Now he leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I am to be your husband in but a few short hours, after all.”
Heat surged within her. How that man could make her blush.
Around them, a flurry of society matrons gathered, listening and watching.
“I am honored, Your Grace.” She raised her head high, and looking up through her lashes at the handsome duke, she allowed him to lead her through the crowd to the dance floor.
The Saloon Theatre, where the fete was in progress, was the largest chamber Mary had ever seen.
Impressions of columns rose high into what appeared to be the sky itself.
Six glittering, balloon-cut crystal chandeliers, each holding a dozen wax tapers, hung from the ceiling, casting an almost magical glow over the entirety of the dance floor.
The golden flicker above seemed only to accentuate the glistening blue highlights scattered about in Rogan’s hair. Lady Upperton was right. Rogan was extraordinarily handsome.
As the orchestra’s lively tones took to the air and Mary settled into Rogan’s arms to dance, a warmth, a comfort coursed through her. It was a feeling she’d never truly known before. But she felt it, and, much to her surprise, she realized that she never wanted this moment to end.
She gazed up into Rogan’s eyes and saw that he was watching her, his eyes filled with wonderment. His hands tightened around her body, and suddenly Mary grew uneasy in her bliss.
This was not possible. She could not feel anything for
It was all an illusion. One that would come crashing down around her the moment she let herself love him.
This was wrong, all wrong.
So, rather than wait for Rogan to set some beastly ploy into motion, which he certainly would eventually, Mary set about causing the collapse of this moment of happiness.
She spun a circle around the gentleman to Rogan’s left, and then because the dance steps required it, returned to the duke’s arms once more. She lifted her eyebrows high.
“Your Grace, have you selected a church official from amongst the eligible?” They joined hands and she felt his body jerk. She could not help but smile triumphantly as they stepped into the archway of dancers.
He gazed down at her, and heat surged into her middle.
She manufactured a cold smile, but beneath, to her horror, her body still simmered uncontrollably from the nearness of his form.
Rogan’s touch changed from comforting and warm to hard and mechanical. “Do not fret, Miss Royle. I asked you to marry me, and I intend to do just that.”
“Your Grace, do you not think this farce has continued long enough? Look around you. The cream of society are circling about like vultures, waiting for you to cast me aside. Miss Royle, the mushroom who cannot tell when she is being played the fool.”
Rogan lifted her hand over her head and spun her around. He did not say a word.
And so Mary verbally prodded him again. “Everyone is expecting it. You must know this. Do it, and no one will think ill of you.”
“I will marry you.”
“Why do you play this game? It is nonsensical to me.”
A dark glint appeared in his eyes then. “Do you forget what happened between us last night?”
“I am not completely certain anything did. I haven’t a head for wine, and as you know, I was drowning in my cups.”
An ache began deep within her heart. She did not know why. But it was there. Hurting.
“You agreed to marry me this very night.”
“I-I did.”
“While all of London may believe me to be an unrepentant rake of the highest order, I do believe in honoring one’s promises.”
“As do I,” she replied. A sickness began to swirl in her belly. She saw now where this uncomfortable conversation was headed.
The game was still in play.
“And yet you do not intend to honor your promise made to me this very eve,” he responded.
Mary glared up at him. “You are wrong, Your Grace. I will. The very minute this set has concluded, if you desire it.”
“Actually, I prefer to marry this very moment.” He twirled her around. “How else can I be sure you will not beg off?”
Mary pursed her lips. “How else can I be certain that
Abruptly, Rogan ceased dancing. He laced his fingers through Mary’s and whisked her from the dance floor. When they reached the perimeter, he planted her between Lady Upperton and her sisters.
“Lord Lotharian introduced me, a few minutes ago, to someone I must speak with.” Rogan stretched his neck and glanced around the Saloon Theater. “Ah, there is Lotharian, and there is my man.” He turned back to Mary. “Do not fret, Miss Royle, I am not abandoning you. I shall return promptly, and when I do, a duchess you shall become.”
Mary folded her arms at her chest. “I shan’t move from this spot, Your Grace.”
Anne appeared quite shaken. “A duchess? Mary, what did he mean?”
Mary glanced at Elizabeth. To her great relief, her sister did not burst with the news of the sudden betrothal but rather kept her promise and dramatically sucked the seam of her lips into her mouth.
“Anne, I haven’t time to explain.” She pulled her sisters near. “Before Blackstone returns, I need for you to go out to the street, find his carriage, and have it opened for you. If the driver questions you, tell him that I may have left my fan on the seat. You’ll find it wedged between the wall and left door.”
Anne huffed out a breath. “I am not going to miss the honoring of the heroes simply to collect your fan for you.” She shoved her own fan toward Mary. “Here, take mine if you are over-warm.”
Mary ground her teeth. “Do not speak. Just listen to me. You are not truly looking for the fan. I dropped the shawl inside the carriage cabin and kicked it beneath the seat.”
“The Kashmir shawl?” Anne snapped open her painted fan and waved it before her face. “Mary, it’s our only proof of who we are. Who we were born to be.”
Lord Lotharian approached the trio just then.
“Oh, dear, Lotharian.” Lady Upperton actually looked as though she might faint. “Mary left the Kashmir shawl in Blackstone’s carriage.”
“Not wise. Not wise at all, gel.” Lotharian shook his head at Mary as if she had done it intentionally.
“Please, take Anne and Elizabeth to retrieve the shawl. They have received instructions, you only need to find it before Blackstone’s tiger or coachman finds it.”
“Very well. You can depend on me.” Lotharian snapped the heels of his pumps together and ushered Anne and Elizabeth quickly through the theater and down the grand staircase.
Mary rested her hand on her chest and steadied her breathing. “Thank you, Lady Upperton.” When she turned to the old woman, she saw that she had raised a lorgnette and was peering across the dance floor.
“Look there, gel.” Lady Upperton twisted and offered Mary her lorgnette. “What is Blackstone doing?”
Mary waved away the lorgnette and focused her eyes. Then she squinted. Rogan slapped a gentleman on the back. Then he slyly looked in both directions and covertly pressed a small leather sack into the man’s hand. “I believe he just slipped that gentleman a bag of coins.”
“I knew he was up to something. It was in his eyes, you know. Kept looking about.” Lady Upperton retrained her lorgnette on the duke. “Most suspicious, if you ask me.”
After witnessing that very interesting exchange, Mary could not refrain from watching him as he next approached Quinn and drew him away from Lady Tidwell and an elderly matron.
As she and Lady Upperton watched for some minutes, it occurred to Mary that her attention was pinned
