How To Seduce A Duke

straightened her spine. “We must use it wisely to construct secure futures.”

When Anne spoke, her voice was now soft and soothing. “And Blackstone is undermining your efforts to forge a future, a life, with Lord Wetherly. That is what frightens you so.”

Mary peered down at the spot on the tablecloth and said nothing.

There was a knock at the door, but no one except MacTavish paid the interruption any heed.

Lady Upperton’s mission to introduce the sisters into society had been a success last evening, and all that morning visiting cards and invitations to fetes, musicales, and routs had collected on the mantelpiece.

Mary swiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “The duke is stubbornly determined to keep me at arm’s length from Quinn…Lord Wetherly. And I can do naught to prevent it.”

“You could,” Elizabeth said. “At least, the old Mary could.”

Mary blinked back the last bit of moisture in her eyes. “You’re right. Why should I stand by, awaiting his next ploy to humiliate me before his brother? I just need to be clever to keep him in check. To distract him so he does not have the time or opportunity to drive a wedge between Lord Wetherly and me.”

“That’s our Mary.” Anne rose from her chair and circled around the table. She hugged her just as MacTavish stepped from the passage and into the dining room.

Mary stood and raised her fist in the air most dramatically. “Blackstone, you have met your equal.”

“Have I now?” came a deep, all-too-familiar voice from the passage.

Mary thought her eyes would pop from their sockets the moment she realized who was standing just behind the butler.

She gulped down the huge lump that suddenly seemed to be lodged in her throat.

“Oh my Lord. Blackstone,” she gasped.

The duke lifted his eyebrows significantly. “My dear Miss Royle, I understand that you are fresh from the wilds of Cornwall, so I choose to believe you did not intend to insult me. My title is not ‘My Lord Blackstone.’ I am a duke. Therefore, the polite way to address me is Your Grace.”

“Oh, I do apologize-I…I didn’t say ‘My Lord Blackstone. I did pause after ‘Oh my Lord,’” Mary stammered.

“Miss Royle, I know what I heard,” he insisted.

“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” She looked pleadingly at her sister. “Anne, fetch a sheet of paper and a pen. I will show you, Your Grace.”

“Just…say it again.”

Mary looked back at him to oblige. Even started to open her mouth. But then she saw the mischievous glint in the duke’s eyes and his wide, crooked grin.

Blast. She had allowed him to do it again. Allowed him to humiliate her.

Well then, she’d give him this one. He was quick, and she hadn’t been prepared.

But this would be the very last time.

The very last.

Chapter 7

“Please do forgive me, Your Grace,” Mary said most politely to the duke, though in her head, her tone was anything but civil. “I assure you my grasp of forms of address is quite adequate. Though I confess, I had not expected to find you in our dining room at this hour-or any other.”

Mary edged past her sisters to reach Blackstone and extended her hand. “Let us begin again. Welcome to our home, Your Grace.” Mary dipped into an overemphasized curtsy deep enough to honor the Prince Regent himself.

When she rose, she glanced at her sisters, who, though appearing obviously shaken that the infamous Black Duke was actually standing inside their home, honored him in like manner. When they straightened, Mary tapped her outer thigh, beckoning them, like one might a puppy, to her side.

“Will you not join us in the parlor, Your Grace? I vow we shall all be much more comfortable there.” As any good hostess would, Mary smiled brightly at her guest and stepped into the passage, gesturing for him to follow.

Outwardly, she was calm and serene. Inwardly, she was a tangle of raw nerves.

When they entered the parlor, Mary, as was her habit, snatched the drained cordial glass from her sleeping great-aunt’s bony hands.

She turned and saw that Blackstone was staring at the old woman.

“Should we perhaps retire to another room so that”-the duke gestured to Aunt Prudence-“she is not disturbed?”

“No need.” Mary shook her head and rested her hand on the old woman’s shoulder. She did not move or awaken. “This is Mrs. Winks, our great-aunt.”

Blackstone bowed to their dozing aunt. The edge of Mary’s mouth twitched with amusement. “She is a dear, but well into her dotage. We shan’t bother her, you needn’t worry. It has always been my belief that she enjoys the company of young folk, even if she mightn’t be fully aware.” She extended her hand toward the chair opposite Aunt Prudence. “Please, be seated, Your Grace.”

As they sat down in the parlor, Mary thanked the heavens above that her full skirts concealed her ridiculously knocking knees. It wouldn’t do for the wretch to see how clearly unprepared she was for such a surprise attack.

And this was an attack. It was the only explanation she could muster. For why else would he have come?

Certainly not to apologize for kissing her. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, and Blackstone was no gentleman.

“Your Grace, I am sure it is abundantly clear that we had not expected you this day,” Mary began. Her voice was steady and even, which surprised her. “Might I inquire the purpose of your visit?”

Anne and Elizabeth sat silently, practically huddled together, as they stared at the duke like two field mice cornered by a hungry barn cat.

Blackstone fixed his eyes on Mary then, and suddenly she felt as though she could not draw a breath.

“I have come, my dear lady, to apologize for my actions last night.” He swallowed deeply, and his glance flicked across at Anne and Elizabeth for the briefest moment, eliciting a tiny gasp from each of them. “I should not ask it, but…might I speak with you privately for a moment or two?”

The duke’s words had only just left his mouth when Anne and Elizabeth stood from the settee and, as if they were stitched together, scurried from the parlor.

Cowards. Mary’s pulse thrummed in her wrists. Now she was left all alone with him. Well, except for Aunt Prudence, who was now snoring loudly as if to remind Mary of her presence.

Still, she was as good as alone, and Lord knew, she wasn’t prepared in the least for that. Why, she could not sit here with a man who had taken improper advantage of her only yesterday.

Mary stood and opened her mouth to make her own excuses.

“Please, Miss Royle. Do not go. You have naught to fear from me, I swear it.” He came to his feet and in a single stride was standing before her. “Please.”

With a gentleness that surprised her, he laid his hand on her shoulder and guided her back to sit upon the settee once more. He knelt down before her and took her hand into his.

Saints be blessed, what was he going to do now?

Blackstone covered her hand with his fingers and held tight. “I do hope you can bring yourself to forgive me, Miss Royle. What I did was despicable, and I have no excuse for it…other than I did it for Quinn.”

Mary tried to unobtrusively slip her hand from his grasp, but his own were so large that it was quite impossible. “Yes, what you did was horrid, and you must excuse me, Your Grace, for not understanding your reasoning, but your brother did not seem appreciative of what you did for him.”

Without meaning to, Mary glanced past their clasped hands to his chest. Even beneath his waistcoat and coat she could see the curve of his firm muscles. Suddenly all the sensations of being pressed against that hard chest came crashing into her mind.