How To Seduce A Duke

is wrong of me to feel this way, but I could not bear if I saw you dancing and conversing with another gentleman.”

“Oh, dear sir, you have naught to fret about. I have no interest in any other.”

“Please, Mary.” Quinn went to her. He bent at the waist and pried her hand from her eyes. “Please, endure my brother for a few weeks-for me.”

Mary looked at Quinn squarely.

This was no rakish game he played. Quinn was the most honorable man she had ever known, aside from her father. She could not ask him to refuse the lieutenant’s request.

And so, she must do the honorable thing as well.

“Very well,” she belatedly said. “I shall endure your brother’s company-but only until the end of the season.” Mary smiled playfully at Quinn, trying, as best she could, to make light of the situation.

“Brilliant!” Quinn retrieved his cane from the floor. “Now, I will leave you to your evening. Again, I apologize for coming so late. I knew I would not be able to live with myself if I did not discuss this with you immediately.”

Before Mary could stand herself, Quinn started for the parlor door, twirling his cane twice. He spun around at the mouth of the passage and bowed. A moment later, Mary heard the front door close with a click.

Lovely. Just lovely.

Mary rose and wearily started for the library to search for the book of medical maladies that Elizabeth had found in their father’s document box a few days earlier.

She would need it for certain. It would be ridiculous to think that she could feign a headache every night during the season.

Yes, she would need a full selection of ailments to present to excuse her from society events.

For there was no possible way she could survive a season on the arm of Rogan, the Black Duke.

Absolutely none at all.

Chapter 8

Bond Street

The next morning

“Look there, Anne.” Elizabeth gestured to Mary, who stood in the middle of Madame Devy’s elegant dressmaking shop, arms curled upward as if she’d been balancing a Roman water urn on each shoulder. “Blackstone’s garden statue has followed us here.”

Anne brought her hand to her lips, but Mary heard the muffled giggle anyway. She was not the least amused.

She craned her neck to see past the petite modiste and brocade privacy screen to glimpse the table clock.

Two hours. They’d been here for two mind-numbing hours.

First they’d spent an hour poring over countless fashion plates from La Belle Assemblee. Then, once a design had finally been selected, the modiste had begun draping her with fabrics, ribbons, and lace.

Two horrid hours had passed-and her sisters had not yet taken their turns standing beneath the modiste’s assessing gaze.

Mary could endure no more.

“Are we nearly finished, Lady Upperton? My arms feel leaden and my back is beginning to ache. And, truth to tell, I do like this silk quite a lot. So why don’t we choose it and be done with it all, hmm?”

Lady Upperton clucked her tongue as the modiste finished draping a swathe of rose silk over Mary’s shoulder. She took the sight in for several moments, considering, before shaking her head. “No, Madame Devy, the color does not suit her. The hue is too bold and mutes the natural rosiness of Miss Royle’s cheeks and lips. No, no, it will not do. Have you a softer shade in the same palette?”

The round old woman, immersed in her duties as fashion counselor, did not seem to hear Mary.

Mary crinkled her nose. “Lady Upperton?”

“A more demure shade? Oui, my lady, I do.” The modiste whisked the silk from Mary’s body, then ordered her assistant, a quiet young girl with mousy-brown hair and a pointed nose, to fetch yet another bolt of silk from the shelves.

Silently, the girl eased the roll of silk into the French modiste’s arms, then assisted her in unfurling several lengths and wrapping it around Mary three times.

“That’s it!” Elizabeth’s eyes went bright. “Oh, yes, that’s the one. You will see, Mary. The gown in this fabric will become your favorite.”

“Mademoiselle has a sharp eye. I think she is correct. What say you to this, Lady Upperton? Parfait!”

“Oh, yes, madame. I think this will do very well for the Heroes’ Fete next week.” Lady Upperton’s plump face suddenly looked very concerned. “You can hurry the gown along and deliver it in plenty of time? You promised me if we came to the shop and selected everything at once you could rush completion of the gowns.”

The modiste looked at the hand-colored fashion plate on the table nearby, then at the lengths of silk wound around Mary. She looked a bit concerned. “One gown, oui, but three?”

“Whatever it takes, I shall pay it. We must have three new gowns for the event.” Lady Upperton whisked her reticule from the table and shook it so that the coins inside jingled. “Can you finish in time?”

The modiste nodded. “Oui. I shall engage every seamstress in Town if I must to deliver the misses’ gowns before the ball. Is it true, my lady, that Wellington himself might attend?”

“I do not know. Though his attendance would make the affair most exciting, would it not?” She slanted an eyebrow at the modiste. “Even more reason to turn out these gels in the most stunning gowns possible, eh?”

Mary tensed. “Lady Upperton. Please do not do this. Do not spend your money on me. I can pay Madame Devy myself…or better yet, wear the blue silk I wore to the Brower rout.”

Lady Upperton clucked her tongue again. “Nonsense, dear. He has seen you in that gown. Mustn’t let him think you have but one proper gown for evening.”

“Why not? ’Tis true.”

Lady Upperton looked up at her. “Yes, dear, I am aware of that-which is why we are here today. If you are to receive an offer by the end of the summer, you will need a proper wardrobe right away. Today’s selections will be the first of many, of that you can be sure.”

“But-”

“Do not even bother to try to dissuade her, Mary.” Anne fingered a pale lavender ribbon. “Lady Upperton knows her mind. I intend to comply. So should you.”

“Besides, Mary. Lady Upperton is quite correct. You must admit, even our best Sunday frocks that we wore in the country are not at all suitable for London’s drawing rooms.”

By now, Lady Upperton was circling around Mary like a bird of prey. Her face was pinched with concentration, her little fingers steepled, and the ridiculously high heels of her Turkish slippers were clicking maddeningly on the wooden floor as she moved about.

“The silk perfectly complements your complexion, dear. The gown will turn the head of every lady and gentleman in the Argyle Rooms.” Lady Upperton rested her hands on her wide hips and smiled brightly. “Why, I daresay, the duke shan’t be able to remove his gaze from you.” Then she tossed Mary a sly wink.

No, surely, she could not have heard the old lady correctly.

“I-I am rather confused, Lady Upperton,” Mary said. “You mentioned the duke. But…in truth, you meant Viscount Wetherly, did you not?”

Anne and Elizabeth set the lace sample cards they held in their hands on the counter and leaned closer to listen.

Lady Upperton did not immediately reply. Instead, she handed a sash of ivory satin to Madame Devy, who wrapped it around Mary’s ribs. “No, not enough dash. Let us try the claret satin.”

“Oui, my lady.”