How To Seduce A Duke

“You actually have been introduced to Lady Jersey?” She asked, with badly feigned indifference. As much as she wished she was not interested, she was.

“I was, only in passing though.” Then, his tone grew richer, as smooth and sweet as port and chocolate. The sort of voice a man draws forth to lure, to woo. His tone dropped as well, and he began speaking so quietly that Mary was compelled to lean nearer to hear what he was saying at all.

“She no longer resembles the siren in these paintings, however,” he told her. “She is handsome enough, but no longer beautiful, unlike you, my dear.” He paused for several moments and merely stared into Mary’s eyes, making her heart pound ridiculously.

He reached out his hand then and for the briefest moment slid two fingers down the length of a dark curl dangling at her throat. “Her hair color is not silky and rich, as yours is. Instead, it is gray.”

Mary swallowed hard.

Rogan’s gaze slid slowly down her form, riding every curve like a lover’s caress. “She no longer possesses the slim yet supple body a man dreams of pressing against his own.”

Mary flipped open her fan. The gallery had grown very warm now that the audience had started to move about. How she wished he would just go away. Go speak with his brother…and his lady friend.

She turned away from Rogan, hoping that perhaps Lady Upperton had heard something of the duke’s lascivious words and would cease creating opportunities for their meeting. But the old woman was deep in conversation with Lord Lotharian, too preoccupied to have noticed that anything was amiss.

Rogan evidently noticed this too. For he brought his mouth to Mary’s ear and whispered hotly into it. “Shall I tell you more, Miss Royle? Or would you like to step into the courtyard for some cool air? I seem to recall you enjoy night walks in the garden.”

She stared at him. “I cannot believe your gall. No, no, that is not right. I do believe it. I just should have expected it.”

“You wound me, Miss Royle.” He took her free hand in his and pressed it to his heart. “I only sought to make you feel better…after your upset.”

She raised her open fan beside her mouth. “And you expect me to believe that? You are quite wicked, Your Grace,” she told him in a hushed tone.

She had wished her words to carry power, but instead they’d come out weak and missish.

It was all she could manage, for suddenly she found herself quite breathless.

Oh, botheration. Snapping her fan to her side, she tore her gaze from Rogan’s and rudely interrupted the conversation in progress beside her. “Lady Upperton, does Lady Jersey still reside in London?”

It was a valid question, not just a means to avoid Rogan and his annoyingly heated whispers. Perhaps Anne and Elizabeth could speak with Lady Jersey and put their fanciful notions of being blood royals to rest.

Lady Upperton shrugged. “I vow, I have not seen her in society in many months. I had heard she was in Cheltenham recently.”

Rogan suddenly stood from his chair, startling Mary with his overwhelming presence. She couldn’t help but stare up at him. Once again she was taken with how enormous he really was.

His height was nothing less than extraordinary, and his form, well, it was muscled and solid-so different from Quinn’s lean, elegant body.

She tried to act calm and collected as she gazed up at his strong, square jaw, glittering dark brown eyes, and…those lips. Oh, she remembered that mouth all too well. Mary swished her fan before her face.

It was sweltering in the gallery. Was she the only guest who noticed?

Rogan smiled down at her, making her flush.

She could not deny that some women might find him incredibly handsome, if they favored that dark, rugged look of his. Which, of course, she did not.

Still, there was something very appealing about him. Though that was reasonable. He was Quinn’s brother after all, and they did share blood.

Still, nothing about them was similar. While Rogan’s wavy hair was dark as ebony, so black that it glinted blue in the candlelight, his brother’s hair was fair and brought to Mary’s mind the color of wheat just before harvest.

She raised her eyes from his lips and, to her embarrassment, met his gaze directly. Lud, he’d been all too aware of her study, and the grin on his lips told her he was quite amused by it as well.

Unexpectedly, he extended a hand to her. “Despite what you think you saw happen a moment ago, I know Quinn would be most pleased to see you, Miss Royle. He mentioned his hope that you would be in attendance this evening.”

“Really? He did?”

“He did, indeed.” Rogan’s voice had instantly returned to a more civil, less rakish tone. “I was about to go and convince him and his guest to drink a glass of wine with me. Would you care to join us?”

Was it possible she had misinterpreted Quinn’s affection for Lady Tidwell?

She supposed it could have been compassion in his eyes for a widow lost in her melancholy.

She turned a smile up at Rogan. “Yes, Your Grace. I should very much like to…if Lady Upperton will permit it.” Mary looked at the plump elderly woman, who exchanged a quick glance with Lotharian beside her.

“Very well, Mary,” Lady Upperton said, “but we’ll away within the hour. Take care that you have returned to us before then.” Her painted red lips slanted with amusement. “I trust you remember where the clock is?”

Mary flushed at the comment. “Yes, I do.” She looked up at Rogan again, then, lifting her hand, placed it gently in his gloved palm.

His fingers curled around hers, and at once she felt the heat of him, even through her silk gloves.

The warmth rose into her cheeks again, much to her humiliation, as he drew her up from the chair. He offered her his arm, and together they walked past the conductor arranging his music and down the crowded center aisle toward Quinn.

And Lady Tidwell.

Mary rose up on her toes as they squeezed through the crush of guests, hoping to snare a glimpse of Quinn, her viscount. Her intended.

Rogan, whose height in this instance was a clear advantage, did not share her problem of impeded view.

“Damn me,” Rogan hissed. “He’s gone.”

“What?” Mary heard the desperation in her own voice and cringed at the sound of it.

She had no desire for Rogan to detect her lack of confidence. Though what else should she feel, when her future husband was obligated to take the arm of a beautiful, lonely widow every night?

And so Mary added, “The musicale was longer than most, don’t you agree? Your brother has likely gone to the refreshment table.” She looked up at Rogan and smiled prettily at him. “Shall we do the same?”

Rogan locked her arm tightly against his side while they walked, as if he thought she might flee. He looked down at her then with a gaze so smoldering that Mary trembled, suddenly realizing the danger of her feigned flirtation.

But he wanted her to feel that way, didn’t he? Nerve-shot and unsure of herself?

This was how rakes maintained the advantage, was it not?

And at that moment, as she and Rogan walked down the aisle together, it occurred to her that there was no avoiding the duke, no escaping him, no matter how diligently she plotted to do just that.

As much as she hated to believe it, she knew that she must accept the fact that Rogan had taken control of her relationship with his brother.

If she neared Quinn, Rogan would simply taunt her with his wickedness, and in an instant she’d be knocked from her footing.

He knows just how to shake my confidence. I should slap him. She gazed firecely at the duke. Again.

Yes, he was a master at wielding his sensuality like a weapon against her. He had had years of practice playing the rake, after all.

From what she’d heard, he’d had years of experience too, thrusting and parrying with the most skilled and beautiful of society women.