How To Seduce A Duke

for him.

To tell him that she loved him.

She trembled just considering that moment. What would she do and say if he did not reply in the manner she hoped?

Lud, what if he just said “Thank you” and nothing more?

Either way, she had to return the ring. If she was lucky, she would soon see the ring on her finger again when he admitted his love for her.

If not…well, the ring had never truly been hers anyway.

Because of the early hour, and her sisters’ late night, Mary did not peek into the dining room before entering for a bit of butter. This proved to be a mistake.

“There you are!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She leapt from her chair and rushed over to Mary. “Mrs. Polkshank told us you had come home.”

“And that you practically collapsed last night.” Anne had a concerned look in her eyes when she hugged Mary.

Mary drew a deep breath and expelled it.

She had hoped to avoid telling her sisters until after she’d called on Rogan that the wedding had been naught but a hoax.

She had her mission to perform first, after all, and she knew any mention of that would not sit well with her sisters, or rather one sister in particular. A young lady visiting a bachelor, well, it was simply against the rules of propriety, as Anne certainly would remind her.

“I must tell you something. Something horrid,” Mary began.

Before she could say another word, Elizabeth interrupted her. “That the wedding was a sham arranged by Lotharian?”

Mary was dumbfounded. “W-why, yes. How did you know?”

“Lady Upperton told us everything,” Elizabeth admitted. “She is furious with Lotharian.”

“She thought she recognized the vicar during the ceremony, then belatedly realized that she knew him from one of Lady Carsington’s faro parties,” Anne added. “When she approached Lotharian about it, he confessed his scheme, though he still believed it had been the right thing to do.”

“He said that had he not acted quickly…” Elizabeth paused, her gaze tracking the slow progress of the butler as he headed toward Mary with a large tea tray mounded with cards and the Morning Post. “As I was saying…had he not acted quickly, you and the duke would never realize that you belonged together.”

“Your Grace,” MacTavish said, “some cards have arrived for you.”

“Please, just set them on the table if you will.” Just then, it struck Mary just how the butler had addressed her. “MacTavish, why did you address me as ‘Your Grace’?”

Anne narrowed her eyes at him. “Were you perhaps listening to our conversation?”

The butler shook his head. “No, miss. I happened to notice the on-dit column in the newspaper this morning.” He opened the newspaper and tapped a column on the front page. “There it is.”

Elizabeth snatched up the newspaper and read the heavily inked head of the column. “Miss Royle Weds Duke in Surprise Ceremony.” She looked up at Mary. “Was there…perhaps another surprise ceremony?”

Mary shook her head slowly, then sank down into the nearest chair at the table.

Anne slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, no. Mary, your name will be ruined once it is known that the wedding was false. Our names will be ruined. No one will desire a connection to the Royle family!”

Just then, there was a hard knock upon the front door.

The sisters exchanged a circle of worried glances, then as one, they called out to the butler, who had already disappeared into the passage headed for the entry hall. “Don’t answer it!”

“Too late,” came Rogan’s rich voice from the doorway of the dining room.

Mary looked up at him in disbelief. “Rogan.”

“May we speak privately?” he asked. In his hand was a copy of the Gazette.

Mary set her palms on the surface of the table and pushed up. “We can talk in the parlor.” She glanced up into his warm brown eyes as she passed him, gesturing for him to follow. “This way, please.”

Rogan thrummed his fingers atop the folded newspaper he’d balanced atop his knee. “Mary, I don’t know how anyone learned of the ceremony at the Argyle Rooms. But there is nothing we can do about the column now. By now, everyone of consequence has read of our wedding.”

Frustrated, he leaned his head backward, but the settee had been constructed with tiny misses in mind and was consequently too short for him. This only added to his annoyance.

“We could ask for a retraction.”

“That would only bring more scrutiny and interest in our situation.” He leaned across to Mary and took her hand. “No, I fear we have but one course to avoid the ruin of both our family names-we must marry.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I am sorry, but we must, and we must do so quickly and quietly.”

Mary’s eyes were as round and golden as the sun as she stared up at him. She nodded dutifully. “If there…is nothing else we can do.”

Suddenly, Rogan’s heart felt very heavy. He had hoped she would be somehow happier about the prospect of sharing their lives together. “There is nothing else,” he finally replied.

“Very well.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Was his offer so terrible that it made her cry? Rogan swallowed hard and came quickly to his feet. “I shall instruct my solicitor to go to Doctor’s Commons and secure another special license the very instant the archbishop’s office opens on Monday morning. Meanwhile, I shall find a minister. Do you have a preference?”

She smiled meekly. “Anyone but Mr. Archer will do.” Then, as if something had just broached her mind, she took hold of the wedding ring on her left hand and tried desperately to twist it off. “It won’t come off. I’m sorry, Rogan, but I’ve tried, but now my finger is swollen. It is as if it wants to remain there forever.”

“And so it shall,” Rogan replied softly. “I shall send the carriage at three this afternoon. Is that sufficient time for you?”

Mary rose and followed him toward the passage. “Time enough for what?”

“Why, to pack your belongings.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked, her eyes growing wider.

“Until we are truly married, if our families’ names are to be spared, we must give all appearances that we already are husband and wife.”

Then, so there would be no misunderstandings, Rogan spoke very plainly to her. “Mary, you must remove yourself to my house. Into my bedchamber.”

“Your bedchamber!” she sputtered and slapped her palm to her forehead. “You are not serious.”

“Servants talk, and since we do not know the source of the column’s information, we cannot afford to take any unnecessary chances.”

Mary just stared at him.

“So, three o’clock then?”

“Y-yes.” Mary rubbed her fingers to her temples. “I will be ready.”

A harsh sun beat down on London, sending crowds to Hyde Park to sit beneath the trees near the Serpentine and savor what breezes were to be had.

On most any other day at three o’clock, this is where Mary would have been.

But not today.

Today she sat beside the braced-open parlor windows fanning herself as she awaited Rogan’s carriage to take her, and what few belongings she owned, to Portman Square.

Cherie plumped a pillow and eased it behind Aunt Prudence’s back, then she removed the empty cordial glass from her hand. She started to leave the room, then seemed to change her mind, for she rushed over to Mary and squeezed her hand. The young maid’s eyes were threaded with red, as though she’d been crying.

“Do not be sad, Cherie. We shall see each other quite often, I promise.” Mary set her fan in her lap and patted the top of the maid’s hand.