Kathryn Caskie: How To Seduce A Duke

She heard the viscount’s smooth voice coming from a distance. “Haven’t. Must be one of Lord Underwood’s recent acquisitions.”

“No, this statue does not have…um…the patina of antiquity. Come here and have a look for yourself.”

The gentleman before her didn’t move again, and Mary had the distinct impression that he was studying her…very closely. In fact, he was so near that she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her skin, and it made her tremble inwardly.

Oh perdition. She couldn’t endure this any longer. Why wouldn’t he just go away?

She knew that although it was fairly dark behind the hedge aside from a few fingers of moonlight breaking through from above, it was more than possible that her disguise had failed.

She had to see what was happening. Had to risk it.

Slowly she raised her eyelids ever so slightly, peered through her powdered lashes and saw-a large hand stretching outward as if to cup her breast.

Good heavens. He’s not going to…oh Lord, he actually intends to touch my-

“How dare you, sirrah!” Mary’s eyes snapped fully open, and she drew back her hand and landed a stinging slap on the man’s cheek.

She’d never seen such a look of shock and utter surprise on anyone’s face before. His mouth fell wide open as he yanked back his own hand and hurried it to the powdered print she’d left on his left cheek.

“I beg your pardon, miss… I thought you were a-”

“No, you didn’t. You knew. You were toying with me. You, you…scoundrel!”

Then from behind her came a hail of laughter. The viscount had obviously caned his way through the hedge as well. Mary froze in place.

“Even the garden statuary knows you’re a rake, Rogan. I vow it should be very clear to you by now that there’s no escaping your reputation, brother, no matter how hard you try.”

Oh God. The viscount was directly behind her.

There was no way this eve could have turned out any more disastrous. None at all.

Mary angled her face away. She could not let the viscount see her features, for indeed, he might recognize her.

Her heart thudded impossibly hard in her chest, and with no other choice, no possible explanation to give for her outlandish appearance, Mary gave a shove to the ebony-haired man and, with her path of escape clear, raced past him and into the night.

“Damn me.” The viscount’s gaze trailed after the ghostly female figure until she disappeared in the darkness. “Who was that?”

His brother lifted an amused eyebrow as he rubbed his sore, powdery cheek. “On my honor, I swear I have not the faintest notion. But rest assured, I intend to find out.”

The direction Mary dashed, unfortunately, was the exact opposite way from that in which she needed to go, which was only next door. Instead, she was forced through the back gardens, stables, and over the ivy-draped walls of no less than six town houses before she could slip down a narrow alleyway leading back to Berkeley Square and her great-aunt’s town house, where she and her sisters were lodging for the season.

As Mary pressed the front door closed behind her, she emptied her lungs of breath in a grand sigh of relief. She was home at last and, thankfully, fairly certain the viscount had not glimpsed her face.

Even if he had for the briefest of moments, with her body and sable hair coated with a thick layer of flour paste and powder, he could not have recognized her as the woman he tipped his hat to in Hyde Park each Tuesday while riding during the fashionable hour.

At least she hoped not.

The glow of a flickering fire illuminated the open doorway to the parlor, and she started for it, knowing she would find at least one of her sisters inside.

“ There you are.” Elizabeth sat hearthside on a stool, combing the dampness from her newly washed, bright copper locks.

Mary’s gaze searched the shadowy room. “Aunt Prudence is still asleep, is she not?” she whispered.

“You know the answer to that. What else would our ancient aunt be doing at such a late hour…or in the morn…or in the afternoon?” Elizabeth flipped her long wet hair over her shoulder, sending droplets sizzling into the fire. “Anne and I were ever so worried that you’d been nabbed.”

“Evidently not that worried. You abandoned me.”

Elizabeth lowered her gaze to the floor. “Yes…well, we are dreadfully sorry about that.” She raised her eyes then, and smiled. “But all is well. You have come home. No harm was done.”

Mary crossed her arms over her chest and did not reply.

“Y-you were not…apprehended?”

“No, but nearly. The large one almost had me.” Mary remembered the stunned look on the oaf’s face as she slapped him, and she chuckled to herself. He deserved it, though. Had she not stopped him, he would have…

“Oh, Mary, thank heavens you are safe!” Anne, wearing a dressing gown and appearing fresh from her bath, rushed into the parlor and made to hug her marbleized sister. But at the last moment, noting the powder all over Mary, she changed her mind. “Why are you so late returning? What happened?”

“Nothing at all. I simply ran in the wrong direction and had a devil of a time making my way home.” It was then that Mary noticed that Anne’s face, throat and hands-indeed, every exposed bit of skin-were as red as a heated brand. “The question should be, what happened to you?”

Anne snatched the comb from Elizabeth and passed it through her damp golden hair. “The powder.” She flicked her eyebrow upward in annoyance. “I told you that it itched. Why I let you persuade me to disguise myself as a statue, I will never know.”

“I only wanted you both to see the man I have decided to marry by the end of the season-and he was right next door this eve.” Mary smiled broadly. “You agree with me, don’t you? He is perfect in every way that matters.” Mary bent to sit upon the settee, but Elizabeth waved her off before her powdered gown could mar the silk cushion. “I haven’t much time, so naturally I shall need my sisters’ help to bring about the match.”

Anne shook her head. “I dare not even ask what your idea of help might entail.” She thrust the comb back in Elizabeth’s hand, then crossed the room and opened their late father’s leather document box. From it, she withdrew several large folds of foolscap. “Besides, once we prove the information held in these letters-”

Mary raised a palm. “Stop. We do not even know where to begin. Proving anything will be impossible, given the time and financial restraints we have.”

Elizabeth joined Anne before the document box. “There is plenty of information here and a number of sound clues to follow. Papa saved these letters for us for this very reason-to prove who we are.”

Huffing her frustration, Mary stalked across the parlor and slammed the lid of the box closed. “Papa wasn’t saving these documents for us, he was hiding them from us. From everyone. Had he had any notion that his death was so imminent, I feel certain he would have destroyed this box and its contents.”

“I completely disagree. He could have burned every scrap if that was his intent, but he didn’t, did he? This was his assurance that someday the babes he rescued would meet their destiny.” Anne lifted the hem of her dressing gown and, appearing more than a little annoyed, dusted Mary’s white powder prints from the leather box with her swollen, red fingers.

Mary pinned her sister with a hard gaze. “For the sake of argument, let us say that we are the girls mentioned in these letters…and let us further assume that every letter inside that box is true-do you think those who worked so hard to erase our existence would simply allow us to suddenly appear in London society with diamond tiaras on our heads?”