. Lady
Upperton
might not know what was about to occur, but Mary certainly did.

It was time to play her final trump.

T
he Turkish room was awash in blue, from the luxurious carpets to the drapery panels lining the walls.

Rogan gestured to the nearest of the Ottoman sofas lining the perimeter of the room. Both Mary and Lady
Upperton
, obviously ill at ease, sat down obediently.

“The others should be here presently. Shouldn’t be long.” Rogan began to pace the open doorway.

“What is going to happen, dear?” Lady
Upperton’s
white brows fluttered nervously.

Honestly, Mary didn’t know... not for certain, anyway. She had an idea, though, and that idea sent her teetering to the edge of her nerves.

To pass the creeping time, she glanced up at the massive, glittering crystal chandelier suspended above. There was something painted on the ceiling, and she drew a shading hand to her eyes and peered up at the painting of a soaring eagle grasping a thunderbolt.

Low voices from just outside lured Mary’s gaze to the open doors. She leaned forward on the sofa, just far enough to see Rogan reaching, and the hands of two different men stretched outward.

Then he turned and gestured inside. Mary sat back upright and stared straight ahead.

“Lady
Upperton
, Miss
Royle
, my I present Mr. Archer? Lord
Lotharian
introduced us just this night. Such good fortune too, our meeting. Mr. Archer is a vicar and has agreed to preside over our wedding ceremony.”

Mary bobbed a small curtsy, but before she rose completely, Lady
Upperton
nudged her arm and nodded to the gentleman.

It was
him.
The gentleman whose outstretched hand had taken the bag of coins Rogan had covertly offered him.

Ah, so this was his plan. Pay a gentleman to pose as a minister, then watch her squirm.

Well, thanks to Lady
Upperton’s
keen attention and well-aimed lorgnette, she wasn’t going to fall for Rogan’s grand ruse.

Ha! Now that she’d viewed his hand, she could actually enjoy bluffing the duke.

“Mr. Archer, how good of you to officiate, especially at such late notice.” She smiled brightly, then turned and watched Rogan’s own smug grin dissolve from his lips.

“And you are both well acquainted with my brother.” Rogan moved his large frame aside, and Quinn stepped forward.

“Lady
Upperton
.” He bowed, then turned and looked sheepishly at Mary. “Miss
Royle
, how pleased I am to welcome you into our family.” He stepped forward, clasped her right hand with both of his, and squeezed it gently. It felt like an apology.

Mentally bracing herself, Mary gazed deep into Quinn’s eyes. She was ready for the blow that seeing him would inflict, knowing that he was willingly handing her off to his wicked brother.

But surprisingly, she felt no pain.

No disappointment at all.

How could that be? She had set her cap at him. Believed him to be her future. And yet... at this moment, she felt absolutely nothing.

Rogan stepped forward and broke the lock of their hands. Possessively, he took her hand and set it in place around his own arm. He looked down at her. “Quinn will be a witness.”

The Black Duke was too cruel. Had she been in love with Quinn, as she had honestly believed she might have been at one time, thrusting his brother forward as witness would have been beyond low. And if Quinn had shared those feelings, it would have wounded him deeply as well.

But obviously, he did not. Otherwise he would not have accepted a role in Rogan’s elaborate wedding ruse. And yet, he had.

“Lady
Upperton
, will you stand as witness as well?” Rogan’s tone was level and serious.

Oh, he was a master.

“Dear?” Faded blue eyes stared up at Mary. Lady
Upperton
separated her from Rogan and led her several feet away. “You know I believe he is the one for you. He is your heart’s match. But first, I need to hear that you no longer have feelings for Lord
Wetherly
.”

Mary was stunned by the question. “No, I don’t. As I stand here this night, I wonder if I was ever really in love with him, or if I was merely in love with the idea of him.”

“What does your heart tell you?”

Mary lowered her head. “The latter. That I never truly loved him. I only thought I did.”

Lady
Upperton
beamed back at her. “Then, I will stand for you, dear gel,” she exclaimed for everyone in the Turkish room to hear. Then, in a blink, the old woman gave Mary a tug back toward the gentlemen.

“Lady
Upperton
, please wait—,” Mary sputtered, but before she could finish her thought, Rogan reached for her and brought her to his side.

“Darling,” his voice was low, almost mocking, “you are not having second thoughts?”

He was so sure of himself. So sure that she would turn and scamper off like a frightened hare. She straightened her spine. “Not at all.” Mary looked straight ahead and focused her gaze on the supposed vicar. “I am ready.”

Rogan took her hands in his, and the ceremony began.

The wedding was not but a haze, a disturbing blend of sacred words and utter folly.
It isn’t real,
she reminded herself as Rogan slipped a golden ring onto her finger and settled it over her knuckle.

Just as Mr. Archer uttered the final admonition, “What God has joined, let no man put asunder,” Mary glanced up to see Lord
Lotharian
and her sisters standing in the doorway, mouths fully agape.

She could not go through with this. She couldn’t. She conceded. Rogan had won.

Mary turned to Mr. Archer, meaning to ask him to stop this farce, but it was too late.

“... declare you man and wife.”

She looked up at Rogan and saw that he was already gazing down at her... as if in a daze.

Her stomach clenched. Something felt very wrong. Very wrong, indeed.

From the edge of her vision, she could see her sisters and the elderly lord rushing into the room, but her gaze remained locked with Rogan’s.

He released her hands, and she felt his fingers slide around her waist. He cupped her chin with his other hand and tilted her face upward.

“You have won, my dear. You are a duchess and will live the rest of life in luxury and comfort.” His mouth came down on hers then, and he kissed her mouth hard before pulling away.

It wasn’t at all like before.

Didn’t move her mind and body to wish for other things, for more.

This kiss was punishment.

When he pulled away, Mary stood there, blinking, confused, and feeling hurt for some reason.

The next moments were a blur of shaking hands and congratulatory kisses.

Suddenly, a pen was slipped into her hand and guided toward a book of ruled and numbered vellum pages.

“That’s right. Sign your full name, dear,” Lady
Upperton
urged. “Good, good. Now, here too.”

The last slip of paper Mary signed was whisked away, and Lady
Upperton
and Lord
Wetherly
bent, in turn, to ink their names on the sheet as well.

“Congratulations. May I be the first to address you as Your Grace?” Mr. Archer said as he bowed before her. “It was my honor to be of service.”

He, too, signed the paper and handed it to Rogan, then, with the vellum register under his arm, abruptly left the Turkish room.

“Mary?” Anne laid her hand on Mary’s cheek. “What is wrong with you? You seem all
afluster
.”

Mary stared into her sister’s eyes. “Something is very wrong. This is not what was supposed to happen.”

“What do you mean?” Anne asked softly, as if trying to keep her calm.

“In the saloon, I saw Rogan slip Mr. Archer a bag of coins. This was all a ruse.”

She looked at Elizabeth then, who was shaking her head.

Mary heard a soft whimper escape her lips. “The vicar wasn’t real,” she whispered.

Lord
Lotharian
moved near. “Dear gel, I have known Mr. Archer for many years. Met him when we were young and he was assisting his uncle at our parish church.”

“Then... he’s truly a vicar?” Stunned, Mary stared down at the ring on her finger. “But this was just a game of wits. It wasn’t a real wedding. It could not have been.”

Rogan had come up behind her. “I know it was a game to you, but not to me. I was dazzled by your beauty and tender touch. I did not see that
I
was your real target in your quest for title and coin.”

Lord
Lotharian
shoved the duke back from Mary. “How dare you! How dare you make such an accusation. I assure you, this woman possesses a large dowry, more than enough to see her marry well, and she is of the noblest blood. The absolute noblest. Truth to tell, Blackstone, she has no need for your
paltry
title.”

Mary shook her head. “No, my lord. All of this must stop.” But
Lotharian’s
eyes were flashing wildly.

Rogan did not seem to pay her any heed. “She is the daughter of a country physician,
Lotharian
.”

“No, she was
raised
by a physician in Cornwall. But in fact, she, and her sisters, are the true daughters of the Prince Regent himself.”

Rogan reached past
Lotharian
and caught Mary’s arm. He hauled her to him. “What nonsense is this?”

“It is the truth.”
Lotharian
reached inside his coat and produced the Kashmir shawl. “And I have proof!”

Rogan stared down at Mary, waiting for her to answer him. “Is this true, Mary?” he demanded as he shook her slightly.

“I-I don’t know. I tell you, I don’t know,” she replied.

Was this possible? Rogan wondered.

Or had the lot of them escaped from Bedlam?

Rogan looked at the old man shaking a stained red cloth in the air.

At Mary’s copper-haired sister mouthing the word “princesses” again and again.

At the old woman running her tiny fingers along the edge of the shawl with reverence.

Oh, yes. They were all
mad.

He looked down at Mary, peered into her golden eyes, which were frantically searching his. “Is it true, Mary?” he asked her. “You must know.”

“Until tonight, I didn’t believe it possible,” she reluctantly admitted. “It was just a crazy story... a story of three royal babes, left for dead and handed over to my father in Lady Jersey’s shawl.”

“You said until tonight,” Rogan prompted.

“Yes. It was just a story, beyond belief, until we found the shawl hidden amongst my father’s belongings—that shawl—and matched it beyond a doubt to one Lady Jersey wore in the portrait hanging in the Harrington gallery.”

Rogan’s eyes went wide. “Still, even if that did belong to Lady Jersey, it does not prove—”

“You’re right, it doesn’t.” She reached up and gently touched his shoulder. “Whether or not my sisters and I were those babes, if they ever even existed, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you and I have made a very large mistake this eve. Please, Rogan, let us find Mr. Archer before it is too late. Let us admit our error and hope that he can find it in his heart to forget this union ever happened. We made a mistake.”

“A mistake,” he absently repeated.

He had to think. Make some sense of this, but the din of the room made thought quite impossible.

There was only one thing to do. He took Mary’s hand, and, before anyone could stop him, he rushed her from the Turkish room and down the grand staircase.

When they reached the landing, he whirled her to face him.

“It was a mistake, Rogan,” she repeated. “A grand mistake. I thought this whole evening, from your proposal of marriage to our wedding, was naught but folly. I thought you toyed with me, and so I played along, hoping to best you.”