How To Seduce A Duke

by Kathryn Caskie

  His finger circled faster, as he slowly rose up on his knees and leaned back, then lowered his mouth between her quivering legs.

  She gasped and reached down to his head as if to pull him away to stop him. Her fingers entwined in his hair as he lapped at her.

  He eased his fingers into the tightness of her, and she moaned and instinctively pressed him harder against her. He slowly drove his fingers into her depths, making her writhe with mindless pleasure as he flicked his slick tongue against her.

  “Rogan, please. Please. No more. I want you.” Her voice was husky with want.

  Eager to oblige, he pushed up on his hands. He had grown almost painfully hard, and he throbbed with his own need for her.

  He bent his elbows and pressed a kiss to her belly. She wrapped her hands around his neck and led him higher, letting him kiss her ribs.

  Higher still to suckle her breasts. And then, she brought him to her mouth.

  He pressed a hand down in the grass beside her shoulder and supported his weight as he reached down with his other hand and positioned his hardness between her folds.

  Rogan stroked her with his firm, plum-shaped tip, wetting it with her essence. Then he lifted her bottom and slid into her.

  She sighed, and her eyes widened as her body accepted him slowly, but surely.

  He paused, feeling her muscles tighten around him as he sank deeper into her. He squeezed his eyes closed and fought the incredible urge to take her hard, take her fast.

  Mary raised her hips. She wanted to feel him deeper inside of her. Rogan groaned and thrust into her, slowly, steadily.

  She slipped her hands under his arms, wrapped them around his back and squeezed him tight.

  Harder. Faster. Deeper.

  In a move that surprised him, Mary raised her knee and hooked her leg around his back. She jerked her leg hard and buried him deep within her.

  Her muscles cinched around him. He could wait no longer.

  Rising up on his hands, he slammed into the searing heat of her. Tiny whimpers of pleasure fell from her mouth as he pumped her again and again.

  She cried out his name, and his body tensed and released.

  He kissed her, and as he settled his head in the crook of her neck, he thought he heard her say something…but no, she could not have said that.

  It would be too much to hope.

  But she kissed his ear and whispered again.

  “I love you, Rogan.”

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, Mary awoke to find herself alone in the giant’s bed. Or rather, her soon-to-be husband’s bed. She smiled in her bliss.

  Maybe someday soon they would actually use a bed for something other than sleeping. But until then, there were always gardens and carriages. Mary chuckled to herself.

  They were as good as married already anyway.

  Why, they’d had a ceremony, albeit an illegal one, attended by family and friends. The marriage had already been consummated. And she had the ring.

  Smiling, Mary held up her left hand to look at it.

  But the ring wasn’t there.

  Blast!

  A tremor raced through her, and she sprang from the bed and tore back the sheets and coverlet.

  She shook the pillows and tossed them on the floor while she searched the mattress.

  Oh, God, she couldn’t find it anywhere! How could it have come off? She’d tugged on it for two days, and it would not be removed.

  Why now, when she would need it at any time?

  Then it struck her. The garden. It must have slipped off in the grass last night.

  Clad only in her chemise, Mary raced down the staircase, down the center passage, and into the bright courtyard.

  “Good morning, darling.” Rogan sat beside another gentleman before a paper-strewn iron table in the center of the courtyard. “This is Mr. Lawson, my solicitor.”

  Suddenly all too aware of her state of undress, she crossed her arms over her chest, then nodded her head and gave an embarrassed smile to the solicitor. “Good morning.” She moved her bare feet slowly backward, retracing her steps to the French windows leading back into the house. When her heel stubbed the threshold, she reached her hand behind her and felt for the door latch.

  “Mary, is there something that you require?” Rogan asked politely.

  She depressed the handle, and the door opened behind her. “No, no. ’Twas nothing really. I just…wanted to know if you were at home, nothing more.” She started to duck in through the door when she heard Rogan’s voice again.

  “Mary.”

  She held the door in front of her barely dressed form and peered around the French window at him. “Yes?”

  Rogan had an amused smile on his face. “I received a note of response from the rector of Marylebone Parish. The wedding will be here, late Wednesday evening. Does that suit you?”

  “Late on Wednesday?” Forgetting herself, she stepped from behind the shield of the door.

  “Best not to alert the neighbors that the newlywedded couple is getting married again.”

  “Oh, quite right. Yes, Wednesday suits me perfectly.” Then, without another word, she hurried back inside the house and to the bedchamber to dress.

  She fumbled through the crystal bottles of scents and powders on the Pembroke table. She searched through every seam of the dress she’d worn the night before.

  Nothing.

  At least the wedding was not tomorrow. She had until Wednesday night to find the ring.

  Mary dressed quickly, but her fretting about the ring set her pacing back and forth across the bedchamber.

  Finally, she decided that she had tarried long enough in finishing her toilette.

  There was no use circling the room like a caged beast. The ring was not to be found in the bedchamber.

  Rogan and his solicitor might already have quit the courtyard by now, leaving her free to conduct a proper, and most thorough, search of the garden.

  Whirling around, she hurried from the bedchamber, crept through the passage, and tiptoed down the shadowy staircase.

  She supposed she could admit the ring’s loss, but Rogan had been so sweet declaring that the ring would not come off because it was meant to stay there forever.

  No, if she couldn’t locate it, she would just have to buy another. It shouldn’t be too hard to locate another simple gold ring. Any jeweler on Bond Street should have them available, shouldn’t they?

  Then it suddenly struck her.

  I am supposed to be a married woman.

  If the ring was not on her finger, she could not possibly leave this house! If she did, and was noticed, rumors might spread-and the truth of Lotharian’s hoax of a wedding might surface.

  All of their plans to secretly wed would be for naught!

  No, no, no. She needed her sisters’ help to find the ring right away. She’d just send a missive to them and ask them to call as soon as they were available.

  Mary hurried downstairs and had only walked halfway along the passage when she heard Rogan’s deep voice coming from the direction of the courtyard.

  She turned and went into the study for some paper and ink with which to write a note to summon her sisters to her.

  Near the front window was a large, mahogany secretaire-bookcase, edged in satinwood with gleaming lion’s head brass pulls.

  She grasped the two rings on the front drawer and pulled it open. Inside were numerous legal documents, letters, and…at last, a sheet of foolscap paper.

  Snatching it up, Mary closed the drawer, then turned the key that opened the glassed bookshelves on the upper half of the secretaire. She withdrew a pot of ink and a pen.

  She hurried with her takings to a rosewood writing table and sat down to pen her message.

  “Oh, perdition!” Mary stared down at the foolscap. She hadn’t noticed that the reverse side had already been used.

  Standing, she was about to return the scribbled page back to the secretaire’s drawer when she noticed her name w
ritten upon the sheet.

  She walked to the window and tipped the page to the morning light.

  Country Miss Wins Duke’s Heart

  A Royle Wedding

  Both of these were crossed through. Evidently not the winning selection. That was written below and underlined three times.

  Miss Royle Weds

  Duke in Surprise Wedding

  As Mary read the writing below and recognized it as the column she’d read in the newspaper-the column that had necessitated another wedding, a legal wedding-her mood veered into black anger.

  Rogan had written the column and had dispatched it to be placed prominently in the newspaper. He had done it!

  She slapped the paper to the writing table. But why? Why would he do such a thing?

  Bah! Did it really matter?

  No, it didn’t.

  He was manipulating her, again.

  Nothing was sacred to him. Everything was naught but a game of chess.

  She turned and ran to the bedchamber and snatched up her father’s book of maladies and remedies. Everything else she left behind as she stormed from the house, slamming the front door behind her.

  She didn’t know or care what society would say about her or him and the sham of a wedding. At this moment, she didn’t care.

  All she knew was that she was never coming back.

  How lucky for her that she had lost the wedding ring.

  Had she not, she might never have known what Rogan had done with absolutely no regard for her or her sisters.

  Swinging her arms angrily as she walked, Mary barged across the square in the direction of Oxford Street, on her way home to Berkeley Square.

  After Mr. Lawson left the courtyard, Rogan lingered a while longer. Everything about this day seemed sweeter-the air, the sun…his life.

  With a smile curving his lips, he strolled down the shell path into the garden, tilting his face toward the warm sunlight.

  He veered off the crunching pathway, stepped through the clinging ivy, and passed the walnut tree, until he reached the clearing.

  He nodded to himself. This was the place.

  The very place where Mary had confessed her love for him.

  And it would be the place where he would do the same before God and family.

  This was the spot where they would marry.

  Just then, something caught his eye. Something glittering and winking at him through the soft green blades of grass. He knelt down and picked up a circlet of gold.

  Mary’s ring.

  It must have slipped off last night whilst they’d…made love.

  Rogan rose and rubbed the gold ring on his coat, polishing it.

  Then it occurred to him. When Mary had run into the courtyard in a state of undress, her face stricken, it had been because she had just realized that the ring had slipped from her finger.

  Rogan grinned. Even now, she was probably tearing the bedchamber apart looking for it. Turning on his boot heel, Rogan headed back for the house.

  The bedchamber was in shambles, as he had predicted. Pillows, sheeting, and the coverlet were thrown on the floor. Even the mattress had been turned on the bedstead. He chuckled, imagining what a sight she must have been in her panicked search.

  Supposing she must be searching other rooms for the ring, he walked down the stairs. But he did not find her in the drawing room.

  Nor in the library, nor the breakfast or dining rooms.

  He headed down the passage for the study and poked his head through the doorway. “Mary, are you in here?”

  Rogan started to turn away, when from the corner of his eye he noticed something out of place.

  He entered the room and crossed to the writing table. He picked up a sheet of foolscap he found next to a pot of ink and a pen.

  Though the writing utensils had not been there the evening before, he noticed immediately that the scrawl on the paper was in Quinn’s own hand.

  Raising the document to his eyes, he began to read.

  He had barely begun when, to his astonishment, he realized what he held in his hand.

  And what Mary had found.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Chapter 21

  Cavendish Square

  “Mary is hurt. She, even her sisters, will not see me, will not take my cards, nor my messages.” Rogan raised his eyes from the hat in his hands to Lady Upperton’s round face. “I need your help. She will listen to you.”

  “Dear boy, she will listen to you as well,” the old woman told him. “You only need to give her a true reason.”

  “What more reason is there than I love Mary and want to spend my life with her?”

  “Do you now, Blackstone?”

  “I do.”

  “Have you told Mary this?”

  “No…not specifically.” Rogan turned his hat in his hands and thought about her question. “She knows how I feel about her. I am sure of it.”

  Lady Upperton huffed at that. “Never underestimate the power of words, Blackstone. Sometimes, when we most need to hear them, words can be stronger than deeds.”

  Rogan thought about what Lady Upperton said. And it was true. When Mary had whispered, “I love you” into his ear, his heart had swelled.

  He hadn’t known then how much he’d needed to hear those three simple words. It seemed he’d been waiting his entire life to hear “I love you.”

  “I shall speak with Lotharian. We will assist you, Blackstone.” Lady Upperton raised her hand before Rogan could argue the wisdom of her suggestion. “Now, now, do not interrupt. Lotharian needs to redeem himself. He wishes to see you and our Mary together almost as much as yourself.”

  The little woman scooted to the end of the settee and pulled a lever, which shot forth a footstool. “You said that the rector is able to officiate on Wednesday, is that correct?”

  “Indeed. Ten in the evening.”

  She stepped onto the footstool, then to the floor. Rogan took her elbow and walked alongside her into the entry hall.

  “Do not change your plans,” she told him as they reached the front door and the footman opened it.

  “But how will-”

  “No, no. No more chatter for now.” She patted his arm. “Wait for my message on the morrow. There will be a wedding.” Her crimson-painted lips curved upward. “You will see. Trust the purity of Mary’s heart. She will not let you down.”

  It was Wednesday.

  And this night Mary would have become the Duchess of Blackstone.

  Instead, she remained inside the house, curtains drawn, the knocker removed from the front door as though the family was not at home.

  When Mary heard the door open, she rose from the window seat in the parlor and walked to meet her sisters, who had gone to Portman Square to collect her belongings from Rogan.

  Only they had returned very quickly.

  When Mary walked into the entry hall, she saw that Elizabeth and Anne were not alone.

  Quinn’s cane clicked on the marble floor as he stepped toward her, his hand outstretched.

  “Miss Royle,” he said, his voice quavering slightly. “We must speak. Please.”

  Mary’s gaze shot to Anne’s.

  “We had only just arrived when Lord Wetherly’s carriage drew up before the house. He had come from his country house to help his brother prepare for the wedding.”

  “But your sisters told me that there would not be a wedding today. And I fear the fault is mine.” Quinn’s gaze crawled along the floor before he gathered the courage to meet Mary’s.

  “Your fault? How can that be?” Mary asked. When Quinn did not immediately reply, she gestured for him to follow her into the parlor.

  When Elizabeth made to join them, Mary turned back to her. “Would you two please put my belongings in my bedchamber?” she asked, hoping to glean a few private moments hearing what Quinn had to tell her without her sisters listening to every word.

  “Oh, we did not collect your belongings. And we do apologize for not doing so.”
Elizabeth nervously glanced at Anne for support.

  “Quinn was certain that what he had to tell you would repair the misunderstanding between you and the duke.” Anne took a step backward. “So I told Elizabeth that we should just return home and leave your belongings. It was the wisest course of action, for there may yet be a wedding this eve after all.”

  Mary pinned Anne with a heated gaze, but she said nothing and walked into the parlor with Lord Wetherly.

  Mary offered him a chair, but he appeared more than a little on edge, admitting to her that he preferred to stand.

  “I-I thought you knew,” he stammered.

  “I don’t understand, Lord Wetherly.”

  “I apologized. And you accepted it.” He peered at her through squinted, confused eyes.

  Mary set her hands on her knees and leaned forward. “Please, Quinn, speak plainly. I do not recall any apology. What could you have done that might warrant one?”

  “Truly, you do not know?”

  Mary shook her head brusquely, hoping that Quinn would hurry along with his confession.

  “I was so happy for my brother. So joyous that he had found a woman so worthy of his heart.” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I wanted to share my brother’s happiness with everyone, but so few knew of the ceremony. So I submitted the column recounting your wedding at the Argyle Rooms.”

  Mary shot to her feet. “You? But I found it with Rogan’s papers in the secretaire.”

  “I put it there, so later I could compare my wording with the on-dit column when the news of the wedding was published. Surely you are aware of the columnists’ penchant for embellishment. I wanted to be sure they reported everything correctly. It was important to me.”

  “Then Rogan never saw the draft or knew of the column before it was published?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Quinn shrugged sheepishly. “I was reading the very column I had supplied to the editors at the newspaper when Rogan came down the stairs to break his fast. I had been out the night before and hadn’t realized that he had come home.”

  Mary’s head began to ache. She didn’t want to hear any more, but she knew she must.

  “When Rogan told me that the wedding had been Lotharian’s lark, I could not speak. Rogan took the newspaper from the table and began to read it. He was headed for the door before I could confess my error. As he was leaving, he told me he would be bringing you back with him. I knew he would marry you and the cart would be set to rights again.”