“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.
Chapter 7
“Please do forgive me, Your Grace,” Mary said most politely to the duke, though in her head, her tone was anything but civil. “I assure you my grasp of forms of address is quite adequate. Though I confess, I had not expected to find you in our dining room at this hour-or any other.”
Mary edged past her sisters to reach Blackstone and extended her hand. “Let us begin again. Welcome to our home, Your Grace.” Mary dipped into an overemphasized curtsy deep enough to honor the Prince Regent himself.
When she rose, she glanced at her sisters, who, though appearing obviously shaken that the infamous Black Duke was actually standing inside their home, honored him in like manner. When they straightened, Mary tapped her outer thigh, beckoning them, like one might a puppy, to her side.
“Will you not join us in the parlor, Your Grace? I vow we shall all be much more comfortable there.” As any good hostess would, Mary smiled brightly at her guest and stepped into the passage, gesturing for him to follow.
Outwardly, she was calm and serene. Inwardly, she was a tangle of raw nerves.
When they entered the parlor, Mary, as was her habit, snatched the drained cordial glass from her sleeping great-aunt’s bony hands.
She turned and saw that Blackstone was staring at the old woman.
“Should we perhaps retire to another room so that”-the duke gestured to Aunt Prudence-“she is not disturbed?”
“No need.” Mary shook her head and rested her hand on the old woman’s shoulder. She did not move or awaken. “This is Mrs. Winks, our great-aunt.”
Blackstone bowed to their dozing aunt. The edge of Mary’s mouth twitched with amusement. “She is a dear, but well into her dotage. We shan’t bother her, you needn’t worry. It has always been my belief that she enjoys the company of young folk, even if she mightn’t be fully aware.” She extended her hand toward the chair opposite Aunt Prudence. “Please, be seated, Your Grace.”
As they sat down in the parlor, Mary thanked the heavens above that her full skirts concealed her ridiculously knocking knees. It wouldn’t do for the wretch to see how clearly unprepared she was for such a surprise attack.
And this was an attack. I
t was the only explanation she could muster. For why else would he have come?
Certainly not to apologize for kissing her. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, and Blackstone was no gentleman.
“Your Grace, I am sure it is abundantly clear that we had not expected you this day,” Mary began. Her voice was steady and even, which surprised her. “Might I inquire the purpose of your visit?”
Anne and Elizabeth sat silently, practically huddled together, as they stared at the duke like two field mice cornered by a hungry barn cat.
Blackstone fixed his eyes on Mary then, and suddenly she felt as though she could not draw a breath.
“I have come, my dear lady, to apologize for my actions last night.” He swallowed deeply, and his glance flicked across at Anne and Elizabeth for the briefest moment, eliciting a tiny gasp from each of them. “I should not ask it, but…might I speak with you privately for a moment or two?”
The duke’s words had only just left his mouth when Anne and Elizabeth stood from the settee and, as if they were stitched together, scurried from the parlor.
Cowards. Mary’s pulse thrummed in her wrists. Now she was left all alone with him. Well, except for Aunt Prudence, who was now snoring loudly as if to remind Mary of her presence.
Still, she was as good as alone, and Lord knew, she wasn’t prepared in the least for that. Why, she could not sit here with a man who had taken improper advantage of her only yesterday.
Mary stood and opened her mouth to make her own excuses.
“Please, Miss Royle. Do not go. You have naught to fear from me, I swear it.” He came to his feet and in a single stride was standing before her. “Please.”
With a gentleness that surprised her, he laid his hand on her shoulder and guided her back to sit upon the settee once more. He knelt down before her and took her hand into his.
Saints be blessed, what was he going to do now?
Blackstone covered her hand with his fingers and held tight. “I do hope you can bring yourself to forgive me, Miss Royle. What I did was despicable, and I have no excuse for it…other than I did it for Quinn.”
Mary tried to unobtrusively slip her hand from his grasp, but his own were so large that it was quite impossible. “Yes, what you did was horrid, and you must excuse me, Your Grace, for not understanding your reasoning, but your brother did not seem appreciative of what you did for him.”
Without meaning to, Mary glanced past their clasped hands to his chest. Even beneath his waistcoat and coat she could see the curve of his firm muscles. Suddenly all the sensations of being pressed against that hard chest came crashing into her mind.
Tiny beads of perspiration moistened the cleft between her breasts. My, it was getting rather warm in the parlor.
She turned her gaze away from his form and fixed it instead on the bell on the table near the hearth. If only he would return to his chair, she could summon MacTavish and have the windows opened to the breeze.
Mary tugged a little, but his grip on her hand only tightened.
He lowered his head, and his eyes seemed to search the rug’s pattern for a prompt as to what to say next. When he looked up again, he looked almost unsure of himself.
No, this cannot be. It is just a ruse, that’s all.
“Allow me to be brutally honest with you, Miss Royle,” he finally said.
“I would wish it no other way, Your Grace.”
“When I heard you coax Quinn into kissing you, I had the notion that the sharp teeth of a marriage trap were about to snap closed around my brother.”
He leaned his handsome face close toward hers then, requiring Mary to press her back against the settee to avoid rubbing noses.
“I was certain that the moment his lips touched yours, your sponsor would emerge from the house, claim that he had ruined you, and demand marriage.”
A single burst of laughter slipped through Mary’s closed lips. “Your Grace, you must think me far cleverer than I truly am, if you are under the impression that I am capable of carrying off such a devious strategy.”
“I do not believe I underestimated your cleverness, Miss Royle. Though I fear I completely misread your intent.”
“If you thought I was about to entrap your brother,” Mary said as she cocked her head, “why did you not call Quinn away? Why did you step in and claim the kiss for yourself?”
Blackstone released her hand and came to his feet then. He turned away and walked toward the hearth.
The moment his back was turned, Mary slapped her hands to her chest and gasped in a draught of air.
“Because I had to know.” He settled his elbow on the mantel and swiveled his head to look at her. “I had to know if I was right-that you had a plan. That you were the sort looking to marry for money.”
Mary was quite taken aback by his words.
Did he think she truly found his brother attractive because of his fortune?
How preposterous!
“Your Grace, I have no need for coin, I assure you. I have an adequate portion and quite a substantial dowry.”
Blackstone looked around the room, taking particular note of the threadbare settee and frayed carpet. “If that is true, I beg your forgiveness, Miss Royle.”
“It is true.” Mary glanced down at her worn cambric frock and suddenly wished she had dressed in anything else. “Appearances, perhaps, notwithstanding. This is our great-aunt’s house. When we came to live with her, her staff were already well into stripping the house of all valuables. Thankfully, we arrived when we did.”
Blackstone nodded his head thoughtfully.
Lud! Why did she care what he thought of the furnishings? Or her dress?
He was a beast. What did his good opinion of her matter? Mary swallowed and returned to the core of their conversation. “So, Your Grace, you tested me? How did I fare?”
“Do you think that I would condescend to come here and beg your forgiveness if I still doubted your motives regarding my brother?”
Mary paused in her reply. She would be mad to blindly believe his words, but at the moment, she could not summon any reason to disbelieve him. “No, I suppose you would not.”
“So…you will accept my apology?”
“Your Grace, I do thank you for explaining your actions to me. I gladly accept your apology.” She summoned a smile to her lips. The sort of obligatory expression meant to communicate to a guest that his visit was over but it had been ever so pleasant to see him.
Still grimacing, Mary leapt up, turned, and passed him as she started for the door. “Thank you for coming, Your Grace. Allow me to show you the way out.”
Suddenly she felt him behind her, his warm hands gently squeezing her shoulders and turning her around to face him. She raised her eyes and peered into his. At once her breath seemed torn from her lungs. “Is…is there something else, Your Grace?”
“Just one more request. Let me try to make amends for my indiscretion last evening.” His eyes seemed to search hers for an answer. “Please.”
“What is your request?” Her own voice sounded thick and breathy to her ears, but it was all she could manage with Blackstone so impossibly close.
“Just this, Miss Royle. Consent to share a ride in my phaeton. My brother has mentioned how you do so enjoy taking the air in Hyde Park. Allow me this, and if you never wish to see me again, I shall abide by your wishes.” He seemed to hold his breath in his lungs. “Please, say you will.”
Mary did not speak for some moments. Instead, she peered into his eyes, wondering if he was sincere-for indeed he seemed earnest-or was this, too, some trick of his?
Still, he did offer the choice of never being in his presence again. For this alone it was worth risking an hour in the park with the rogue.
“Very well, Your Grace.” Mary pressed on her hostess smile again. “Shall I expect you around three this afternoon?”
“You may, Miss Royle.” He released her shoulders then but reached down, lifted her right hand to his lips, and kissed it ever
so softly. “Thank you.”
Without another word, he cut a half-circle past her and disappeared through the parlor doorway.
Mary stared at her hand where his lips had been.
Oh my word.
To what, pray, had she just agreed?
Somehow, Mary had had the impression that Blackstone would not arrive in Berkeley Square at the appointed time.
She had been wrong.
Not only did he cast the brass door knock to its base at the precise moment the tall case clock in the library pinged the correct hour but he also arrived with a gathering of damask roses bound with a silken blush-hued ribbon.
Mary found this exasperating. How horribly considerate of him. For certain, there was some insulting message hidden amongst the velvety red petals and glossy green leaves.
But Mary had never been very good at puzzles. So, since she could not decipher the cryptic message conveyed by the flowers, she simply passed the flowers to MacTavish and bade him see the stems to a vase.
Then she thanked the duke for his thoughtfulness.
What else could she have done?
He was behaving like a gentleman, and though she suspected his polite manners were more feigned than an ingredient of his innate character, she could find no fault with his demeanor.
He even invited Anne and Elizabeth to join them for an outing in the park.
Likely not wishing to remain in the presence of the Black Duke beyond the few minutes it took to greet their guest, they declined, of course.
This was just as well, since the vehicle halted before their Berkeley Square town home was a high-perch phaeton-capable of transporting only two people.
Within a quarter hour of Blackstone’s having knocked upon the Royle sisters’ door, Mary found herself swaying inside the phaeton, her right thigh pressing against his left, racing down Oxford Street for Hyde Park.
How To Seduce A Duke Page 9