How To Seduce A Duke

by Kathryn Caskie

  “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.”

  Chapter 18

  When 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.”

  Eliza
beth 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.”

  “And so it shall,” Rogan replied softly. “I shall send the carriage at three this afternoon. Is that sufficient time for you?”

  Mary rose and followed him toward the passage. “Time enough for what?”

  “Why, to pack your belongings.”

  “Why would I do that?” she asked, her eyes growing wider.

  “Until we are truly married, if our families’ names are to be spared, we must give all appearances that we already are husband and wife.”

  Then, so there would be no misunderstandings, Rogan spoke very plainly to her. “Mary, you must remove yourself to my house. Into my bedchamber.”

  “Your bedchamber!” she sputtered and slapped her palm to her forehead. “You are not serious.”

  “Servants talk, and since we do not know the source of the column’s information, we cannot afford to take any unnecessary chances.”

  Mary just stared at him.

  “So, three o’clock then?”

  “Y-yes.” Mary rubbed her fingers to her temples. “I will be ready.”

  A harsh sun beat down on London, sending crowds to Hyde Park to sit beneath the trees near the Serpentine and savor what breezes were to be had.

  On most any other day at three o’clock, this is where Mary would have been.

  But not today.

  Today she sat beside the braced-open parlor windows fanning herself as she awaited Rogan’s carriage to take her, and what few belongings she owned, to Portman Square.

  Cherie plumped a pillow and eased it behind Aunt Prudence’s back, then she removed the empty cordial glass from her hand. She started to leave the room, then seemed to change her mind, for she rushed over to Mary and squeezed her hand. The young maid’s eyes were threaded with red, as though she’d been crying.

  “Do not be sad, Cherie. We shall see each other quite often, I promise.” Mary set her fan in her lap and patted the top of the maid’s hand.

  Cherie shook her head frantically. She poked her chest with her index finger.

  “I-I do not understand. What are you trying to tell me?”

  The maid slipped her hand away. She rushed from the room, then returned two minutes later and handed Mary a scrap of foolscap with something written on it.

  Mary held it to the light shining through the window.

  Lord Lotharian sent me to watch over you.

  What was this? Mary turned her gaze upon Cherie.

  “You were sent here to spy on me…and my sisters, for Lotharian?”

  “I told you she was a spy,” Mrs. Polkshank said as she entered the parlor and settled a tea tray on the table beside Aunt Prudence. “Ask if she’s French. I bet she is.”

  “Mrs. Polkshank, please summon my sisters,” Mary said. “I should like to speak with Cherie privately, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, Miss Royle.” Mrs. Polkshank walked into the passage, glancing over her shoulder as she moved.

  Suddenly Mary realized she had seen Cherie once before. “Zeus! You served tea the day my sisters and I visited the Old Rakes Club.”

  Cherie nodded, then lowered her gaze to the floor.

  “And you have been reporting to Lotharian all of this time?”

  The maid shook her head furiously. She raised a single finger in the air.

  “Once. You reported to him once.” Mary nodded thoughtfully. “One time. What did you tell him?”

  Cherie slowly reached out her finger and touched the wedding ring Rogan had given Mary, then she lifted that hand and placed it atop Mary’s heart.

  “You told him…that I loved the duke?” Cherie didn’t truly answer, but Mary could see it on her face.

  This was how Lotharian knew her feelings. Likely how he read the true nature of people as well. He spied.

  He was a gambler, gamester, and a good one, apparently. He knew that to win, one must leave as little to chance as possible.

  The elfish little maid suddenly grew very still, as though she had heard something.

  And then Mary heard it too. She turned her notice toward the passage. One of her sisters was descending the stairs.

  Mary turned back to Cherie. “That’s all you told him?”

  Cherie mouthed word “yes.”

  “Do you wish to stay on here, with my sisters?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then this must remain between us. And you must promise to never again share what goes on in this house with anyone. Do you understand?”

  Cherie nodded and smiled, then hurried through the parlor door.

  Just then, Mary noticed that Aunt Prudence was peering at her through half-open eyes.

  “Aunt Prudence, were you listening to me?”

  “You would be surprised at how much I hear when others think me asleep.” The old woman smiled mischievously. “But do not fret, Mary. I am inclined to forget whatever secrets I uncover before I next blink. So carry on.”

  The moment Elizabeth entered the room, Aunt Prudence snapped her lids closed again, but her smile lingered.

&
nbsp; Elizabeth was carrying a valise filled with Mary’s dressing table articles. She set it down beside the lone chest Mary was to take with her to her soon-to-be-husband’s home.

  “I cannot believe you are really leaving us,” Elizabeth said as she crossed the room to Mary and took her hand. “How will we get along without you?”

  Mary forced a small laugh. “Dear, you won’t have to get along without me. We can visit each other every day if you like.”

  “Promise you will. I daresay Anne will spend every penny set aside for our household account within one month. Two at the most.”

  Mary’s laugh was genuine this time. “Mrs. Polkshank is very thrifty, so I seriously doubt you will have anything to fret over.”

  “When is the wedding? Have you heard anything more?”

  “No, and I doubt I shall until the special license has been secured.” Mary squeezed Elizabeth’s hand as she folded her fan in her lap. “But I promise you, Sister, you will be the very first to know.”

  Mary released Elizabeth’s hand as a soft, humid breeze blew through the window. Mary leaned against the chair back and closed her eyes as it blew across her cheeks. “Were I at home this night, I swear I would sleep in the courtyard for the cool night air.”

  “Instead, you will be sleeping with a duke,” Anne said from the parlor doorway.

  Mary’s eyelids snapped open and she sat up. “There is naught I can do about that, Anne. Would you prefer it if I stayed here and risked word slipping out that Blackstone and I were never legally wed?”

  “No. I know you were only thinking of me and Elizabeth when you agreed to the duke’s solution.” Anne lowered her gaze to the Turkish carpet. “I hope you can forgive me. I just cannot stop fretting over the fact that you will no longer be here.”

  “Oh, Anne. It was bound to happen someday. It just happened that circumstances required that it be today.”

  The clop of horses’ hooves echoed against the row of houses as Rogan’s gleaming town carriage entered Berkeley Square and drew to a halt before the Royle sisters’ home.

  Mary peered out the window, and with a sigh came to her feet. Her stomach was tied in tight knots as she saw Rogan and a footman walk up the short steps to the house. The door knocker sounded, setting Mary into panicky motion, hurrying past both her sisters to the door.