How To Seduce A Duke

La, why hadn’t she noticed them before?

She stood up and, keeping her body hidden behind the screen, reached out. Her fingertips barely brushed the cover of the book nearest to her.

Oh, perdition. Just…out…of…reach.

She strained; her shaking fingers scrabbled against the book leather, but they were unable to make purchase.

And then, suddenly, the book was floating before her eyes.

“Is this perhaps what you were reaching for, miss?” came an astonishingly low male voice.

The man’s face peered around the edge of the screen.

Mary’s eyes widened. “Y-you, you-”

She hadn’t meant to say anything, but of all the people in this city to find her hiding away like a child-how horrid it was that it was him.

The viscount’s despicable brother.

The man smiled. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I am Rogan Wetherly, Duke of Blackstone.” He paused for a moment and his eyes seemed to rake her body, finally settling on her face. “Forgive me for staring. Am I incorrect, or have we met before?”

Heat suffused Mary’s cheeks. Oh yes, we’ve met. You are the ogre from the garden. And the beast who nearly ran us all down on Oxford Street only this afternoon.

She opened her mouth but snapped it closed again.

There was no way she was going to admit anything to him. So, instead, she shook her head.

“No? Are you certain? You seem so familiar to my eye.”

Mary shrugged her shoulders, then focused her gaze on the wedge of space between the giant of a man and the edge of the screen.

It was tight, but if she rushed through the gap she might make her escape.

“And you are?” He raised both dark, slashing eyebrows, waiting for her to offer her name.

Mary sucked in a lusty breath. “I am…I am leaving. Do excuse me, Your Grace.”

Nerves propelled her forward, a bit faster than she intended. Pushing past him, she accidentally hit the screen with her left elbow and, with her right, knocked the duke a half stagger toward the wall.

She cringed and had just started for a cluster of gentlemen in dark coats when she heard a thud. And then, behind her, a chorus of gasps.

The sound she’d heard was no mystery, but she could not help herself from looking back over her shoulder at its source.

The screen had fallen to the floor, and Blackstone, still standing where he had been, appeared to everyone to have toppled it.

Even more ghastly was the fact that his blazing eyes were staring straight at her.

Nearly a dozen or so guests followed his potent gaze back to her, and chatter washed through the crowd in a wave of excitement.

A tremble raced over her limbs. Good heavens, she’d only been inside the house for a clutch of minutes and already she had made a goose of herself and an enemy of the brother of the man she would someday marry.

There was no other choice. She had to leave. Now.

Then she felt a small hand on her upper arm.

“There you are, Mary. Come with me, dear gel.” Lady Upperton gestured across the drawing room. “This way, please. There is someone who wishes to make your acquaintance.”

Mary exhaled in relief. Lud, she had no idea if Lady Upperton was the least bit aware that she had rescued her from a most awkward situation, but at that moment, she didn’t really care. All she knew was that the tiny woman was leading her away from Blackstone.

Within moments, Lady Upperton had guided her to the farthest reaches of the drawing room, which suited Mary perfectly well. She would be glad to meet whomever Lady Upperton wished, for that introduction had saved her from unimaginable embarrassment before the ton.

“Here we are, dear.” Lady Upperton smiled brightly at her.

Mary lifted her gaze forward and suddenly could not move.

Lord Wetherly, the handsome blond viscount, whom she was destined to marry, was standing directly before her.

She could hear that Lady Upperton was in the midst of an introduction, but the words were like buzzing in her ears. And she could not quite follow what was being said.

But here he was.

Lord above, what a night. Though they might have abandoned her earlier, all the angels in heaven were certainly smiling down upon her now.

Her eyes locked with his, and she bequeathed him a shy smile.

The edges of his mouth lifted, and he bowed before her. “Miss Royle.” His tone was smooth and pleasing to her ear. Not at all like his brother’s deep voice, which vibrated through her in the most annoying way when he spoke.

“Lord Wetherly.” Mary bent and dropped a perfectly executed curtsy, having had the benefit of so much practice earlier that day at the Old Rakes of Marylebone Club. Of course, she would not mention that, and she trusted that Lady Upperton would keep that secret to herself as well.

“I truly must thank you, Lady Upperton, for introducing me to your protegee. I own, Miss Royle and I have exchanged gazes from time to time in Hyde Park, but until this evening, we had never chanced to actually meet.”

“I am honored you remembered me, Lord Wetherly.”

Before he could reply, an even broader smile shaped the viscount’s lips as he focused on a point somewhere behind her. “Ah, there you are, Rogan. Do come and meet Miss Royle. She is Lady Upperton’s protegee.”

The viscount leaned on his cane to reach past Mary and draw forth his brother, who had at one moment or another silently crept forth to stand right behind her.

Blackstone moved to his brother’s left. He tilted his head to the side a bit, and a crooked grin took hold of his lips. “Miss Royle, is it?” He straightened his head above his shoulders and merely tipped his head to her.

Lady Upperton nudged Mary in her ribs. “Curtsy, dear,” she whispered.

Mary smirked up at the duke and bent slightly at the knees. Even that was more than he was due.

Who did he think he was, giving her naught but a nod?

“Miss Royle and I have not met until this eve,” the viscount said reprovingly as he shot his brother a loaded glance. “Though, coincidentally, we have crossed paths in Hyde Park on several occasions.”

“Hyde Park?” The duke’s eyebrows drifted toward his hairline. “Then she must be-” He looked straight into her eyes with his piercing gaze.

Mary felt a familiar hot flush sweep across her cheeks.

“Ah, there it is, Quinn,” the duke said, gesturing to Mary’s face. “A delicate rose hue.”

“Yes, well…” Lord Wetherly shifted his feet in apparent unease, but it was nothing compared to the awkwardness Mary felt.

She turned her head, breaking free of the duke’s gaze, and peered past Lady Upperton to locate her sisters.

“Damnation! I know where I’ve seen you.”

Mary snapped her head back around just in time to see Lady Upperton wave her furled fan in the duke’s direction.

“Ladies are present, sir,” the old woman scolded. “And it doesn’t matter to me if you are a duke or a prince. I demand respect and I will have it.”

“I do beg your forgiveness, Lady Upperton, Miss Royle.” He narrowed his eyes at Mary and seemed to study her.

Mary’s breathing became faster. His words were apologetic, but the mischievous look in his eyes was anything but.

“I thought I recalled seeing you before, Miss Royle, and now I know where that was.”