Kathryn Caskie - How To Seduce A Duke

Mary’s eyes went wide. “Yes, we did find a shawl amongst my father’s belongings after he died.”

Lady Jersey raised her thin brows. “I do not believe I know you, gel.”

A jolt rushed through Mary as it occurred to her that if the Old Rakes’ story was true, this woman would have preferred her and her sisters… dead.

Lady Upperton quickly made the requisite introductions.

When appropriate, Mary curtsied hesitantly, for her bones felt as though they had been replaced with ice.

“Miss Royle?” Lady Jersey narrowed her eyes. “Your name is somehow familiar to me, though your face is not. Have we met before? At the theater, or a rout, perhaps?”

“No, my lady. Perhaps you met my father and know his name? For a time, he was the personal physician to the Prince of Wales.”

Mary watched for a flicker, anything that might belie the story of her and her sisters’ births.

But there was nothing.

“I do not recall him specifically, no.” Lady Jersey’s tone remained even. How odd that she could speak through her teeth without moving her mouth but the smallest amount. “The Prince maintains the services of a number of physicians. Both in years past, and now.”

Lotharian brought forth the shawl, likely realizing, as Mary did, that Lady Jersey’s patience with them was waning. “This is the Kashmir shawl the duke mentioned,” he said. “It has been noted that you were wearing one of the very same design in the portrait now hanging in the Harrington gallery. Is the shawl yours?”

Lady Jersey leaned forward and peered at the shawl. “It appears to be one of the several Kashmir shawls I owned.”

Lady Upperton’s eyes were flashing. “Lady Jersey, the shawl is badly stained…with what appears to be dried blood. Can you tell us how that came to be and how Mr. Royle might have come into possession of your shawl?”

An uncomfortable smile spread over Lady Jersey’s mouth. “There is only one instance I recall when my clothing might have become stained.”

She flicked the shawl with the edge of her reticule, turning it over on the tea table before her. Then she looked up at Lady Upperton and laughed.

“I should not say, but since this particular shawl seems to hold great interest for your party, I will tell you. It happened many years ago. The Prince of Wales was feverish and could not be consoled after Mrs. Fitzherbert left him for a term. The physicians had no choice. He had to be bled.”

Mary swallowed deeply and listened.

“I was a close friend of his at the time, so I sat with him to ease his nerves whilst a physician opened his arm. He jerked, though, and blood began to spurt rather than trickle. The physician, needing to act quickly, snatched my shawl from my shoulders and tied it around the Prince’s arm to slow the bloodletting.”

“And the shawl?” Rogan prodded. “What became of it?”

Lady Jersey stood up. “I never saw the shawl again. Nor did I care to. I had others.” She looked up at Rogan. “Now, if there is nothing else, Blackstone, I should like to be returned to my lodgings, please.”

Rogan bowed, then turned to his brother. An exchange of glances was all it took for Quinn to take Lady Jersey’s arm and escort her outside to his waiting carriage.

“Well, I am sorry her report was not more encouraging, Miss Royle,” Lotharian sighed loudly.

“It changes nothing for me. It is not my past that interests me…but rather, my future.” She allowed her gaze to touch Rogan’s face. “Though my sisters might be rather disappointed.” Mary looked at Lady Upperton and smiled. “But our stay in London is not finished, and, I daresay, with Elizabeth and Anne poking about, there will be other clues.”

“Mrs. Fitzherbert still lives,” Rogan broke in. “I could approach her for you and your sisters.”

“Thank you, but no.” Mary turned, and her gaze locked with Rogan’s. “My sisters and I agreed that we would never approach such an esteemed woman with our story-without irrefutable evidence. We have nothing.” After speaking, she allowed her gaze to linger.

Lady Upperton saw the intimate exchange of glances. “Lotharian, might I speak with you in the passage for a moment?”

“What, whatever for-”

“I have been having a problem with rodents. Come this way.” With amazing speed, the old woman took Lotharian’s arm and led him out of the library and into the passage.

Mary’s eyes flooded as she peered up at Rogan. “I am so sorry, my love. I should have trusted you.” Her voice shook with deep regret, and she could not stop the torrent of tears that began coursing down her cheeks. “I am so sorry-”

Rogan set his fingers over her lips to quiet her. “Shhh. Say nothing more. Please, just listen.”

Mary nodded mutely.

Rogan cradled her face in his hands and peered down into her watery eyes as he dabbed away the tears on her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I love you, Mary. With all my heart and all that I am, I love you.”

He bent and pressed his lips to hers, and she melted into his arms.

When he lifted his mouth from her lips, he smiled down at her. “I cannot make you a princess, but if you will have me this night, a duchess you will be.”

Rogan reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a gold wedding ring. He held it before her eyes. “If you love me, as I love you, say you will, Mary. Say you will be my wife.”

“I will.” Mary’s eyes misted as she gazed up at Rogan, but then took on a glimmer. “I still get to wear a tiara, right?”

Portman Square, that evening

The moon shone like a lantern upon the grassy clearing of the garden where the three women stood, their skin smooth and white as marble in the blue glow of the light.

Their snowy gowns draped gracefully from their shoulders, and they were tied with crossed ribbons of ivory silk. The looked like goddesses from another time and place.

One, in particular.

Rogan smiled with pride as he gazed down at Mary, standing at his side. Her sisters dutifully stood to her left, his own brother to his right.

The air was filled with the soft, sweet perfume of newly planted crimson-budded roses, and their scattered petals made a lush velvet carpet for the wedding party.

Tears of joy streaked down Lady Upperton’s face, cutting wet tracks in her heavily powdered face. Lord Lotharian was beside her, smiling most confidently. However, his gaze seemed to alight on the small leather pouches of wagered coins both Gallantine and Lilywhite held in their hands at the ready in the event that the couple actually married as he’d predicted.

The rector prompted Mary’s reply.

“I will,” she replied. She turned her gaze to Rogan’s then, and her smile broadened.

Rogan squeezed her hand. He’d never felt so blissfully happy. Never before had his heart felt so full.

Never had he been so completely in love.

“I love you,” Rogan whispered to her as he slipped the ring of gold over her knuckle and pressed it down to the base of her finger. “And I will, forever.”

“I love you too, and shall, forever,” she echoed.

A warm glow spread through Rogan just then.

He knew the ring would never come off her finger again, because this time nothing could come between them.

They would truly be together…forever.

Mary leaned against the tufted leather cushion inside the carriage and tilted the pages of her father’s book of maladies and remedies to the light breaking through the window.

“You can’t mean to read that book during the entire journey to Blackstone Hall.” Rogan snatched the volume from her hands.

“I cannot stop wondering why my father included this book, of all of the other medical texts in his library, in the document box. Elizabeth is certain there is a clue or some other important information in this book that might assist us in learning the identity of our true parents. My father scrawled so many little notes, underlined segments. There has to be something here. I am just missing it.”