How To Seduce A Duke

Chapter 14

Despite 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.

And this time, she had it all wrong.

Elizabeth pointed her index finger at Mary. “I saw that gown. When you married him, you were wearing that exact gown.”

“But you encouraged me to choose it. Do you not remember?”

“I do not deny influencing your choice of silk, or lace, or design. I did it because I had already dreamed of the gown. I already knew how special the gown would be. I had already dreamed of your wedding.”

Mary expelled a long sigh. “Elizabeth, I admit that there is a physical bond between me and Rog-the Duke of Blackstone. But it was a mistake.”

“No it wasn’t. It was meant to be. It was all meant to be.”

Mary grabbed her sister’s wrists and shook her. “I know you believe as much, but I do not, and I am asking you, as my sister, please do not speak of what you heard in the carriage. It is a game of nerves between me and the duke. Nothing more.” She pulled Elizabeth to her and hugged her tightly. “Please. I am begging you.”

When the two separated, Elizabeth nodded her head. “I will not tell anyone. Until the sun rises. But you will see, Mary, by then you will be the Duchess of Blackstone.”

Elizabeth’s confidence that Mary would soon wed Rogan did concern her, though she refused to admit it.

Elizabeth’s skill in influencing and persuading was quite developed and powerful. Because of her childlike enthusiasm and her sincerity, rarely did anyone realize her manipulation, however unintentional it might have been.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” exclaimed Lady Upperton. “How was your drive?”

The tiny, old woman stood in stark contrast next to tall, lean Lord Lotharian.

Lotharian bent as if bowing, but as he did so, he turned his head and whispered in her ear. “What of the shawl? Was it a match?”

“It was,” Mary whispered, then she raised her voice to a normal level for the benefit of those surrounding them. “Yes, Lady Upperton, the drive was quite uneventful. Such a lovely evening for the fete, don’t you agree?”

She leaned close to the old woman and dropped her voice to a hushed tone. “It seems I am to marry the Duke of Blackstone this eve, and you are to thank for securing Lotharian’s blessing.” Mary shot a glare to her guardian.

Lady Upperton exchanged concerned glances with Lotharian. “Yes, the air is quite soft for such an auspicious event as this.” She rose up on her toes and put her mouth to Mary’s ear. “Married this eve? Goodness me.”

“It is not but a lark,” Mary insisted. “Some wicked game Blackstone is playing with me to shatter my nerves. Lud, the man is despicable.”

Lotharian suddenly waved to someone in the distance. “Do forgive me. There is someone who owes me a rather large gambling debt, and I do not intend to allow him to slip away this time.” Like a hawk, Lotharian watched the gentleman move across the room. “Excuse me, please. He’s seen me. Mustn’t tarry now.”

Mary exhaled through her nose. Lotharian was leaving in the middle of their conversation? Unbelievable.

Lady Upperton took Mary’s arm and turned her away from Lotharian’s departing figure. “Despicable, say you? Bah, Mary, you are being far too harsh. Blackstone is much more suited to you than his brother, Lord Wetherly.”

“How can you say that?” Mary wrinkled her nose. “Wetherly is just the sort of man every woman dreams of marrying.”

“Yes, he is. Wetherly is a good man, a compassionate man, but a soft man, too. You are too impulsive for him, and he too malleable for you. Do you not prefer a man who can set your blood to boiling? I think you do. No, I know you do. I did, too.”

The old woman dropped back to the heels of her Turkish slippers and looked up at Mary.

Mary narrowed her eyes.

There was that curious look in Lady Upperton’s faded blue eyes again. Why, it was almost as if she really did know. Knew what passionate urges for Rogan lived in Mary’s body.

And in her heart.

“Lady Upperton, wherever do you get such notions?”

Suddenly Mary felt a hand at her waist and another at her elbow. “Miss Royle, the master of ceremonies has announced the first dance. May I have the pleasure?” Rogan asked.

“Well, I-”

Now he leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I am to be your husband in but a few short hours, after all.”

Heat surged within her. How that man could make her blush.

Around them, a flurry of society matrons gathered, listening and watching.

“I am honored, Your Grace.” She raised her head high, and looking up through her lashes at the handsome duke, she allowed him to lead her through the crowd to the dance floor.

The Saloon Theatre, where the fete was in progress, was the largest chamber Mary had ever seen.

Impressions of columns rose high into what appeared to be the sky itself.

Six glittering, balloon-cut crystal chandeliers, each holding a dozen wax tapers, hung from the ceiling, casting an almost magical glow over the entirety of the dance floor.

The golden flicker above seemed only to accentuate the glistening blue highlights scattered about in Rogan’s hair. Lady Upperton was right. Rogan was extraordinarily handsome.

As the orchestra’s lively tones took to the air and Mary settled into Rogan’s arms to dance, a warmth, a comfort coursed through her. It was a feeling she’d never truly known before. But she felt it, and, much to her surprise, she realized that she never wanted this moment to end.

She gazed up into Rogan’s eyes and saw that he was watching her, his eyes filled with wonderment. His hands tightened around her body, and suddenly Mary grew uneasy in her bliss.

This was not possible. She could not feel anything for him, the infamous Black Duke.

It was all an illusion. One that would come crashing down around her the moment she let herself love him.

Love?

Good heavens. Where had that thought hailed from?

This was wrong, all wrong.

So, rather than wait for Rogan to set some beastly ploy into motion, which he certainly would eventually, Mary set about causing the collapse of this moment of happiness.

She spun a circle around the gentleman to Rogan’s left, and then because the dance steps required it, returned to the duke’s arms once more. She lifted her eyebrows high.

“Your Grace, have you selected a church official from amongst the eligible?” They joined hands and she felt his body jerk. She could not help but smile triumphantly as they stepped into the archway of dancers.

He gazed down at her, and heat surged into her middle.

This is all folly, she reminded herself. Not real.

She manufactured a cold smile, but beneath, to her horror, her body still simmered uncontrollably from the nearness of his form.

Rogan’s touch changed from comforting and warm to hard and mechanical. “Do not fret, Miss Royle. I asked you to marry me, and I intend to do just that.”

“Your Grace, do you not think this farce has continued long enough? Look around you. The cream of society are circling about like vultures, waiting for you to cast me aside. Miss Royle, the mushroom who cannot tell when she is being played the fool.”

Rogan lifted her hand over her head and spun her around. He did not say a word.

And so Mary verbally prodded him again. “Everyone is expecting it. You must know this. Do it, and no one will think ill of you.”

“I will marry you.”

“Why do you play this game? It is nonsensical to me.”

A dark glint appeared in his eyes then. “Do you forget what happened between us last night?”

“I am not completely certain anything did. I haven’t a head for wine, and as you know, I was drowning in my cups.”

An ache began deep within her heart. She did not know why. But it was there. Hurting.

“You agreed to marry me this very night.”

“I-I did.”

“While all of London may believe me to be an unrepentant rake of the highest order, I do believe in honoring one’s promises.”

“As do I,” she replied. A sickness began to swirl in her belly. She saw now where this uncomfortable conversation was headed.

The game was still in play.

“And yet you do not intend to honor your promise made to me this very eve,” he responded.

Mary glared up at him. “You are wrong, Your Grace. I will. The very minute this set has concluded, if you desire it.”

“Actually, I prefer to marry this very moment.” He twirled her around. “How else can I be sure you will not beg off?”

Mary pursed her lips. “How else can I be certain that you will not walk off?”

Abruptly, Rogan ceased dancing. He laced his fingers through Mary’s and whisked her from the dance floor. When they reached the perimeter, he planted her between Lady Upperton and her sisters.

“Lord Lotharian introduced me, a few minutes ago, to someone I must speak with.” Rogan stretched his neck and glanced around the Saloon Theater. “Ah, there is Lotharian, and there is my man.” He turned back to Mary. “Do not fret, Miss Royle, I am not abandoning you. I shall return promptly, and when I do, a duchess you shall become.”

Mary folded her arms at her chest. “I shan’t move from this spot, Your Grace.”

Anne appeared quite shaken. “A duchess? Mary, what did he mean?”

Mary glanced at Elizabeth. To her great relief, her sister did not burst with the news of the sudden betrothal but rather kept her promise and dramatically sucked the seam of her lips into her mouth.

“Anne, I haven’t time to explain.” She pulled her sisters near. “Before Blackstone returns, I need for you to go out to the street, find his carriage, and have it opened for you. If the driver questions you, tell him that I may have left my fan on the seat. You’ll find it wedged between the wall and left door.”

Anne huffed out a breath. “I am not going to miss the honoring of the heroes simply to collect your fan for you.” She shoved her own fan toward Mary. “Here, take mine if you are over-warm.”

Mary ground her teeth. “Do not speak. Just listen to me. You are not truly looking for the fan. I dropped the shawl inside the carriage cabin and kicked it beneath the seat.”

“The Kashmir shawl?” Anne snapped open her painted fan and waved it before her face. “Mary, it’s our only proof of who we are. Who we were born to be.”

Lord Lotharian approached the trio just then.

“Oh, dear, Lotharian.” Lady Upperton actually looked as though she might faint. “Mary left the Kashmir shawl in Blackstone’s carriage.”

“Not wise. Not wise at all, gel.” Lotharian shook his head at Mary as if she had done it intentionally.

“Please, take Anne and Elizabeth to retrieve the shawl. They have received instructions, you only need to find it before Blackstone’s tiger or coachman finds it.”

“Very well. You can depend on me.” Lotharian snapped the heels of his pumps together and ushered Anne and Elizabeth quickly through the theater and down the grand staircase.

Mary rested her hand on her chest and steadied her breathing. “Thank you, Lady Upperton.” When she turned to the old woman, she saw that she had raised a lorgnette and was peering across the dance floor.

“Look there, gel.” Lady Upperton twisted and offered Mary her lorgnette. “What is Blackstone doing?”

Mary waved away the lorgnette and focused her eyes. Then she squinted. Rogan slapped a gentleman on the back. Then he slyly looked in both directions and covertly pressed a small leather sack into the man’s hand. “I believe he just slipped that gentleman a bag of coins.”

“I knew he was up to something. It was in his eyes, you know. Kept looking about.” Lady Upperton retrained her lorgnette on the duke. “Most suspicious, if you ask me.”

After witnessing that very interesting exchange, Mary could not refrain from watching him as he next approached Quinn and drew him away from Lady Tidwell and an elderly matron.

As she and Lady Upperton watched for some minutes, it occurred to Mary that her attention was pinned exclusively on Rogan.

Quinn could have been any other gentleman for as little as she noticed him. It was the tall, ebony-haired, handsome duke who held her focus. He made her remember things she ought not. Made her wonder what the muscled chest she’d felt under her fingertips would look like, stripped of his coat and shirt and bared in the candlelight.

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.