How To Seduce A Duke

“She hurt you, too.”

His head snapped around, and he stared at her. “Did you not hear what I said? She hurt my father.”

“She hurt you, too. She made you distrustful. Made you afraid of opening your heart to a woman.”

He didn’t reply. He remained silent, neither agreeing with or denying what she’d said.

Raising her arm higher, she slid her hand gently across his temple and eased her fingers through his thick, black hair, around to the back of his head and slowly down his neck and back. His eyes closed, and she heard a soft sigh slip from his mouth.

Leaning closer, until her body was pressed against his, she pushed her fingers upward from the nape of his neck through his hair again. As she did this, she moved her mouth to his cheekbone and kissed him softly.

His eyelids fluttered open, as if she’d surprised him. He turned and wrapped his arms around her.

Mary slid her arms about his waist in response, lifting her lips and pressing them to his warm mouth.

When she broke the seal of their lips, slowly, ever so slowly, Rogan exhaled softly. “Mary.”

She drew her knees onto the seat cushion and balanced herself against him. Her face was above his now, and he tilted his up to hers.

She touched her lips to his forehead. She felt his breath on her throat and heard him murmur something unintelligible.

Rogan closed his eyes as she trailed moist kisses over his eyelid, and over his cheek and down to his beard- roughened chin, before kissing his mouth once more.

“Mary.” Her name floated atop his heated breath. “I-I…”

His chin rubbed against the sensitive skin of her own as the passion of their kisses grew more fervent.

“I-I…” He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze stoking the growing fire within her. “I can’t,” he finally managed.

He grasped her waist and moved her away from him. “We can’t, unless we put an end to our pursuit of Mr. Archer.”

Mary blinked, feeling suddenly light-headed. “What are you saying?”

He looked into her eyes. “We…we could remain husband and wife.”

What? “Remain married? Are you mad?” Mary straightened her back, and her gaze darted around the carriage cabin in her disbelief. “You must be. That is the only explanation for what you are suggesting.”

“Are you forgetting that I ruined you-in this very carriage, no less? And would have lain with you again had we not separated just now?”

“Yes, I must remind myself to avoid riding in carriages with you in the future.” She flicked up an eyebrow.

“I am serious, Mary.”

“I hardly feel damaged, so unless you announced our…encounter to the ton, no one will know, and I shall not suffer in the least,” she retorted quickly, drowning out the pounding of her heart.

“I have wronged you, therefore I think it only fair to you that we remain married.”

Mary’s eyelids raised up, and she shook rigid hands in the air. “Are you forgetting that you do not want to be married to me?” She sighed with exasperation, and yet the backs of her eyes began to sting.

“Are you so certain of that?” Rogan’s gaze searched her face, as if delving inside her, looking for her answer.

The tenderness in his expression and his words surprised her and inexplicably propelled Mary to her feet.

Pursing her lips, she sucked in a breath in utter astonishment and pressed a hand to the cabin ceiling to brace herself so she wouldn’t fall. What a goose she was being standing inside a carriage racing down a pitted, gravel road.

There was nowhere to go. No place to collect her thoughts. No room to craft a pithy reply.

And so she sat back down, folded her hands in her lap, and stared wordlessly out the window.

Remain Rogan’s wife. She huffed out a broken breath.

What a preposterous idea.

Chapter 17

The carriage driver had stopped for fresh horses several times during the long night, making it impossible for Mary to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.

She had tried leaning her head against the leather squabs, but the constant jostling of the carriage as its wheels hit holes in the packed surface of the road-in addition to the fact that whenever she’d opened her eyes Rogan had been watching her-had kept her awake.

By nearly four in the morn, Mary had had enough. She begged Rogan to temporarily stop their chase in Baldock to rest and take their breakfast.

To her surprise, he did not resist the idea at all but rather proclaimed it a wonderful suggestion.

The only problem with the notion was that The White Horse Inn was completely filled. In fact, had Rogan not had sufficient coin to bribe another guest, who had risen early to catch a mail coach, to relinquish his room to them, there would not have been a room at all.

As it was, Rogan informed her that they would have to share a bed.

Mary was far too tired to argue, so she tucked the book of maladies and remedies under her arm, just in case she suddenly had need of either, and followed the glow of the candle the innkeeper had given Rogan up the dark staircase and into a small bedchamber.

Rogan settled the chamber lamp on a night table beside the bed and immediately began to remove his clothing.

“Um, Rogan.” Her words came out thin and strangled. “I know you do not see a need for bedclothes, but might you wear something to bed? I realize that we are husband and wife, but with any good fortune at all, tomorrow we shall no longer be so joined.”

“Very well, my darling,” Rogan laughed. “You needn’t fear. I shall remain clothed.” He glanced at the book of maladies cradled in her arms. “And though this is our wedding night, you are safe from any advances in this bed.”

“Oh, I know that,” she replied with feigned innocence. She set the book down and slid beneath the coverlet. “This is a bed. Not a carriage, after all.”

Rogan laughed and climbed into bed beside her.

She didn’t know when it had happened, or why, but there was an ease between them. A comfort she had not noticed before. But she felt it now and could not deny it.

Within minutes, though she was lying in a narrow bed with the one man who made her heart beat like a fresh team at full gallop, to her surprise, Mary felt herself falling asleep.

Three hours later, the sun streamed through the threadbare curtain stretched across the window.

Mary stood in the sunlight and held a hand mirror before her face. She grimaced into the looking glass. “Red. It’s completely red.”

Rogan rubbed his eyes as he awoke, and blinked up at her. “What is red?”

“This.” She whirled and pointed at her chin. “Your Grace, I take back my words. I am damaged. Just look at what you’ve done.”

He propped himself up on his elbow and squinted up at her. “How on earth did that happen?” Then his eyes widened and he rubbed the coarse black stubble upon his own chin. “Oh.”

“Your beard. It obviously scraped my chin when you were kissing me last night in the carriage.”

“I beg your pardon, darling, but I believe I was attempting to stop you from kissing me.”

“Not when this happened.” Mary held the mirror up again and peered into it with a sigh. “I remember quite clearly.”

“As do I.” Rogan smiled wickedly and climbed out of bed. He approached her, then lowered his mouth and placed a chaste kiss upon her reddened chin.