Didn’t move her mind and body to wish for other things, for more.
This kiss was punishment.
When he pulled away, Mary stood there, blinking, confused, and feeling hurt for some reason.
The next moments were a blur of shaking hands and congratulatory kisses.
Suddenly, a pen was slipped into her hand and guided toward a book of ruled and numbered vellum pages.
“That’s right. Sign your full name, dear,” Lady Upperton urged. “Good, good. Now, here too.”
The last slip of paper Mary signed was whisked away, and Lady Upperton and Lord Wetherly bent, in turn, to ink their names on the sheet as well.
“Congratulations. May I be the first to address you as Your Grace?” Mr. Archer said as he bowed before her. “It was my honor to be of service.”
He, too, signed the paper and handed it to Rogan, then, with the vellum register under his arm, abruptly left the Turkish room.
“Mary?” Anne laid her hand on Mary’s cheek. “What is wrong with you? You seem all afluster.”
Mary stared into her sister’s eyes. “Something is very wrong. This is not what was supposed to happen.”
“What do you mean?” Anne asked softly, as if trying to keep her calm.
“In the saloon, I saw Rogan slip Mr. Archer a bag of coins. This was all a ruse.”
She looked at Elizabeth then, who was shaking her head.
Mary heard a soft whimper escape her lips. “The vicar wasn’t real,” she whispered.
Lord Lotharian moved near. “Dear gel, I have known Mr. Archer for many years. Met him when we were young and he was assisting his uncle at our parish church.”
“Then…he’s truly a vicar?” Stunned, Mary stared down at the ring on her finger. “But this was just a game of wits. It wasn’t a real wedding. It could not have been.”
Rogan had come up behind her. “I know it was a game to you, but not to me. I was dazzled by your beauty and tender touch. I did not see that
Lord Lotharian shoved the duke back from Mary. “How dare you! How dare you make such an accusation. I assure you, this woman possesses a large dowry, more than enough to see her marry well, and she is of the noblest blood. The absolute noblest. Truth to tell, Blackstone, she has no need for your
Mary shook her head. “No, my lord. All of this must stop.” But Lotharian’s eyes were flashing wildly.
Rogan did not seem to pay her any heed. “She is the daughter of a country physician, Lotharian.”
“No, she was
Rogan reached past Lotharian and caught Mary’s arm. He hauled her to him. “What nonsense is this?”
“It is the truth.” Lotharian reached inside his coat and produced the Kashmir shawl. “And I have proof!”
Rogan stared down at Mary, waiting for her to answer him. “Is this true, Mary?” he demanded as he shook her slightly.
“I-I don’t know. I tell you, I don’t know,” she replied.
Was this possible? Rogan wondered.
Or had the lot of them escaped from Bedlam?
Rogan looked at the old man shaking a stained red cloth in the air.
At Mary’s copper-haired sister mouthing the word “princesses” again and again.
At the old woman running her tiny fingers along the edge of the shawl with reverence.
Oh, yes. They were all
He looked down at Mary, peered into her golden eyes, which were frantically searching his. “Is it true, Mary?” he asked her. “You must know.”
“Until tonight, I didn’t believe it possible,” she reluctantly admitted. “It was just a crazy story…a story of three royal babes, left for dead and handed over to my father in Lady Jersey’s shawl.”
“You said until tonight,” Rogan prompted.
“Yes. It was just a story, beyond belief, until we found the shawl hidden amongst my father’s belongings-that shawl-and matched it beyond a doubt to one Lady Jersey wore in the portrait hanging in the Harrington gallery.”
Rogan’s eyes went wide. “Still, even if that did belong to Lady Jersey, it does not prove-”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” She reached up and gently touched his shoulder. “Whether or not my sisters and I were those babes, if they ever even existed, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you and I have made a very large mistake this eve. Please, Rogan, let us find Mr. Archer before it is too late. Let us admit our error and hope that he can find it in his heart to forget this union ever happened. We made a mistake.”
“A mistake,” he absently repeated.
He had to think. Make some sense of this, but the din of the room made thought quite impossible.
There was only one thing to do. He took Mary’s hand, and, before anyone could stop him, he rushed her from the Turkish room and down the grand staircase.
When they reached the landing, he whirled her to face him.
“It was a mistake, Rogan,” she repeated. “A grand mistake. I thought this whole evening, from your proposal of marriage to our wedding, was naught but folly. I thought you toyed with me, and so I played along, hoping to best you.”
“And I thought you had bested me. That you sacrificed your body, your maidenhood, for my name and plump pockets.”
“We must reverse this travesty. We must! You didn’t truly want to marry me. Nor I you. We were both so certain that the other meant to take advantage that we blundered into a marriage neither of us truly wanted.”
“Mary, at this moment you are a duchess. Do you know what you are saying?”
“I do.” She ran her hand tenderly down his arm. “Let us find the vicar. Perhaps it is not too late to undo what we have done this night.”
My God. He had misjudged her.
Terribly misjudged this kind, beautiful, young woman.
She’d never wanted his money. She wasn’t an opportunist like Quinn’s guinea-hungry mother.
She was just an innocent.
How could he have not seen the truth, when it should have been so clear to him all along?
Rogan pulled her to him, and without a thought as to what possessed him, he kissed her mouth.
When he released her, he could see that he’d startled her. “I-I apologize. I am just so relieved that we finally know the truth about each other.”
“As I am.” She smiled up at him. “Now, shall we find the vicar? If we remain married much longer and word escapes that you did the honorable thing by me, your reputation as the Black Duke will be polished up beyond repair.”
Rogan threw back his head and laughed. “Well, we cannot have that, can we?”
“Indeed, we cannot.”
Rogan grasped her hand, and together they raced up the grand staircase and into the Saloon Theatre.
Chapter 16
The carriage lurched to a stop before the Royle sisters’ Berkeley Square town house, and, without waiting for the tiger or coachman, Rogan leapt out of the vehicle and handed Mary down.
“Hurry. A change or two of clothing, and whatever else you might need for the journey.” Rogan practically chased her to the door. “If we leave right away and drive the horses hard, we might catch the vicar well before he and his sister reach Gretna Green.”
“Do you really believe we can catch him up?”
“I do, if we hurry. Could save ourselves a few days of travel.”
“I’ll just be a few minutes.” Mary rushed inside and up the staircase to her chamber, calling frantically for
