How To Seduce A Duke

guidance.”

He gestured to her sisters, then patted Mary’s hand and led her to the turning bookcase. “Your father bequeathed each of you a reasonable portion and sizeable dowry. You have the gentlemen of the Old Rakes of Marylebone to see to the rest. Yes, Miss Royle, by season’s end, as your guardian I vow to see you properly matched to a gentleman of supreme standing. Then Lilywhite and Gallantine shall do the same for each of your sisters. Such a diverting challenge this will be for us all.”

“Are you referring to finding matches for the gels, Lotharian?” Gallantine busied himself by making minute adjustments in the position of his wig.

To Mary, he seemed more than a little ill at ease at the moment.

“Or…perhaps you are referring to proving the gels’ lineage?” Gallantine asked. “For you have yet to mention the latter, and I daresay that task will be far more of a challenge to accomplish.”

For the briefest instant, worry cinched Lotharian’s ample brows, but in the next, his expression relaxed and his characteristic rakish grin made its appearance on his lips.

“Why, both, my man! For the only way to secure the Royle sisters’ futures is to secure their past as well.”

“Did you hear, sisters? They mean to help us-in all things!” Elizabeth, unable to restrain her excitement, let forth a high-pitched giggle before stifling it by clapping her hand to her mouth.

Lotharian chuckled softly, then set himself to the task of turning the bookcase, opening it wider.

Taking this as a cue to leave, Mary made to step into the secret passage, but the ancient rake held her firmly in place for a moment more.

“I do not jest, Miss Royle,” he told her with all seriousness. “There will be no settling for a simple mister or even a sir for you.”

Once again, Mary did not know how to respond.

Certainly, she didn’t need anyone’s help selecting a husband. She was more than capable of managing her own life. Why, she had already set her cap for a very worthy man-and a titled war hero at that.

She was about to admit as much when she happened to glance at her two sisters.

If there was even a chance that the Old Rakes of Marylebone could see to her sisters’ marital futures, well, she would have to go along with the plan, at least for a while.

It was true that Anne’s and Elizabeth’s charms were many, but they were completely distracted by this tale of the blue-blooded babes.

Unlike she herself, they lacked the focus needed to set their futures on the proper path-by finding husbands.

Because of this, Lady Upperton’s guidance and direction in making proper matches was truly a godsend.

Why, with Lady Upperton as their sponsor, surely their minds would be too occupied with the hunt for husbands to allow them to waste their time and meager resources investigating the farcical tale of their supposed royal birth.

Lotharian raised a brow. “Do you doubt my connections, miss?”

“Oh, no, my lord,” Mary blurted.

“Very well then. We shall focus our matchmaking attentions on dukes, marquises and earls…though we might consider a viscount or even a baron-but only if the family is very old and prominent.”

Mary squinted at him. “Why is a title so important?”

“Why indeed,” he said, winking at her playfully as he released her to follow her sisters into the hollow blackness behind the bookcase, “because, my dear, you are the daughter of the future king of England.”

Chapter 4

Rogan and Quinn were soaked to the skin, but this was no great surprise. They should not have raced like mindless schoolboys to Hyde Park when the rain was so clearly poised to fall.

Still, Rogan had never been able to turn his back on a challenge, especially one from his brother, Quinn.

Just as he’d known all along, Quinn’s mystery chit was nowhere to be seen when they finally arrived at the park.

At least, Rogan mused, she had been wise enough to stay at home on a wet day like this. Showed she had a brain in her pretty little head. That was something to recommend her.

Not wishing to slosh water up the stair treads to their chambers, Rogan and Quinn headed straight for the glowing hearth in the parlor and began to shed their clothing there.

Rogan dried his thick hair, then handed his valet the wet towel in exchange for a warm dressing gown. “All I am saying, Quinn, is do not marry in haste.”

“Why not, if she is the one for me?”

“This gel who’s got your blood heated may well be your perfect match,” Rogan exhaled, passing his hand through his damp hair. “Only promise me you’ll get to know her, truly know her, and her family, before speaking of a ring…and children, for God’s sake.”

Quinn tossed his sodden coat over the back of a chair before the fire, then sat down and allowed the footman to tug off his wet boots. “Haven’t you ever seen something from afar, a fowling-piece, or horseflesh perhaps, and known instantly that it was perfect for you?”

“A gun is a far cry from a woman, Quinn. If I became less than enamored with a fowling-piece, I could sell it, or stash it away in the bowels of the house. Can’t do that with a woman. Against the law, you know. At least I think so.” Rogan rubbed his chin. “Might be worth looking into though…for future reference.”

Quinn laughed as he rose and peeled his sodden lawn shirt from his upper torso. “You know what I mean. She’s beautiful, quiet, and shy. Definitely of the Quality-I can tell by the graceful way she holds her back.”

“You can tell all of that from riding past her each Tuesday?”

“Her beauty is not up for debate, Rogan. You will see soon enough. And as for her nature, well, that is quite evident as well. When we pass in the park, she always glances up at me through her lashes. Gives me a shy smile, then blushes the most delicate rose hue and turns her face away.”

“Oh, a delicate rose hue, well, that changes matters, doesn’t it? Of course, I amend my stand. You should marry her at once. A delicate rose hue, imagine that.”

Quinn tied his dressing gown closed. “How can I make you understand?”

“Doubt you can. In my mind, marriage is not about infatuation. ’Tis a business arrangement between families.” Rogan lifted two glasses of port from the footman’s salver and handed one to his brother. “Proceed with caution, that’s all I ask. Wouldn’t want to end up with a common mushroom interested only in your purse.”

“Why is it that when you, or I, meet a woman, you immediately suspect her of having her eye on our fortunes?”

“Because I am a realist, Quinn. I have seen too many gentlemen give their hearts to women who love only their money. You want to live in misery the rest of your days, go ahead, marry a commoner.”

“Marrying a commoner is not always the wrong decision, Rogan. When our father married my mother, she was a simple miss with nary a guinea to her name. Until the day Father died, theirs was the most successful of marriages.”

Rogan turned around and faced the fire so that Quinn could not see the blood rise into his cheeks.

Good God. That statement was at least ten furlongs from the truth.

How could Quinn have been so blind to his mother’s greed? She was a guinea-grabber, and nothing less!

Less than a year after Rogan’s mother had died giving birth to him, Miss Molly Hamish, a fresh-faced commoner from Lincolnshire, had sunk her talons deep into his grieving father. He’d been smitten, and so in need of affection that he’d married her the very moment his grieving period had been at an end.

From what his father had told him in later years, once she’d become a duchess and borne her husband a son- Quinn-she’d closed her bedchamber door to him for good. She no longer even pretended to love the duke, or to tolerate Rogan. She lavished gifts upon Quinn, bought baubles and gowns for herself, and traveled to fashionable spas with her vulgar friends.

The old duke was left in despair, lamenting his rash decision to marry the miserable guinea-grabber for the rest