How To Seduce A Duke

He had just turned toward Lady Upperton when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a well- muscled gentleman staring angrily up at him. “May I assist you, sir?” Rogan asked.

“I would speak with you in the garden, Your Grace.” A web of red threads shot through the man’s furious eyes. His cheeks burned crimson, and his foul breath was coming fast.

“Might I inquire what this is about, sir?”

The gentleman huffed at that. “You know exactly what this is in reference to. Several old gentlemen saw you do it. Pointed you out to me. I demand satisfaction-in the garden.”

Rogan looked at the two elderly gentlemen watching the exchange with amused grins on their wrinkled faces. “I am afraid, sir, that there is some confusion. Might I know what I supposedly did that so incensed you?”

The man was practically snorting fire, but he was well enough trained to lower his voice to a near whisper. “You pinched my wife’s backside.”

“Did I? Are you sure?” Blackstone glanced around the room. “Which is your wife? Point her out to me, will you?”

A vein throbbed along the young man’s wide forehead, and his red face almost seemed to pulse. “To the garden, now.” He grabbed Rogan’s sleeve and turned him toward the passage.

“You are making a dangerous mistake, sir,” Rogan said, shaking the man’s hand loose.

“The mistake was yours, Your Grace, the moment you touched my wife.”

“But I didn’t. I am sure I would remember.”

“Outside.”

Rogan lifted the edges of his lips and set Lady Upperton’s glass of wine on the tray of a passing footman. “Then let us continue our discussion in the garden, as you suggested, sir. It is rather stifling in here, and I could use a bit of fresh air.”

Rogan’s full lips twisted into a smirk as he followed the irate fool down the passage and through the French windows into the garden.

He removed his gloves and shoved them between his waistcoat and lawn shirt for safekeeping.

Yes, perhaps a little air would cool his new friend’s ire. But if not-Rogan flexed the fingers of his right hand, then curled them into a tight fist-he would take matters into his own hands.

The moment Blackstone left the drawing room, what Mary took to be the second part of the elderly quartet’s scheme was put into place.

Lotharian eyed Lady Upperton and tugged upon his earlobe.

“Dear gel, the moment I distract Lady Tidwell-you will know the moment if you watch carefully-you must at once appear at your beau’s side. Your opportunity shall not be available to you for long, so the sooner you can convince him to quit the room, so much the better.”

Mary reached out and took Lady Upperton’s chubby little hand. “Lady Upperton, I do appreciate your efforts, but truly-”

Her round face glowed. “I know you appreciate my help, which is why it so gladdens me to assist you in all ways. It has been so very long since I felt so needed.”

Oh, that wasn’t at all what she had been trying to say, but it was too late now. Mary winced. She had no choice but to play along.

Lady Upperton patted the top of Mary’s hand, then slipped her own from her grasp. “Lotharian beckons again. It is my moment. Watch for your opportunity!” With that, the tiny woman barreled like a hogshead through the throng, paying no heed to the perturbed guests she left scattered in her wake.

Mary cupped her hands over her eyes momentarily. When would this evening end? Never before had she endured so many face-reddening moments in one night.

“Darling.”

Mary lowered her hand and looked up to see Lord Lotharian standing before her, with Lord Wetherly beside him.

Lotharian grinned at her. “Miss Royle, I just made the acquaintance of Viscount Wetherly, the famous war hero. Of course, I wanted to introduce him to you, but I have just learned that you are already acquainted.”

“Oh, yes, Lord Lotharian, we met only minutes ago.” Mary turned to Lord Wetherly and felt her cheeks redden with the embarrassment from this insane scheme.

“Are you ill, Miss Royle?” True concern etched the corners of the viscount’s vivid blue eyes.

She opened her mouth to assure him she was not, but it was Lotharian who responded.

“Miss Royle’s cheeks do appear somewhat heated.” Lotharian withdrew a handkerchief from inside his coat and dabbed his own high-set cheekbones. “I daresay, it is rather close in here. Perhaps a stroll in the fresh air would revive you, Miss Royle.”

“I-I suppose it would.” Mary looked from Lotharian to the viscount. “Shall we all go together?”

Lotharian flapped his handkerchief in the air. “Nothing would please me more, Miss Royle, though I promised Gallantine I would introduce him to Sir Corning.” He looked to the viscount. “I wonder if you, Lord Wetherly, would do me the favor of seeing to Miss Royle?”

A most attractive smile appeared on Wetherly’s lips. “I shall be honored, sir.” He straightened his back and excitedly offered his arm to Mary. “Shall we, Miss Royle?”

She took Lord Wetherly’s proffered arm and shyly looked up at him through her lashes. “Absolutely.”

Good heavens. The scheme was actually working!

Mary could not believe her luck.

Whyever had she doubted Lord Lotharian’s plan to see her married off? Obviously, he had a fine mind when it came to matchmaking.

Mayhap tonight was not nearly as dreadful as she had first believed.

Chapter 6

Mary shivered as she and Lord Wetherly stepped out upon the paving stones leading into the Brower garden.

The air in the courtyard was cool, especially when compared to the heat of the drawing room, but it was not the temperature of the night that sent Mary’s body all aquiver.

Reading her shaking as a need for warmth, Lord Wetherly hurried back inside and collected her shawl from a footman.

When he returned but a moment later, she turned her head and smiled at him as he settled the wrap lightly about her shoulders.

She pulled the shawl close about her, wanting to appear grateful, but the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck still prickled up from her skin.

It was not the chill that discomfited her.

Nor the excitement of walking with the man she would ultimately marry.

It was his wicked brother.

For though the sweeping garden ahead appeared deserted but for the two of them, Mary knew that Blackstone and his ready-fisted opponent lurked somewhere nearby.

“Would you like to walk down the pathway? Lady Brower mentioned a moon garden near the well. It is said that white flowers scent the night with sweet fragrance unmatched during the daylight hours.” Lord Wetherly leveled his eyes with hers.

For several moments, without moving from where they stood in the golden light shining through the French windows, they stared dreamily into each other’s eyes.

Or, at least she tried to match the sleepy look she saw in his eyes. But for some reason, she was having a devil of a time doing it.

“I-I” Mary broke her gaze and peered off into the moonlit garden.

She could not help thinking that at any minute the beastly duke could leap out from behind the boxwoods to wreak havoc.

“Forgive me, Miss Royle, I should not have asked you to leave your sponsor and stray from the rout.” Lord