How To Seduce A Duke

light from the house. “I was about to kiss Miss Royle-the gentlewoman I…I may marry someday…when you shoved me away and assaulted her!”

“I didn’t hurt her. I only kissed her. And I am fair certain she liked it.” He tried not to smile. Or mention that he might have rather enjoyed it as well. But he wasn’t the beast the ton believed him to be. He hadn’t kissed her to hurt his brother. No, when he’d kissed Miss Royle, it had been with the best of all intentions.

“Why, Rogan?” Quinn was overwrought, though he fought to hide it. “Why the hell did you do it?”

“Damn it all, Quinn. I did it to save you from the bloody parson’s mousetrap.”

Rogan walked to the marble bench and sank down upon it. He shoved his hand through his hair before looking up at Quinn again. “I was just returning from the back garden after a rather heated discussion with a gentleman who had been mistaken about my interest in his wife. That’s when I heard her luring you into a kiss.”

“She wasn’t luring me. She was inviting me to do something I wanted very much to do!”

“Sometimes you can be so naive. But I am not. It was a trap, one you were eagerly stepping into.”

“It was no trap, Rogan.”

“But I was certain it was. You would take her into your arms and kiss her, and at once Lady Upperton and a pack of censorious society matrons would rush into the garden from the house, accusing you of ruining Miss Royle. And, being the good man, the honorable man you are, you would protect her by asking her to become Viscountess Wetherly.”

Odd, Quinn wasn’t the least moved by his sacrifice. Instead, his brother’s cheeks glowed red and his chest heaved. Bloody hell. He looked even more furious now, if that was possible.

He just didn’t understand. And so, Rogan continued. “An honorable man would have no choice but to marry her. But society has dubbed me the Black Duke. I have a wicked reputation. No one could coerce me into a marriage by appealing to my honor-because as far as they are concerned, I have none. So you see, by kissing Miss Royle in your stead, I rescued you from a forced marriage.”

He smiled at Quinn then, hoping to defuse his brother’s anger. “You may thank me now if you like.”

“You are mad, Rogan. You’ve spent so many years blindly distrusting all women that you see a villainous motive behind the most innocent of kisses.”

Rogan exhaled hard. “You do not know women as I do. You place them upon a pedestal. But believe me, I know what they are truly capable of. I have seen her sort before. Many, many times before. Women who deceive, who use, who destroy-all to line their own purses with gold.”

“Deuce it, Rogan. She isn’t that sort of woman. Y-you do not know Miss Royle.”

“Nor do you! Do you not understand, Quinn? That is my entire point. You haven’t even known her name for more than an hour, and already you claim she may be a woman worthy of your heart.”

“Had I kissed her, the whole of London could have poured through the French windows demanding I marry her that very instant-and Rogan, I would have been glad to do it. I want to marry, Rogan. And she is a good woman, a virtuous woman with a kind, gentle soul.”

Rogan rubbed his cheek. “A gentle soul with one hell of a swing.”

“You deserved nothing less. I can only hope that one day you will realize that everyone’s heart is not as black as yours.”

“And you will learn, Brother, that I can read a woman faster than she can tell me her name. Miss Royle is not Quality.”

“She is. She possesses a grace that I have never witnessed before.”

“True, she dressed well enough this eve, which might give anyone who met her the impression that she hails from a good family, but I saw her earlier today. Saw her country frock and absurd bonnet. I saw who she really is- an opportunist, concerned only with your title and your full pockets.”

“You are wrong, Brother.” Quinn turned and charged for the house.

Rogan rose from the bench and called after him. “You will see, Quinn. You will see.”

When Rogan sat down to break his fast quite late the next morn, Quinn, dressed in a dark blue frock coat, had already filled his plate with bacon rashers, eggs, and bread, and was slowly sipping his coffee. He did not even seem to notice that Rogan had entered the room.

Quinn looked quite handsome, with his coat brushed, his neckcloth painstakingly tied, and his brass buttons sparkling as if they’d just been polished. This was not his brother’s usual day garb. Not at all. And this worried Rogan.

“Look at you, Quinn. You’re all the crack this morn, aren’t you lad?” Hmm. He was hoping for an explanation for Quinn’s fine garb, but his brother did not hurry to offer one.

In fact, Quinn said nothing at all.

Instead he munched on a thick slice of toasted bread smeared with a dollop of freshly churned butter.

“Come now, did I not apologize? If not, allow me to do it now. Dear brother, I vow I heartily regret kissing Miss Royle.”

“You do not regret it. You seek only to prove your belief-your incorrect belief, I might add-that Miss Royle wants nothing more than my fortune.”

Rogan filled his cup, then sipped his coffee noisily. “You must believe me when I tell you that I hope my assertion is a long stroll from the truth.”

“Well, it matters naught, Rogan.”

“No?” Damn it all. Quinn had set his thoughts on something, and Rogan had a good mind of what it might be.

“No, because I plan to call on Miss Royle early this afternoon to apologize for your barbaric actions at the Browers’ rout.” He fastened a smile to his mouth and looked pointedly at Rogan. “Then I shall make my way to Cavendish Square to discuss with Lady Upperton my intentions to court her protegee Miss Royle.”

A jolt of worry blasted through Rogan, propelling his body up from the chair. “Quinn-”

He didn’t have even a modicum of an idea what he would say to dissuade his brother from this preposterous notion.

It was for this reason that when the butler, Clovis, entered with a letter atop a silver tray and headed straight for Quinn, Rogan closed his mouth and sat down again, grateful for a few more moments to craft his argument.

When Quinn noticed the butler, the fine skin at the outer corners of his eyes wrinkled and a look of confusion passed over his finely boned face. “Early for a letter, is it not?”

“Not so early, my lord.” Clovis raised the tray a little higher before Quinn, urging him to take it.

It suddenly struck Rogan that something was not as it should be. “Take the card, Quinn.”

Quinn peered at the cream-colored note on the tray. “I shall…finish my breakfast first, I think.”

What was this? Rogan rose from his chair. Even from his position across the table from his brother, he could see that the direction on the outside of the letter was written in a woman’s hand. Possibly Miss Royle’s?

Could that be the reason Quinn was apprehensive about opening it? Did he fear the card might contain instructions to refrain from seeing her again? After all, to her it might have appeared that Quinn, a war hero and all, had done nothing to stop his roguish brother from attacking her. Or, more likely, she’d found another deep-pocketed target later on at the rout.

Yes, yes. Fanciful thoughts. But the prospect of hearing an end to Miss Royle’s campaign to snare his brother’s ring made Rogan nearly giddy.

Still Quinn made no move to open the letter.

Bloody hell, Rogan could endure no longer. He had to know what was inside that letter. “I have eaten all I can manage this morn,” Rogan began, hoping Quinn would not notice his nearly full plate of food. “I shall read it aloud for you while you eat. After all, we have no secrets, do we, Brother?”

Before Quinn could reply, Rogan stole the card from the tray. He broke the gold wax wafer, unfolded the letter, glanced down the page and-damn.

Not from Miss Royle.

“’Tis from Lady Tidwell.” Ah yes, his contingency scheme. But so soon? Now this was interesting. Rogan held the letter out to Quinn. “Surely you wish to read it.”