How to Seduce a Duke (29 page)

Mary came to her feet and came to stand beside Rogan. She slipped her hand around his balled fist and caressed it, easing the tension he held there until he relaxed his fingers and interlaced them with hers. “Why did
Lotharian
wish to arrange this false wedding? What possible reason could he have?”

“You mustn’t know
Lotharian
well.” Archer exhaled. “He is a gambler of the first rank. He cannot lose. He can read a person so well that he can predict his actions in any given situation. And he predicted yours, Miss
Royle
, as well as yours, Your Grace.”

“What was his prediction?” Rogan’s hand tightened around Mary’s.

“He knew you wore blinders. You were so damned angry with each other that you could not imagine the possibility that your perceptions of one another were completely wrong. That your passionate dislike of each other masked true passion itself. That you were meant to be together.”

Mary felt heat rising into her cheeks. She could not look up at Rogan, though she was longing to know if he felt as she did.

Lotharian
had been right. Wicked man that he evidently was, he’d guessed correctly.

“But why the wedding? By
Lotharian’s
measure of our natures, Miss
Royle
and I would have realized our so-called passion eventually.”

“I don’t know. You must quiz him on that. All I know is that the false wedding was not so important as your pursuit of me on the Great North Road.”

“I don’t understand. The value of our pursuit was that we learned we were never married,” Mary retorted.

“No, the time you spent together, alone, united in purpose, was the value
Lotharian
envisioned. Time enough to see the other clearly. Time to realize that love is not only possible but...
inevitable.
”

She heard Rogan’s breath hitch in his throat. She didn’t know what to say or do.

They both stood silently for several moments before Rogan started for the doorway, pulling Mary along with him.

“We’re heading back to London.
Now.
”

The carriage tore down the road, sending clouds of earth spiraling out behind it.

Mary sat rigid and still in the corner. “You didn’t know either.” Her words were merely an observation, but Rogan seemed to hear them as a question.

“I should think that quite evident. Had you not prevented it, I might have pounded Archer senseless.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“No, it was
Lotharian’s
, and I will remember that fact.” He exhaled a long breath, then inclined himself forward to look into her eyes. “I am sorry for all of this, Mary.”

“You are sorry?” She regarded him quizzically. “You are in no way to blame for this.”

“None of this would have happened had I restrained myself.” There was something flickering in his eyes, and she knew he had more to say. “Had I not been so taken with you that night, allowed my passion to overtake my logic, perhaps I would not have been willing to do anything to make you mine.”

Mary sat mutely and stared at him.

“
Lotharian
was right, at least about my feelings for you. I never hated you. I
desired
you. I did from the moment I first saw you... in the garden. I just could not admit it to myself.”

Hearing his words, her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. “I never hated you either. I... ” Mary could not admit anything else.

In truth, she knew that what had happened in the carriage had been her fault.
Her
desires,
her
passions,
her
wanton dreams come to life by her own doings.

But it was all too much to confess.

And so she sought to lighten the conversation. “However, I did think you to be a wicked rake.”

For a moment, his eyes brightened. “And you were not wrong.” But then his gaze became serious again. “But I am no longer that man.”

Mary considered him for a moment. “No, I don’t think that you are.”

Rogan reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “So there is no reason we should not marry.”

“Except one.”

Rogan furrowed his eyebrows. “What is that?”

“Love.”

Mary’s sisters were not at home when she arrived at Berkeley Square that evening. She was bone-weary and drained, and so the solitude suited her very well.

Mrs.
Polkshank
served her a cold dinner in her bedchamber. Though she’d barely eaten all day, she only picked at it.

When Mary was finished eating, she sank into the steaming bath Cherie had drawn for her.

Raising her left hand from the soapy water, she watched the liquid slowly trickle down her fingers and over the gold ring Rogan had placed there.

She tugged on the ring. She’d have to give it back to Rogan in the morning. She tried twisting it, but her fingers had swelled in the hot water and the ring would not be removed.

A raw and primitive sadness washed over her.

She would have agreed to marry Rogan when he’d asked in the carriage. Would not have needed to think at all about it.

All he’d had to say was that he loved her.

But he hadn’t.

The aching in her heart evolved into a sick, painful gnawing.

A sob overtook her, and she allowed herself to weep aloud, rocking back and forth in the hipbath.

Cherie rushed into the chamber, wrapped a towel around Mary, and led her toward bed.

When Cherie doused the candles, Mary curled to her side, pulled the coverlet high around her, and buried her face in her pillow.

Then something occurred to her, and she sat straight up in bed.

Rogan had not confessed his love for her.

“But nor have I.”

W
hen Mary descended the staircase very early the next morning, she had no intention of sitting down to breakfast with her sisters.

She had a mission. Arguably the most important of her life.

Nevertheless, she had planned to quickly stop by the dining room. She needed a swipe of butter. The stubborn wedding ring still would not slide off her swollen finger.

The sun had risen only an hour past, time enough for Mary to see to her morning ministrations and dress. Even with Cherie’s nimble fingers assisting, she’d taken much longer than usual to prepare her toilette.

Her hair had to be perfect, her clothing neatly ironed. She’d fastened a triple strand of creamy pearls, a gift from her father long ago, around her neck.

It was important to her that she look her best when she pressed the wedding ring back into Rogan’s hand. Because her true purpose for seeing Rogan was not to return his property but to confess the depth of her feelings for him.

To tell him that she loved him.

She trembled just considering that moment. What would she do and say if he did not reply in the manner she hoped?

Lud
, what if he just said “Thank you” and nothing more?

Either way, she had to return the ring. If she was lucky, she would soon see the ring on her finger again when he admitted his love for her.

If not... well, the ring had never truly been hers anyway.

Because of the early hour, and her sisters’ late night, Mary did not peek into the dining room before entering for a bit of butter. This proved to be a mistake.

“There you are!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She leapt from her chair and rushed over to Mary. “Mrs.
Polkshank
told us you had come home.”

“And that you practically collapsed last night.” Anne had a concerned look in her eyes when she hugged Mary.

Mary drew a deep breath and expelled it.

She had hoped to avoid telling her sisters until after she’d called on Rogan that the wedding had been naught but a hoax.

She had her mission to perform first, after all, and she knew any mention of that would not sit well with her sisters, or rather one sister in particular. A young lady visiting a bachelor, well, it was simply against the rules of propriety, as Anne certainly would remind her.

“I must tell you something. Something horrid,” Mary began.

Before she could say another word, Elizabeth interrupted her. “That the wedding was a sham arranged by
Lotharian
?”

Mary was dumbfounded. “W-why, yes. How did you know?”

“Lady
Upperton
told us everything,” Elizabeth admitted. “She is furious with
Lotharian
.”

“She thought she recognized the vicar during the ceremony, then belatedly realized that she knew him from one of Lady
Carsington’s
faro parties,” Anne added. “When she approached
Lotharian
about it, he confessed his scheme, though he still believed it had been the right thing to do.”

“He said that had he not acted quickly... ” Elizabeth paused, her gaze tracking the slow progress of the butler as he headed toward Mary with a large tea tray mounded with cards and the
Morning Post.
“As I was saying... had he not acted quickly, you and the duke would never realize that you belonged together.”

“Your Grace,”
MacTavish
said, “some cards have arrived for you.”

“Please, just set them on the table if you will.” Just then, it struck Mary just how the butler had addressed her. “
MacTavish
, why did you address me as ‘Your Grace’?”

Anne narrowed her eyes at him. “Were you perhaps listening to our conversation?”

The butler shook his head. “No, miss. I happened to notice the
on-
dit
column in the newspaper this morning.” He opened the newspaper and tapped a column on the front page. “There it is.”

Elizabeth snatched up the newspaper and read the heavily inked head of the column.
“Miss
Royle
Weds Duke in Surprise Ceremony.”
She looked up at Mary. “Was there... perhaps
another
surprise ceremony?”

Mary shook her head slowly, then sank down into the nearest chair at the table.

Anne slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, no. Mary, your name will be ruined once it is known that the wedding was false. Our names will be ruined. No one will desire a connection to the
Royle
family!”

Just then, there was a hard knock upon the front door.

The sisters exchanged a circle of worried glances, then as one, they called out to the butler, who had already disappeared into the passage headed for the entry hall. “Don’t answer it!”

“Too late,” came Rogan’s rich voice from the doorway of the dining room.

Mary looked up at him in disbelief.
“Rogan.”

“May we speak privately?” he asked. In his hand was a copy of the
Gazette.

Mary set her palms on the surface of the table and pushed up. “We can talk in the
parlor
.” She glanced up into his warm brown eyes as she passed him, gesturing for him to follow. “This way, please.”

Rogan thrummed his fingers atop the folded newspaper he’d balanced atop his knee. “Mary, I don’t know how anyone learned of the ceremony at the Argyle Rooms. But there is nothing we can do about the column now. By now, everyone of consequence has read of our
wedding.
”

Frustrated, he leaned his head backward, but the settee had been constructed with tiny misses in mind and was consequently too short for him. This only added to his annoyance.

“We could ask for a retraction.”

“That would only bring more scrutiny and interest in our situation.” He leaned across to Mary and took her hand. “No, I fear we have but one course to avoid the ruin of both our family names—we must marry.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I am sorry, but we must, and we must do so quickly and quietly.”

Mary’s eyes were as round and golden as the sun as she stared up at him. She nodded dutifully. “If there... is nothing else we can do.”

Suddenly, Rogan’s heart felt very heavy. He had hoped she would be somehow happier about the prospect of sharing their lives together. “There is nothing else,” he finally replied.

“Very well.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Was his offer so terrible that it made her cry?
Rogan swallowed hard and came quickly to his feet. “I shall instruct my solicitor to go to Doctor’s Commons and secure another special license the very instant the archbishop’s office opens on Monday morning. Meanwhile, I shall find a minister. Do you have a preference?”

She smiled meekly. “Anyone but Mr. Archer will do.” Then, as if something had just broached her mind, she took hold of the wedding ring on her left hand and tried desperately to twist it off. “It won’t come off. I’m sorry, Rogan, but I’ve tried, but now my finger is swollen. It is as if it wants to remain there forever.”