How To Seduce A Duke

He did not reply to Mary but rather flung open the door and stepped down into the road.

“What the hell, Quinn?” Mary overheard Rogan shout as she took the footman’s hand and descended the carriage steps to the ground.

Quinn leaned on his cane and rested his other hand on Rogan’s shoulder. “To the country. Thought I would stay there for few days to allow you…and the duchess…time to settle in.”

“You need not leave,” Rogan said, though to Mary’s ear, not too convincingly.

“Ah, but I do. Thought it high time I explore my new property. Survey the land…perhaps see what needs to be done in preparation to make the house suitable for a family.”

“Are you saying that you and Lady Tidwell-” A single brow lifted as Rogan smiled knowingly at his brother.

“Not yet. But I feel the time will come soon. Might as well be prepared, eh?”

Quinn lifted his hand from Rogan’s shoulder and walked to Mary. “Sister,” he bowed neatly to her, then pecked her on the cheek.

Mary leaned forward to do the same. “You do realize we are not truly married yet,” she whispered in his ear.

“Rogan explained everything this morning,” he told her quietly. “I am sorry about the announcement in the Gazette.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She leveled her mouth to his ear. “I am not opposed to marrying because I love your brother, and maybe someday he will love me too.”

A sudden blush crested her cheeks. She didn’t know what had come over her, or why she needed to admit her feelings for Rogan to someone, but she could not help herself.

Quinn’s eyes sparkled, and he turned around to look at Rogan, his white teeth gleaming.

“What are you two going on about?” Rogan blinked in bafflement.

Mary’s stomach tensed then and did not relax until Quinn grinned and waved a cane at Rogan as he started to climb up into the carriage.

“I shall see you Wednesday morning,” Quinn called out to his brother.

Then the footman closed the door and Mary watched the carriage wheels roll forward until the vehicle was no longer in sight.

Rogan waggled his brows at Mary. “Shall we go inside, my darling?”

A smile flickered on her lips as she took his arm and walked up the three steps to the threshold.

The footman passed by and opened the door for them.

Rogan paused and glanced her way most mischievously, then he suddenly scooped her up in his arms and stepped into the house.

“Welcome to your new home, my duchess.”

Chapter 19

The balance of the day passed more quickly than Mary could have imagined.

Sitting at a Pembroke table before one of her bedchamber windows, Mary stared out at the flame-colored sunset above the town houses of Portman Square.

Every room of the house was elegantly appointed with vibrantly colored, rich fabrics and unusual artwork. There were a number of pieces of oversized furniture, which, Rogan was quick to explain, had been specially designed to accommodate his extraordinary height.

The scale of his furniture would take some getting used to. She first realized it when, after being introduced to the household staff, she sat upon the large sofa in the drawing room.

To her surprise, her slippers dangled a few inches from the floor, and she felt a bit like the diminutive Lady Upperton.

She glanced across the bedchamber at the enormous bedstead situated between the windows. It was huge and solidly-built, much like Rogan himself.

To her horror, she suddenly found herself imagining Rogan lifting her in his arms, his body naked-as he had admitted that he did not care for nightclothes-his muscles taut and hard as he carried her to the bed, gazing at her with a wicked, rakish look in his eyes.

How long until their wedding night?

Mary grinned at the thought as she opened the valise Elizabeth had packed for her and emptied the bottles, pins, and pots onto her makeshift dressing table. She unfolded a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed the beads of moisture at her temples.

“It’s quite warm inside the house, isn’t it?”

Mary turned to see that Rogan was standing in the doorway, watching her.

“If you are finished, why don’t you join me for refreshments in the courtyard? There is a breeze passing through the greenery in the garden.”

“Sounds lovely.” She smiled at him. “I shall join you in a moment.”

When she could hear Rogan’s footfall descending the staircase, Mary lifted the hand mirror from the table and peered into it.

Blast! It was as she feared. Her cheeks were as red as the sunset.

She glanced out the window and saw that much of the color had already drained from the sky.

The facades of the houses across the square were sheathed in thin veils of gray, but the alleyways between them were as black as a pot of ink.

Mary exhaled in relief.

At least her flaming cheeks would not be so obvious in the growing dimness.

She ran her fingers over her face. Or so she hoped.

When Mary came downstairs, the house, which had been teeming with scurrying maids and busy footmen, all afternoon, seemed quite deserted.

As she walked down the shadowed passage, she poked her head into each room she passed. But there was no one.

The house was dark inside. Not a single candle lit Mary’s path to the French windows leading to the outside.

“Rogan?” she called nervously. She pressed down the latch and stepped into the courtyard.

Crickets chirped in the night, and the air was lightly scented with lilac and roses. But Rogan was not there, either.

“Please, Rogan, answer me. Are you here?”

“This way, my darling.”

She whirled toward the sound of his deep voice and squinted her eyes to peer into the lush garden beyond.

There, a single lantern flickered in the distance. A beacon in the darkness.

She walked down a path of crushed oyster shells, deeper into the lush garden, ever closer to the light.

He had to be near now, just on the other side of a large walnut tree.

She stepped from the path, and coils of ivy twined around her ankles. “Rogan?” Resting her hand on the rough trunk, she peered around the tree. But the light was suddenly gone.

The moon was just beginning to rise, and a soft blue light cut through the branches of the walnut tree.

Just ahead, she glimpsed something moving in a small clearing. “Rogan, is that you?”

She hurried for the swath of grass she’d seen, and when she reached it, she stilled and held her breath to listen.

Where was he?

Large, calloused hands suddenly smoothed over her shoulders from behind, and she sighed with pleasure.

“Ah, there’s my goddess,” he whispered to her. “My garden statue.”

His mouth was moist upon her ear, his breath, hot against the skin of her throat. “I wonder, will the moonlight bring my statue to life as it did once before?”

“Rogan.” Mary closed her eyes and leaned back against him, reveling in the