The duke was a formidable man, but seething with barely-restrained anger, as he was now, he was clearly terrifying the man trembling on the floor.
“I owed Lotharian a good deal of money. C-couldn’t pay him off. So when he approached me at the fete with a proposition that would wipe my slate, well, I could not refuse.”
“What was his proposition?” Rogan’s face was a scowling mask of rage. “What was it?”
“He needed someone to pose as a vicar. To perform a false wedding…if everything went as planned. He knew I could do it. I had studied at my uncle’s side-he was a clergyman-as a young man, until…well, until my true nature exposed itself. I lost some parish tithings…to my weakness, gambling. Well that was the end of my training, such that it was.”
Mary came to her feet and came to stand beside Rogan. She slipped her hand around his balled fist and caressed it, easing the tension he held there until he relaxed his fingers and interlaced them with hers. “Why did Lotharian wish to arrange this false wedding? What possible reason could he have?”
“You mustn’t know Lotharian well.” Archer exhaled. “He is a gambler of the first rank. He cannot lose. He can read a person so well that he can predict his actions in any given situation. And he predicted yours, Miss Royle, as well as yours, Your Grace.”
“What was his prediction?” Rogan’s hand tightened around Mary’s.
“He knew you wore blinders. You were so damned angry with each other that you could not imagine the possibility that your perceptions of one another were completely wrong. That your passionate dislike of each other masked true passion itself. That you were meant to be together.”
Mary felt heat rising into her cheeks. She could not look up at Rogan, though she was longing to know if he felt as she did.
Lotharian had been right. Wicked man that he evidently was, he’d guessed correctly.
“But why the wedding? By Lotharian’s measure of our natures, Miss Royle and I would have realized our so- called passion eventually.”
“I don’t know. You must quiz him on that. All I know is that the false wedding was not so important as your pursuit of me on the Great North Road.”
“I don’t understand. The value of our pursuit was that we learned we were never married,” Mary retorted.
“No, the time you spent together, alone, united in purpose, was the value Lotharian envisioned. Time enough to see the other clearly. Time to realize that love is not only possible but…
She heard Rogan’s breath hitch in his throat. She didn’t know what to say or do.
They both stood silently for several moments before Rogan started for the doorway, pulling Mary along with him.
“We’re heading back to London.
The carriage tore down the road, sending clouds of earth spiraling out behind it.
Mary sat rigid and still in the corner. “You didn’t know either.” Her words were merely an observation, but Rogan seemed to hear them as a question.
“I should think that quite evident. Had you not prevented it, I might have pounded Archer senseless.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“No, it was Lotharian’s, and I will remember that fact.” He exhaled a long breath, then inclined himself forward to look into her eyes. “I am sorry for all of this, Mary.”
“You are sorry?” She regarded him quizzically. “You are in no way to blame for this.”
“None of this would have happened had I restrained myself.” There was something flickering in his eyes, and she knew he had more to say. “Had I not been so taken with you that night, allowed my passion to overtake my logic, perhaps I would not have been willing to do anything to make you mine.”
Mary sat mutely and stared at him.
“Lotharian was right, at least about my feelings for you. I never hated you. I
Hearing his words, her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. “I never hated you either. I…” Mary could not admit anything else.
In truth, she knew that what had happened in the carriage had been her fault.
But it was all too much to confess.
And so she sought to lighten the conversation. “However, I did think you to be a wicked rake.”
For a moment, his eyes brightened. “And you were not wrong.” But then his gaze became serious again. “But I am no longer that man.”
Mary considered him for a moment. “No, I don’t think that you are.”
Rogan reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “So there is no reason we should not marry.”
“Except one.”
Rogan furrowed his eyebrows. “What is that?”
Mary’s sisters were not at home when she arrived at Berkeley Square that evening. She was bone-weary and drained, and so the solitude suited her very well.
Mrs. Polkshank served her a cold dinner in her bedchamber. Though she’d barely eaten all day, she only picked at it.
When Mary was finished eating, she sank into the steaming bath Cherie had drawn for her.
Raising her left hand from the soapy water, she watched the liquid slowly trickle down her fingers and over the gold ring Rogan had placed there.
She tugged on the ring. She’d have to give it back to Rogan in the morning. She tried twisting it, but her fingers had swelled in the hot water and the ring would not be removed.
A raw and primitive sadness washed over her.
She would have agreed to marry Rogan when he’d asked in the carriage. Would not have needed to think at all about it.
All he’d had to say was that he loved her.
But he hadn’t.
The aching in her heart evolved into a sick, painful gnawing.
A sob overtook her, and she allowed herself to weep aloud, rocking back and forth in the hipbath.
Cherie rushed into the chamber, wrapped a towel around Mary, and led her toward bed.
When Cherie doused the candles, Mary curled to her side, pulled the coverlet high around her, and buried her face in her pillow.
Then something occurred to her, and she sat straight up in bed.
Rogan had not confessed his love for her.
“But nor have I.”
Chapter 18
When Mary descended the staircase very early the next morning, she had no intention of sitting down to breakfast with her sisters.
She had a mission. Arguably the most important of her life.
Nevertheless, she had planned to quickly stop by the dining room. She needed a swipe of butter. The stubborn wedding ring still would not slide off her swollen finger.
The sun had risen only an hour past, time enough for Mary to see to her morning ministrations and dress. Even with Cherie’s nimble fingers assisting, she’d taken much longer than usual to prepare her toilette.
Her hair had to be perfect, her clothing neatly ironed. She’d fastened a triple strand of creamy pearls, a gift from her father long ago, around her neck.
It was important to her that she look her best when she pressed the wedding ring back into Rogan’s hand. Because her true purpose for seeing Rogan was not to return his property but to confess the depth of her feelings
