How To Seduce A Duke

Chapter 6

Mary shivered as she and Lord Wetherly stepped out upon the paving stones leading into the Brower garden.

The air in the courtyard was cool, especially when compared to the heat of the drawing room, but it was not the temperature of the night that sent Mary’s body all aquiver.

Reading her shaking as a need for warmth, Lord Wetherly hurried back inside and collected her shawl from a footman.

When he returned but a moment later, she turned her head and smiled at him as he settled the wrap lightly about her shoulders.

She pulled the shawl close about her, wanting to appear grateful, but the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck still prickled up from her skin.

It was not the chill that discomfited her.

Nor the excitement of walking with the man she would ultimately marry.

It was his wicked brother.

For though the sweeping garden ahead appeared deserted but for the two of them, Mary knew that Blackstone and his ready-fisted opponent lurked somewhere nearby.

“Would you like to walk down the pathway? Lady Brower mentioned a moon garden near the well. It is said that white flowers scent the night with sweet fragrance unmatched during the daylight hours.” Lord Wetherly leveled his eyes with hers.

For several moments, without moving from where they stood in the golden light shining through the French windows, they stared dreamily into each other’s eyes.

Or, at least she tried to match the sleepy look she saw in his eyes. But for some reason, she was having a devil of a time doing it.

“I-I” Mary broke her gaze and peered off into the moonlit garden.

She could not help thinking that at any minute the beastly duke could leap out from behind the boxwoods to wreak havoc.

“Forgive me, Miss Royle, I should not have asked you to leave your sponsor and stray from the rout.” Lord Wetherly leaned on his cane and lowered his gaze to the pavers.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Wetherly.” Mary swung her head around to look at him again. “You have done naught wrong, I assure you.”

“I should not have suggested a walk…alone.”

Blast. She was going to lose him if she didn’t focus her attention better.

“Lord Wetherly, I would greatly enjoy a walk in the garden with you. Nothing would please me more.” Mary turned her head slightly to the side and gazed coyly up at him. “However, I neglected to inform my sisters where I was headed before you and I left the drawing room. I only thought to remain near the house…in the event they come to look for me. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do, and I admit, I am greatly relieved.” The viscount exhaled a sigh. “For an instant I was sure my invitation might have been misinterpreted and that you thought me a horrible rake intent on whisking you into the darkness for a wickedly passionate kiss.”

“Lord Wetherly-”

“Please, do call me Quinn. I know we have only just properly met, but I feel…I know you so very well.”

Though she had no experience in the stages of love, she was fairly certain he was smitten, and because of this, a proposal was likely in the weeks to come.

She could almost feel it.

Mary’s head began to dance with thoughts of a future with…Quinn.

She could see their wedding clearly in her mind even now. They would live in a grand house in the country. They would have three beautiful children, all with Quinn’s golden hair.

And…and…Suddenly she was being summoned back into the moment.

“Miss Royle?” There was that concerned look in his eyes again. “Miss Royle?”

W-what? Oh goodness. Focus your attention, Mary. Focus!

“Mary, please call me Mary.” She laughed softly. “Do forgive my inattention, please. I confess, I was off gathering wool.”

She looked into his eyes and he smiled.

God, he’s so beautiful when he smiles.

“And what so consumed your thoughts, Mary?”

Well now, that was a good question. Just what had she been thinking? Or, rather, what might he like to hear?

She fluttered her eyelashes.

Lud, was that a bit much? She squinted her eyes and studied him.

No, no, he is smiling. Everything is well.

It is. Has to be.

And then, she suddenly knew just how to answer his question. “I wondered if I would think you a horrible rake if…”-go on, say it-“if you kissed me here, right now.” She widened her eyes in feigned innocence.

Quinn’s eyes widened too, and he paused for several seconds before his look of surprise was replaced with one of eagerness. “I suppose there is only one way to know the answer to your question.”

A tattoo thrummed in her chest and in her veins.

He was actually going to do it. At any moment, Lord Wetherly was going to press his lips to hers.

Zeus, should she close her eyes? Or wait until their mouths touched? Close them. Yes. That felt right.

Mary squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her lips upward and waited for Quinn, the man she would one day marry, to kiss her.

Any moment now. Any…moment.

Suddenly, she heard him shuffle his feet most peculiarly, and then the sound of his breath left his lungs.

A cool swoosh of air blew between them, and she knew for certain he had moved away from her.

Could she have read his ardor incorrectly?

She was about to lift her lids and blame her wanton behavior on the wine-well, she had no tolerance for the juice of grapes, so it made perfect sense, didn’t it?

In the next instant, before she could say a word, he swept her into his arms and crushed her against his hard, muscled chest.

She scarcely had a moment to gasp a small breath before his lips came down and claimed hers, hot and moist, moving so…so…passionately.

Oh my…oh God.

All at once, her legs softened to the consistency of marmalade, and heat surged through her entire body.

Heavens above, she never knew a kiss could be like this.

Or that Quinn, gentle Quinn, was the sort of man who could make her head spin so deliciously.

She had to be in love.

Of course, that was it. There was no other explanation for it. She and Quinn were meant to be together. She ought to tell him. Admit her feelings now.

He had to be feeling it too. Had to be. No one could kiss like this without being in love.

Do not think, Mary. Just tell him.

Tell him!

And so, the moment his mouth lifted from hers, she confessed her feelings. “I-I think I love you.”

Then she heard his voice. “Stop!”

How odd. He sounded so far away.

“Stop at once!” he pleaded.

“W-what?” She held her eyes closed, not wishing to break the moment, and leaned into him for another kiss.

“Rogan, I demand it.”

Rogan? Mary suddenly went stiff. She wrenched her head toward the garden. Her eyes flew open, expecting to see Quinn’s beastly brother stepping from the bushes, just as she’d imagined. Just as she’d feared.

Instead, she saw Quinn standing beside her. Quinn?

Then w-who had been kissing her? She turned her head and blinked up. Oh perdition.

“Love me, do you, Miss Royle?” The Black Duke, still crushing her against his chest, chuckled wickedly. “And here I thought you despised me.”

Tears pushed into Mary’s eyes. “Let go of me, you-you vulgar beast.”

“You heard her, Rogan. Do it now!” Quinn shouted. “I can’t believe you did this. You are my brother. My brother!”

“Very well, I will release you, Miss Royle,” the duke told her in an insulting whisper. “Anything for the woman who loves me.” He straightened and settled her to her feet.

Mary glared at him. Her breath was coming so fast she spat out her words. “How dare you!” And for the second time, she drew back her hand and landed a stinging slap across his cheek.

She could not even bring herself to look back at Quinn as she flung open the French windows and ran, blinded by tears of humiliation, inside the house.

“Let her go, Quinn. For now.” He rubbed his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I daresay she might need a few minutes to settle her head.”

Quinn looked from the French windows to Rogan. “I ought to level you for what you’ve done.”

“But you won’t because I did it for your own good.” When Quinn opened his mouth to protest, Rogan raised a hand to silence him. “I know an apology is not nearly enough, Quinn, but I vow someday you will thank me for this.”

He reached a hand to his brother’s shoulder, but Quinn swatted it away.

“Why? Tell me why you did this?” Quinn looked straight into Rogan’s eyes. His own were glistening in the soft light from the house. “I was about to kiss Miss Royle-the gentlewoman I…I may marry someday…when you shoved me away and assaulted her!”

“I didn’t hurt her. I only kissed her. And I am fair certain she liked it.” He tried not to smile. Or mention that he might have rather enjoyed it as well. But he wasn’t the beast the ton believed him to be. He hadn’t kissed her to hurt his brother. No, when he’d kissed Miss Royle, it had been with the best of all intentions.

“Why, Rogan?” Quinn was overwrought, though he fought to hide it. “Why the hell did you do it?”

“Damn it all, Quinn. I did it to save you from the bloody parson’s mousetrap.”

Rogan walked to the marble bench and sank down upon it. He shoved his hand through his hair before looking up at Quinn again. “I was just returning from the back garden after a rather heated discussion with a gentleman who had been mistaken about my interest in his wife. That’s when I heard her luring you into a kiss.”

“She wasn’t luring me. She was inviting me to do something I wanted very much to do!”

“Sometimes you can be so naïve. But I am not. It was a trap, one you were eagerly stepping into.”

“It was no trap, Rogan.”

“But I was certain it was. You would take her into your arms and kiss her, and at once Lady Upperton and a pack of censorious society matrons would rush into the garden from the house, accusing you of ruining Miss Royle. And, being the good man, the honorable man you are, you would protect her by asking her to become Viscountess Wetherly.”

Odd, Quinn wasn’t the least moved by his sacrifice. Instead, his brother’s cheeks glowed red and his chest heaved. Bloody hell. He looked even more furious now, if that was possible.

He just didn’t understand. And so, Rogan continued. “An honorable man would have no choice but to marry her. But society has dubbed me the Black Duke. I have a wicked reputation. No one could coerce me into a marriage by appealing to my honor-because as far as they are concerned, I have none. So you see, by kissing Miss Royle in your stead, I rescued you from a forced marriage.”

He smiled at Quinn then, hoping to defuse his brother’s anger. “You may thank me now if you like.”

“You are mad, Rogan. You’ve spent so many years blindly distrusting all women that you see a villainous motive behind the most innocent of kisses.”

Rogan exhaled hard. “You do not know women as I do. You place them upon a pedestal. But believe me, I know what they are truly capable of. I have seen her sort before. Many, many times before. Women who deceive, who use, who destroy-all to line their own purses with gold.”

“Deuce it, Rogan. She isn’t that sort of woman. Y-you do not know Miss Royle.”

“Nor do you! Do you not understand, Quinn? That is my entire point. You haven’t even known her name for more than an hour, and already you claim she may be a woman worthy of your heart.”

“Had I kissed her, the whole of London could have poured through the French windows demanding I marry her that very instant-and Rogan, I would have been glad to do it. I want to marry, Rogan. And she is a good woman, a virtuous woman with a kind, gentle soul.”

Rogan rubbed his cheek. “A gentle soul with one hell of a swing.”

“You deserved nothing less. I can only hope that one day you will realize that everyone’s heart is not as black as yours.”

“And you will learn, Brother, that I can read a woman faster than she can tell me her name. Miss Royle is not Quality.”

“She is. She possesses a grace that I have never witnessed before.”

“True, she dressed well enough this eve, which might give anyone who met her the impression that she hails from a good family, but I saw her earlier today. Saw her country frock and absurd bonnet. I saw who she really is-an opportunist, concerned only with your title and your full pockets.”

“You are wrong, Brother.” Quinn turned and charged for the house.

Rogan rose from the bench and called after him. “You will see, Quinn. You will see.”

When Rogan sat down to break his fast quite late the next morn, Quinn, dressed in a dark blue frock coat, had already filled his plate with bacon rashers, eggs, and bread, and was slowly sipping his coffee. He did not even seem to notice that Rogan had entered the room.

Quinn looked quite handsome, with his coat brushed, his neckcloth painstakingly tied, and his brass buttons sparkling as if they’d just been polished. This was not his brother’s usual day garb. Not at all. And this worried Rogan.

“Look at you, Quinn. You’re all the crack this morn, aren’t you lad?” Hmm. He was hoping for an explanation for Quinn’s fine garb, but his brother did not hurry to offer one.

In fact, Quinn said nothing at all.

Instead he munched on a thick slice of toasted bread smeared with a dollop of freshly churned butter.

“Come now, did I not apologize? If not, allow me to do it now. Dear brother, I vow I heartily regret kissing Miss Royle.”

“You do not regret it. You seek only to prove your belief-your incorrect belief, I might add-that Miss Royle wants nothing more than my fortune.”

Rogan filled his cup, then sipped his coffee noisily. “You must believe me when I tell you that I hope my assertion is a long stroll from the truth.”

“Well, it matters naught, Rogan.”

“No?” Damn it all. Quinn had set his thoughts on something, and Rogan had a good mind of what it might be.

“No, because I plan to call on Miss Royle early this afternoon to apologize for your barbaric actions at the Browers’ rout.” He fastened a smile to his mouth and looked pointedly at Rogan. “Then I shall make my way to Cavendish Square to discuss with Lady Upperton my intentions to court her protégée Miss Royle.”

A jolt of worry blasted through Rogan, propelling his body up from the chair. “Quinn-”

He didn’t have even a modicum of an idea what he would say to dissuade his brother from this preposterous notion.

It was for this reason that when the butler, Clovis, entered with a letter atop a silver tray and headed straight for Quinn, Rogan closed his mouth and sat down again, grateful for a few more moments to craft his argument.

When Quinn noticed the butler, the fine skin at the outer corners of his eyes wrinkled and a look of confusion passed over his finely boned face. “Early for a letter, is it not?”

“Not so early, my lord.” Clovis raised the tray a little higher before Quinn, urging him to take it.

It suddenly struck Rogan that something was not as it should be. “Take the card, Quinn.”

Quinn peered at the cream-colored note on the tray. “I shall…finish my breakfast first, I think.”

What was this? Rogan rose from his chair. Even from his position across the table from his brother, he could see that the direction on the outside of the letter was written in a woman’s hand. Possibly Miss Royle’s?

Could that be the reason Quinn was apprehensive about opening it? Did he fear the card might contain instructions to refrain from seeing her again? After all, to her it might have appeared that Quinn, a war hero and all, had done nothing to stop his roguish brother from attacking her. Or, more likely, she’d found another deep-pocketed target later on at the rout.

Yes, yes. Fanciful thoughts. But the prospect of hearing an end to Miss Royle’s campaign to snare his brother’s ring made Rogan nearly giddy.

Still Quinn made no move to open the letter.

Bloody hell, Rogan could endure no longer. He had to know what was inside that letter. “I have eaten all I can manage this morn,” Rogan began, hoping Quinn would not notice his nearly full plate of food. “I shall read it aloud for you while you eat. After all, we have no secrets, do we, Brother?”

Before Quinn could reply, Rogan stole the card from the tray. He broke the gold wax wafer, unfolded the letter, glanced down the page and-damn.

Not from Miss Royle.

“’Tis from Lady Tidwell.” Ah yes, his contingency scheme. But so soon? Now this was interesting. Rogan held the letter out to Quinn. “Surely you wish to read it.”

“Oh, very well. Give it to me.” Quinn brought the letter to his eyes and silently read for several seconds.

What was that he just saw? Rogan watched his brother intently for a reaction. Could it be a hint of a smile? A glimmer of interest?

“How does Lady Tidwell?” Rogan asked. “I scarcely had two words with her. And it was her first venture into society after her mourning period ended, too. You spoke with her, didn’t you, Quinn?”

“I did.” He seemed quite distracted at the moment, which Rogan took to be a good omen. “Her brother, Lieutenant Spinner, has accepted a commission with another regiment. Only in Town for a short while. Seems he’s heading off to India in the morning. Good man, Spinner.”

Quinn looked up at Rogan, his face no longer cinched with worry but instead suffused with brightness and cheer. “We, uh, served together in Toulouse, you know.”

“Oh, did you? I hadn’t been aware.” But of course Rogan had been. In fact, it was Quinn’s close association with Lady Tidwell’s brother that made her the perfect choice as a distraction for Quinn.

“She has extended an invitation to me to dine with the two of them this afternoon…before he leaves.” Quinn lowered the letter to his lap, his eyes suddenly astray in thought. “I do so wish to accept, but-”

“But nothing!” Rogan took a step closer and slapped his brother’s back hard but good-naturedly, to snap him from his thoughts of calling upon Miss Royle instead. “I know where your mind is lingering. Look here. Accept Lady Tidwell’s invitation. You, yourself, commented on how short life can be, especially for a soldier.”

Quinn turned his gaze upward. Rogan’s point had been taken. “But after last night…I should-”

“Bloody hell, Quinn. If you must, if you absolutely must call on Miss Royle and Lady Upperton, you can do so after dinner-or better yet, tomorrow, when Miss Royle has had a chance to calm herself properly after my…indiscretion.”

“Yes, I suppose you could be right.” Quinn happily popped an apple wedge into his mouth and began to chew.

“That’s my man.” Rogan patted Quinn’s shoulder again, then quit the room and headed above stairs for his chamber.

He snapped his fingers at a nearby footman and asked him to summon his valet at once. He needed to look his best, for he had two very important calls to make right away.

First to Lady Upperton.

And then to the gel with the gleam of gold guineas in her eyes.

Miss Royle.

Mary lowered the spout of the chocolate pot over Elizabeth’s chipped, but perfectly serviceable, cup and began to pour.

Last night had certainly been the worst of her life. Never before had she been so humiliated. The Duke of Blackstone was a blackguard and should be locked away for the good of all women.

“Mary!” Elizabeth grabbed Mary’s hand and tilted the pot upright. “Where were your thoughts? For your mind was not on pouring. Look at the linen.”

“W-what did you say?”

Elizabeth pointed her finger at her overflowing cup.

Criminy. There were the fat droplets of chocolate spotting the tablecloth too. “Oh dear. Let me fetch something to-”

“Never you mind, missy. I’ll take care of the spillage,” said Mrs. Polkshank, the cook and housekeeper whom Mary had engaged only two weeks before.

Mrs. Polkshank set down a plate of hot muffins on the table, and Elizabeth snatched one up. “Used to it, you know,” she told them. “The later the hour at the tavern, you see, the more spills there were, so I learned to be always prepared.”

Just as Anne entered the dining room, Mrs. Polkshank, who did not seem to concern herself with modesty, hoisted her pendulous right breast and snatched a homespun cloth from the waistband of her apron.

Anne stared in disgust as the cook dropped her breast back into place, wet the rag with the tip of her tongue, then began to dab away the chocolate stains.

“Oh, this ain’t goin’ to do it.” The heavyset woman spun around and started for the door to the passage. “I’ll be needin’ some vinegar.” She paused when she reached the threshold and looked back over her shoulder. “Shall I fetch some more chocolate? Maybe some tea for you, Miss Anne?”

Anne did not turn around to reply. Anger blazed in the golden bursts of her moss green eyes. She shook her head furiously.

“Well, then, I’ll be back in a tick or two.” Mary watched Mrs. Polkshank disappear into the passage.

Anne immediately addressed Elizabeth. “Sister, will you please tell Mary that Cook must go.”

Mary frowned. “She is not going anywhere, Anne, and if you wish to discuss our staff, you may speak directly to me.”

Two bright red dots appeared on Anne’s cheeks. “Very well, I shall. Where did you find her, Mary, on a street corner in Drury Lane?”

Elizabeth took a large bite of her muffin and carefully lifted her cup to wash it down with a gulp of chocolate. “I do not agree with you, Anne. We never had meals in the country like Cook’s. I think Mrs. Polkshank is quite talented. And she certainly keeps a cleaner house than Aunt Prudence’s thief of a housekeeper did.”

“She is quite gifted in the kitchen-and very economical,” Mary added. “She always has at least a shilling or two spare after marketing. You must agree that with her creativity in piecing together meals and her skill in preparation, it almost slips my mind how limited our budget is.”

“Our only shortages of funds are due to your frugality, Mary. We are not in want of coin. Why, with the portions we’ve been given, we could live like kings for several years at least.”

“Or princesses, at the very least.” Elizabeth hid her grin behind the lip of her cup.

Mary shook her head. “Anne, you are not angry because I engaged Mrs. Polkshank. You are not truly angry, at least not this morn, about my handling of our household accounts.”

“Really, Mary, am I not?” Anne folded her arms over her chest.

“No, you are still fuming over last night.”

Anne lowered her head, as if she’d been studying the cut-work edge on the serviette upon her lap. “Lady Upperton had just introduced me to a most diverting young man-an earl.” The green rim of her eyes grew clear and sharp as she looked up again. “And then, you come rushing into the drawing room, hair all mussed, and within an instant we are all standing outside the Brower residence waiting for the carriage to scoop us up and transport us home.”

“Blackstone kissed me.” Mary felt her voice tremble. “That wicked rake did everything he could to make a mockery of me before his brother. He did it because somehow he knows I have set my cap at Lord Wetherly. That is the only explanation.”

Elizabeth settled her hand on Mary’s forearm, but her attention drifted to Anne. “We had to leave. Our sister was upset, and who is to say what Blackstone might have done had he found Mary inside.”

Anne pushed back her chair and studied Mary. “What I do not understand is why a simple kiss, unwanted or not, rattled you so. Our Mary would have slapped him. Or worse.”

“I did.”

“But what he did brought you to tears. Now, were you some simpering miss just out, I might expect sobs. Might expect howls. But not from you.”

Elizabeth turned and stared at Mary as well, as though she were suddenly seeing her in daylight for the first time. “I agree, Mary. Until Father died, you were so strong, confident, and, lud, so fiercely competitive. You would not have allowed anyone to get the better of you.”

“Why now, Mary?” Anne said.

Mary settled her elbows atop her lap and rested her head in her hands. “I do not know. I really do not.”

She looked up and was surprised to feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks. “Until Papa died, I knew who I was. I knew my place in this world. But now I feel so lost.”

“Anne and I feel just as you do. This is a new world for us, Mary,” Elizabeth told her. “We will find our way…with time.”

“All I know is this money we have in our coffers is all that stands between us and the workhouse.” Mary straightened her spine. “We must use it wisely to construct secure futures.”

When Anne spoke, her voice was now soft and soothing. “And Blackstone is undermining your efforts to forge a future, a life, with Lord Wetherly. That is what frightens you so.”

Mary peered down at the spot on the tablecloth and said nothing.

There was a knock at the door, but no one except MacTavish paid the interruption any heed.

Lady Upperton’s mission to introduce the sisters into society had been a success last evening, and all that morning visiting cards and invitations to fetes, musicales, and routs had collected on the mantelpiece.

Mary swiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “The duke is stubbornly determined to keep me at arm’s length from Quinn…Lord Wetherly. And I can do naught to prevent it.”

“You could,” Elizabeth said. “At least, the old Mary could.”

Mary blinked back the last bit of moisture in her eyes. “You’re right. Why should I stand by, awaiting his next ploy to humiliate me before his brother? I just need to be clever to keep him in check. To distract him so he does not have the time or opportunity to drive a wedge between Lord Wetherly and me.”

“That’s our Mary.” Anne rose from her chair and circled around the table. She hugged her just as MacTavish stepped from the passage and into the dining room.

Mary stood and raised her fist in the air most dramatically. “Blackstone, you have met your equal.”

“Have I now?” came a deep, all-too-familiar voice from the passage.

Mary thought her eyes would pop from their sockets the moment she realized who was standing just behind the butler.

She gulped down the huge lump that suddenly seemed to be lodged in her throat.

“Oh my Lord. Blackstone,” she gasped.

The duke lifted his eyebrows significantly. “My dear Miss Royle, I understand that you are fresh from the wilds of Cornwall, so I choose to believe you did not intend to insult me. My title is not ‘My Lord Blackstone.’ I am a duke. Therefore, the polite way to address me is Your Grace.”

“Oh, I do apologize-I…I didn’t say ‘My Lord Blackstone. I did pause after ‘Oh my Lord,’” Mary stammered.

“Miss Royle, I know what I heard,” he insisted.

“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” She looked pleadingly at her sister. “Anne, fetch a sheet of paper and a pen. I will show you, Your Grace.”

“Just…say it again.”

Mary looked back at him to oblige. Even started to open her mouth. But then she saw the mischievous glint in the duke’s eyes and his wide, crooked grin.

Blast. She had allowed him to do it again. Allowed him to humiliate her.

Well then, she’d give him this one. He was quick, and she hadn’t been prepared.

But this would be the very last time.

The very last.