“Very good, Lady Upperton.” The duke looked to Mary. “And you, Miss Royle?”
“No, thank you, Your Grace.”
The Black Duke started for the refreshment table, but before he had traveled a full step, he turned around. “Quinn, will you assist me?”
The sheen of disappointment was clear in the young viscount’s eyes. “Do excuse me, ladies. I shall return promptly.” He bowed politely-something the grand oaf had not troubled himself to do-then followed his brother through the heaving crowd.
The moment the two gentlemen were no longer discernable amongst the collection of dark dress coats, Lady Upperton’s manner changed abruptly. “Mary, Lord Wetherly mightn’t have realized you were lying, but I certainly did.”
Mary frowned. “I didn’t lie. In actuality, I was very careful to tell the truth.”
Lady Upperton huffed a breath of air between her painted lips. “I was holding your hand, dear. I felt it twitch and saw your body tense whenever the duke made his ridiculous accusations about garden statuary.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You mightn’t have, but you certainly danced a full quadrille around the truth.” Lady Upperton leaned close and tilted her chin up. She studied Mary’s face through squinted eyes. Then she gasped. “Oh, my word, Mary. He wasn’t incorrect. You were the statue in the Underwoods’ garden! What could you have been thinking?”
“I only wanted to show my sisters the gentleman I would one day marry.” She paused, but Lady Upperton folded her arms across her chest and lifted her eyebrows, as though waiting for the rest of her story.
“You see, earlier, our cook asked for the evening off to earn a few extra shillings by helping to prepare the dinner for the Underwoods’ garden party. We cannot afford to pay her much in the way of wages, so we agreed. Cook was very happy about this, as you might imagine. She began to tell us about the food that was to be served…and sometime during the conversation casually mentioned that Lord Wetherly, the young war hero, would be a guest.”
“But you said you are not acquainted with the Underwoods.”
“Well, we aren’t. So we were not included on the guest list. But I did so want Anne and Elizabeth to see the man I have set my cap at, Lady Upperton. And la, he was going to be just next door. So close. I knew I daren’t miss the opportunity, so we powdered ourselves and crept into the back garden-”
“Oh, dear me.” Lady Upperton snatched a lace handkerchief from her frothy sleeve of rose lace. “’Twas all three of you?”
“Please do not fret. No one saw my sisters. And no one saw me…well, except the duke. But it was dark, and I was completely marbleized with powder and a smear or two of paste.”
“Heavens…is Lotharian aware of any of this?”
“Am I aware of what?” Lord Lotharian and his cohorts, Gallantine and Lilywhite, were suddenly standing in a tight ring around them.
Lady Upperton became instantly agitated. “Haven’t got a tick of the minute hand to discuss this now, Lotharian. You must know, however, that our Mary has set her cap at Viscount Wetherly, and I would wager every jewel I own that he is very interested in such a match.”
Lotharian scratched his chin. “Wetherly. Why do I know that name?”
Lilywhite raised a finger. “Perhaps because Wellington mentioned the lad in every dispatch from Toulouse. Or because the Prince Regent recently bestowed on him a viscountcy in recognition of his bravery and valor. Why, Wetherly led the Sixth Division in the heroic attack above Toulouse, you know. No small feat. He’s a true hero.”
“His father was the late Duke of Blackstone,” Gallantine added. “His brother holds the title now. You certainly have heard of him-the Black Duke.”
“Ah yes, the Black Duke. Have indeed.” Lotharian chuckled, and the other two gentlemen joined him, as if the three were sharing a private joke of some sort. “Now he is a man to consider, Miss Royle.”
“Blackstone?” Mary stared at Lord Lotharian in disbelief. “How can you suggest such a thing. W-why, he is…horrid.”
“No, no. You’ve got it jumbled.” Lotharian waved her comment away like a foul odor. “Blackstone is naught but a spirited young fellow. I admit, he even reminds me of myself in my youth.”
“Oh you do flatter yourself, Lotharian.” Lady Upperton bent and peered around the towering lord. “But that is neither here nor there. The Black Duke holds some sort of a grudge against our Mary-”
“I slapped him,” Mary said matter-of-factly. “Quite hard too.”
Lady Upperton cringed. “I am almost afraid to ask, but I must. Did this occur in the Underwoods’ garden?”
“It did. But I swear to you, he deserved it thoroughly. He was about to…to touch me,” Mary bent at her knees and whispered into Lady Upperton’s ear, “most inappropriately.”
“Oh, dear.” Lady Upperton dabbed her brow with her handkerchief, taking off a bit of her facial powder in the process. “Lotharian, Lord Wetherly is Miss Royle’s choice, not his older brother. The viscount comes from an old family and has earned honor and distinction…despite his mother. Do you agree?”
“His mother?” Mary looked to each of the four for an answer, but it was as if her question fell on indifferent ears.
“Wetherly sounds like a perfectly suitable gentleman. I shall have my man investigate him further.” Lotharian smiled down at Mary. “Miss Royle, I shall have your answer within the week.”
“I fear we haven’t that long.” Lady Upperton hastened her next words. “My concern is that Blackstone will not support the match. Already this evening, he has taken great strides to shame our Mary. I fear he may do irreparable damage to the potential match unless he is persuaded to stop.”
“I can certainly distract the duke this eve. Then we shall meet again in the morn to discuss a broader strategy for keeping our two young lovers together.” Lotharian raised his quizzing glass to his eye.
“What do you mean to do?” Mary’s head was beginning to throb.
She had already set off on the worst possible footing with the duke. The Old Rakes were only going to make things worse, of that she was sure.
“Ah, what have we here?” Lotharian, who stood a full head above most others in the grand drawing room, became suddenly alert. “That’s him, the tall gentleman, with shoulders like a pugilist. Am I correct?”
Lilywhite lifted his glass as well and peered into the crowd. “You’ve got the right of it, Lotharian.”
“Well, then.” Lotharian glanced mischievously around the drawing room. “Leave Blackstone to me. Lady Upperton, you may see to the task of seeing that the viscount and Miss Royle connect again this eve.”
Lady Upperton nodded, sending her double chins quivering.
Lotharian held his quizzing glass before his eye. “Hmm…best make haste though, dear. See there.” He raised his chin, covertly gesturing to the center of the drawing room. “The duke seems to be introducing his brother to the lovely widow Lady Tidwell.”
“Oh, dear me.” Lady Upperton rose up on her toes to catch a glimpse of the young woman, who was indeed laughing with Lord Wetherly.
The duke, however, was no longer with them. With Lady Upperton’s refreshment in his hand, he was heading straight back to their party.
Lady Upperton held her fan before her face and pulled Mary close. “Lady Tidwell is out of mourning. Oh, Mary, her connection with your young man is a poor turn of events, very poor-one we must reverse at once!”
“Do not worry overmuch, ladies,” Lord Lotharian said with all confidence. “Miss Royle has innocence and superior breeding to recommend her. Lord Wetherly will make the right decision. Now, if you will pardon me, ladies, I have my own task to complete.” A wicked grin turned Lord Lotharian’s lips, and the ancient rake set off on a course for certain collision with the Black Duke.
Rogan took one last glance at his brother before delivering Lady Upperton’s glass of wine.
It was going well. Quinn was clearly taken with Lady Tidwell, which helped p
ut his own mind at ease.
He just couldn’t endure it if his brother formed a connection with Miss Royle. Why, the chit seemed to take great pleasure in irking him at every turn.
Certainly, he had never met a more irritating woman in all his life.
What else could he have expected from her, though? Everything he now knew of her served to bolster his belief that she was common, and penny-poor at that.
Still, she was dangerous, for she was pretty and knew how to use her wiles.
She belonged to the absolute worst class of woman. The sort that snared unsuspecting men by their heartstrings, then lured them to the altar solely for their money.
Miss Royle was a guinea-grabber. Worse yet, she had Quinn fixed firmly in her sights.
Not for long, though.
When he had mentioned to Portia, Lady Tidwell that Quinn meant to marry and begin a family before the year was through, she was more than a little intrigued.
Now, she would be his perfect match.
She was from a good family, possessed a sizeable portion, was well mannered, and maintained all the best society connections. Yes, she would do quite nicely.
He had just turned toward Lady Upperton when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a well-muscled gentleman staring angrily up at him. “May I assist you, sir?” Rogan asked.
“I would speak with you in the garden, Your Grace.” A web of red threads shot through the man’s furious eyes. His cheeks burned crimson, and his foul breath was coming fast.
“Might I inquire what this is about, sir?”
The gentleman huffed at that. “You know exactly what this is in reference to. Several old gentlemen saw you do it. Pointed you out to me. I demand satisfaction-in the garden.”
Rogan looked at the two elderly gentlemen watching the exchange with amused grins on their wrinkled faces. “I am afraid, sir, that there is some confusion. Might I know what I supposedly did that so incensed you?”
The man was practically snorting fire, but he was well enough trained to lower his voice to a near whisper. “You pinched my wife’s backside.”
“Did I? Are you sure?” Blackstone glanced around the room. “Which is your wife? Point her out to me, will you?”
A vein throbbed along the young man’s wide forehead, and his red face almost seemed to pulse. “To the garden, now.” He grabbed Rogan’s sleeve and turned him toward the passage.
“You are making a dangerous mistake, sir,” Rogan said, shaking the man’s hand loose.
“The mistake was yours, Your Grace, the moment you touched my wife.”
“But I didn’t. I am sure I would remember.”
“Outside.”
Rogan lifted the edges of his lips and set Lady Upperton’s glass of wine on the tray of a passing footman. “Then let us continue our discussion in the garden, as you suggested, sir. It is rather stifling in here, and I could use a bit of fresh air.”
Rogan’s full lips twisted into a smirk as he followed the irate fool down the passage and through the French windows into the garden.
He removed his gloves and shoved them between his waistcoat and lawn shirt for safekeeping.
Yes, perhaps a little air would cool his new friend’s ire. But if not-Rogan flexed the fingers of his right hand, then curled them into a tight fist-he would take matters into his own hands.
The moment Blackstone left the drawing room, what Mary took to be the second part of the elderly quartet’s scheme was put into place.
Lotharian eyed Lady Upperton and tugged upon his earlobe.
“Dear gel, the moment I distract Lady Tidwell-you will know the moment if you watch carefully-you must at once appear at your beau’s side. Your opportunity shall not be available to you for long, so the sooner you can convince him to quit the room, so much the better.”
Mary reached out and took Lady Upperton’s chubby little hand. “Lady Upperton, I do appreciate your efforts, but truly-”
Her round face glowed. “I know you appreciate my help, which is why it so gladdens me to assist you in all ways. It has been so very long since I felt so needed.”
Oh, that wasn’t at all what she had been trying to say, but it was too late now. Mary winced. She had no choice but to play along.
Lady Upperton patted the top of Mary’s hand, then slipped her own from her grasp. “Lotharian beckons again. It is my moment. Watch for your opportunity!” With that, the tiny woman barreled like a hogshead through the throng, paying no heed to the perturbed guests she left scattered in her wake.
Mary cupped her hands over her eyes momentarily. When would this evening end? Never before had she endured so many face-reddening moments in one night.
“Darling.”
Mary lowered her hand and looked up to see Lord Lotharian standing before her, with Lord Wetherly beside him.
Lotharian grinned at her. “Miss Royle, I just made the acquaintance of Viscount Wetherly, the famous war hero. Of course, I wanted to introduce him to you, but I have just learned that you are already acquainted.”
“Oh, yes, Lord Lotharian, we met only minutes ago.” Mary turned to Lord Wetherly and felt her cheeks redden with the embarrassment from this insane scheme.
“Are you ill, Miss Royle?” True concern etched the corners of the viscount’s vivid blue eyes.
She opened her mouth to assure him she was not, but it was Lotharian who responded.
“Miss Royle’s cheeks do appear somewhat heated.” Lotharian withdrew a handkerchief from inside his coat and dabbed his own high-set cheekbones. “I daresay, it is rather close in here. Perhaps a stroll in the fresh air would revive you, Miss Royle.”
“I-I suppose it would.” Mary looked from Lotharian to the viscount. “Shall we all go together?”
Lotharian flapped his handkerchief in the air. “Nothing would please me more, Miss Royle, though I promised Gallantine I would introduce him to Sir Corning.” He looked to the viscount. “I wonder if you, Lord Wetherly, would do me the favor of seeing to Miss Royle?”
A most attractive smile appeared on Wetherly’s lips. “I shall be honored, sir.” He straightened his back and excitedly offered his arm to Mary. “Shall we, Miss Royle?”
She took Lord Wetherly’s proffered arm and shyly looked up at him through her lashes. “Absolutely.”
Good heavens. The scheme was actually working!
Mary could not believe her luck.
Whyever had she doubted Lord Lotharian’s plan to see her married off? Obviously, he had a fine mind when it came to matchmaking.
Mayhap tonight was not nearly as dreadful as she had first believed.
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 th
rough 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.
How To Seduce A Duke Page 7