How To Seduce A Duke

Tiny beads of perspiration moistened the cleft between her breasts. My, it was getting rather warm in the parlor.

She turned her gaze away from his form and fixed it instead on the bell on the table near the hearth. If only he would return to his chair, she could summon MacTavish and have the windows opened to the breeze.

Mary tugged a little, but his grip on her hand only tightened.

He lowered his head, and his eyes seemed to search the rug’s pattern for a prompt as to what to say next. When he looked up again, he looked almost unsure of himself.

No, this cannot be. It is just a ruse, that’s all.

“Allow me to be brutally honest with you, Miss Royle,” he finally said.

“I would wish it no other way, Your Grace.”

“When I heard you coax Quinn into kissing you, I had the notion that the sharp teeth of a marriage trap were about to snap closed around my brother.”

He leaned his handsome face close toward hers then, requiring Mary to press her back against the settee to avoid rubbing noses.

“I was certain that the moment his lips touched yours, your sponsor would emerge from the house, claim that he had ruined you, and demand marriage.”

A single burst of laughter slipped through Mary’s closed lips. “Your Grace, you must think me far cleverer than I truly am, if you are under the impression that I am capable of carrying off such a devious strategy.”

“I do not believe I underestimated your cleverness, Miss Royle. Though I fear I completely misread your intent.”

“If you thought I was about to entrap your brother,” Mary said as she cocked her head, “why did you not call Quinn away? Why did you step in and claim the kiss for yourself?”

Blackstone released her hand and came to his feet then. He turned away and walked toward the hearth.

The moment his back was turned, Mary slapped her hands to her chest and gasped in a draught of air.

“Because I had to know.” He settled his elbow on the mantel and swiveled his head to look at her. “I had to know if I was right-that you had a plan. That you were the sort looking to marry for money.”

Mary was quite taken aback by his words.

Did he think she truly found his brother attractive because of his fortune?

How preposterous!

“Your Grace, I have no need for coin, I assure you. I have an adequate portion and quite a substantial dowry.”

Blackstone looked around the room, taking particular note of the threadbare settee and frayed carpet. “If that is true, I beg your forgiveness, Miss Royle.”

“It is true.” Mary glanced down at her worn cambric frock and suddenly wished she had dressed in anything else. “Appearances, perhaps, notwithstanding. This is our great-aunt’s house. When we came to live with her, her staff were already well into stripping the house of all valuables. Thankfully, we arrived when we did.”

Blackstone nodded his head thoughtfully.

Lud! Why did she care what he thought of the furnishings? Or her dress?

He was a beast. What did his good opinion of her matter? Mary swallowed and returned to the core of their conversation. “So, Your Grace, you tested me? How did I fare?”

“Do you think that I would condescend to come here and beg your forgiveness if I still doubted your motives regarding my brother?”

Mary paused in her reply. She would be mad to blindly believe his words, but at the moment, she could not summon any reason to disbelieve him. “No, I suppose you would not.”

“So…you will accept my apology?”

“Your Grace, I do thank you for explaining your actions to me. I gladly accept your apology.” She summoned a smile to her lips. The sort of obligatory expression meant to communicate to a guest that his visit was over but it had been ever so pleasant to see him.

Still grimacing, Mary leapt up, turned, and passed him as she started for the door. “Thank you for coming, Your Grace. Allow me to show you the way out.”

Suddenly she felt him behind her, his warm hands gently squeezing her shoulders and turning her around to face him. She raised her eyes and peered into his. At once her breath seemed torn from her lungs. “Is…is there something else, Your Grace?”

“Just one more request. Let me try to make amends for my indiscretion last evening.” His eyes seemed to search hers for an answer. “Please.”

“What is your request?” Her own voice sounded thick and breathy to her ears, but it was all she could manage with Blackstone so impossibly close.

“Just this, Miss Royle. Consent to share a ride in my phaeton. My brother has mentioned how you do so enjoy taking the air in Hyde Park. Allow me this, and if you never wish to see me again, I shall abide by your wishes.” He seemed to hold his breath in his lungs. “Please, say you will.”

Mary did not speak for some moments. Instead, she peered into his eyes, wondering if he was sincere-for indeed he seemed earnest-or was this, too, some trick of his?

Still, he did offer the choice of never being in his presence again. For this alone it was worth risking an hour in the park with the rogue.

“Very well, Your Grace.” Mary pressed on her hostess smile again. “Shall I expect you around three this afternoon?”

“You may, Miss Royle.” He released her shoulders then but reached down, lifted her right hand to his lips, and kissed it ever so softly. “Thank you.”

Without another word, he cut a half-circle past her and disappeared through the parlor doorway.

Mary stared at her hand where his lips had been.

Oh my word.

To what, pray, had she just agreed?

Somehow, Mary had had the impression that Blackstone would not arrive in Berkeley Square at the appointed time.

She had been wrong.

Not only did he cast the brass door knock to its base at the precise moment the tall case clock in the library pinged the correct hour but he also arrived with a gathering of damask roses bound with a silken blush-hued ribbon.

Mary found this exasperating. How horribly considerate of him. For certain, there was some insulting message hidden amongst the velvety red petals and glossy green leaves.

But Mary had never been very good at puzzles. So, since she could not decipher the cryptic message conveyed by the flowers, she simply passed the flowers to MacTavish and bade him see the stems to a vase.

Then she thanked the duke for his thoughtfulness.

What else could she have done?

He was behaving like a gentleman, and though she suspected his polite manners were more feigned than an ingredient of his innate character, she could find no fault with his demeanor.

He even invited Anne and Elizabeth to join them for an outing in the park.

Likely not wishing to remain in the presence of the Black Duke beyond the few minutes it took to greet their guest, they declined, of course.

This was just as well, since the vehicle halted before their Berkeley Square town home was a high-perch phaeton-capable of transporting only two people.

Within a quarter hour of Blackstone’s having knocked upon the Royle sisters’ door, Mary found herself swaying inside the phaeton, her right thigh pressing against his left, racing down Oxford Street for Hyde Park.

At first, she thought his leg touching hers was a most rakish thing to do, but as she looked at the sheer size of his body she gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He was extraordinarily large, and, well, the phaeton had been built to accommodate an ordinary person. And he was nowhere near an ordinary man.

The duke cracked his whip in the air, and the horses broke from a fast trot to a canter. Mary tightened her grip