“No, nothing like that.” Rogan’s gaze was quite serious. “She simply asked me to do it as a personal favor to her. And in exchange, she would give me something I require.”
Elizabeth braced her hands on her knees and leaned forward. “And what would that be? Will you tell us?”
“Sister, you are being most rude. Sit back please and stop questioning the gentleman.”
That wicked grin of his suddenly appeared on his lips. “I will tell you, since Lady Upperton has already given me what I needed.”
Mary could not breathe. She had no idea what he might say next, only that it would not be good given the way he was now looking upon her.
“I asked her to ask Lotharian, your guardian, for his blessing.”
“His blessing? Whatever for?” Elizabeth asked.
“As a gentleman, without it I could not ask your sister here to marry me.” He did not smile, did not move. “But you will be pleased to know he gave it without hesitation.”
Rakes did not marry. Lud, there was a whole club full of aging rakes on Cavendish Square that proved that unequivocally.
And then she saw it. A tiny smile twitching on his mouth. Ah, it was just another of his depraved games.
“So, Miss Royle, what say you? Will you marry me?”
Mary sat up straight in her seat and met his steely gaze with one of her own.
She could see it in his eyes. He was not serious. No, this new game of his was called “retribution” for stopping him from slaking his lust with her last night.
She was certain his proposal was not sincere. He didn’t drop to one knee, or confess his undying love.
This was just a game. A competition.
Who would back off first?
Well, she could play along. Make him cringe with her next words.
“Yes, I will.” Mary smiled confidently, though already this game of nerves was exhausting her. “How soon?”
Rogan leaned forward too, until their noses almost met in the middle. “Tonight, if you like.”
Mary shook her head. “We’d need a special license.”
Rogan nodded thoughtfully, then, as if he’d just remembered something, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a special license. “Oh. Fancy that. I happen to have one. So tonight, is it?”
God, he was good!
“Your brother is being honored tonight. It would be horrid of us to steal his moment.”
“You’re right.” He paused for a moment and peered out the window.
Ha, he was backing down.
Then he snapped his head back around. “How about just after the fete? We’d have plenty of witnesses-no doubt there will be several ecclesiastical authorities present at the Heroes’ Fete.”
“Several, you say?” Mary gulped. “Well then, we shall have our choice.”
Rogan gave her a flat smile. “So, we are agreed then.”
“Absolutely.” Mary’s hand began to spasm. So distracted was she by the discussion that she inadvertently flexed her hand, and the shawl slipped to the floor.
When she looked up again, Elizabeth was staring at both her and Rogan in turn, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
“No…this is pure folly.” A small nervous laugh escaped Elizabeth. “You will not truly marry this evening.”
Rogan folded his arms at his chest. “I assure you, I am most serious in this matter. I fully intend to marry your sister before the sun rises.”
Mary’s heart played a riotous tattoo in her chest. She sniffed in three short breaths, trying to calm herself.
No matter what he said, she told herself, this was just a grand game of nerves.
A
“What say you, Miss Royle?” he asked, just waiting for her to back down. But she wasn’t going to do that.
Mary could not meet Elizabeth’s gaze. She had to sound confident, and she knew that if she looked into her sister’s eyes, her voice would quaver. “Oh, yes. Definitely before the sun rises.”
Elizabeth squealed and clapped her gloved hands enthusiastically. “I cannot believe it. Anne will be so disappointed that she had to ride with Lady Upperton and Lord Lotharian! She is missing everything! What wonderful news, Mary!”
“Yes, wonderful,” Mary murmured.
Leaning across, Elizabeth hugged Mary, then stared up at Rogan and began chattering away in her excitement. “Our sister Anne will be beside herself. She was certain she’d be the first wed. But no-’tis our Mary!”
Mary swallowed deeply. What was she doing? She was actually lying to her sister to beat Rogan at his own horrid game.
But she’d set everything to rights at the fete. She’d pull both her sisters aside at the celebration and explain everything. They would understand. They would.
It wasn’t as if she was really going to marry the Duke of Blackstone.
By the time the Blackstone carriage wheeled before the entrance to the Argyle Rooms, Mary was numb.
During the course of her brief journey from the Harringtons’ home to the fete, she had not only kicked beneath the seat the only shred of evidence they possessed of their births but she had also agreed to marry the man she despised most in this entire world.
She should have never risen from bed this morning, for the day could not have unfolded more wrongly.
Unaware that the shawl was wedged beneath the seat, Elizabeth practically leapt from the carriage, so eager was she to share the news of Mary’s surprise nuptials. “Are you coming, Mary? Do hurry!” Without waiting for a reply, she started for the doors.
Rogan rose and offered a hand to Mary, but she pretended not to notice and sat very still. There was no possible way she could retrieve the shawl without him taking notice and asking questions.
Then, given his nature, he would use the shawl as leverage or as a flag to wave over his head to humiliate her. She wanted neither, so she decided it was best to leave the shawl inside the carriage for now and retrieve it later.
As she rose to climb from the carriage, she surreptitiously slipped her fan into the narrow gap between the carriage wall and the seat.
Then, she took the footman’s hand and descended the steps to the pavers, where she waited several heart- pounding moments before Rogan emerged from the cabin. She worried for naught, however, for his hands were empty, and his slim-fitted coat did not reveal any shawl-like lumps or bumps.
Mary smiled inwardly. More likely Rogan had needed a few spare seconds to collect himself before facing all of society-and Quinn-if indeed he had the nerve to announce his plans to marry an unsophisticated country miss.
“Mary, please.” Elizabeth stood just outside the door, waiting-something that she had never excelled at.
“Your Grace.” As a taunt, Mary lifted her arm for him to take and to lead her inside.
“My darling,” he replied.
Then, while Mary still reeled from his words, he caught up her hand and raised it slowly to his mouth. Before she could snatch her hand away, he pressed a hot kiss that seemed to sear the tops of her fingers right through her glove.
A tingle raced upward from her hand and spread like fire across the whole of her body. She blinked slowly and moistened her lips.
A chaste kiss to her hand and she was all atwitter.
When Rogan straightened and looked her in the eyes, it was the wryest of smiles that greeted her. “Allow me to be the first to tell you, my dear, how very lovely you look on your wedding day.”
