Page 3 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction

“Oh, I don’t!” Lady Belford’s cheeks flushed. “Lady Ponsworth mentioned it to warn young women against certain books.”

“Lady Ponsworth’s vigilance is remarkable,” Marina said, carefully schooling her features.

“It is, isn’t it? Though I must say,” Lady Belford lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “for something so inappropriate, the writing is quite captivating. The scene with the Duke and the widow in the garden—” She broke off, suddenly remembering her daughter’s presence. “Well, it was most educational.”

“Mother!” Georgiana protested, but her pink cheeks hinted she was well aware of the scene in question.

“Educational?” Caroline’s eyebrows rose. “In what regard, precisely?”

Lady Belford fluttered her fan. “The emotional dynamics of course. Nothing more.” Her eyes darted to Marina. “They say the Duke in the story bears a striking resemblance to Blackmere. I saw him earlier this evening—such a commanding presence. One can easily imagine him…” She trailed off again, her fan working double-time. “Well, one can imagine.”

“I’m sure one can,” Marina replied evenly although her pulse raced at the thought of the real duke’s reaction to his fictional counterpart’s latest exploits.

“Lady Belford!” A voice called from across the room. “You simply must join our discussion about the newest installment!”

“Do excuse me,” Lady Belford said, already drifting away. “Apparently, they’ve discovered who inspired the scene in the opera box. Most scandalous!”

As the matron departed with her mortified daughter, Caroline turned to Marina with a barely suppressed smile. “Well, it seems those stories have captivated even the most proper dowagers of the ton.”

“So it would seem.” Marina’s answering smile held a hint of satisfaction. For all their public disapproval, the ladies of society were clearly devouring her words in private. “Though I do wonder who they believe inspired the opera box scene.”

“Whoever she is, I doubt she’ll show her face in society for at least a fortnight,” Harold observed as he rejoined them, offering each lady a glass of champagne. “Though the same cannot be said for Blackmere. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

Marina turned to see the Duke of Blackmere entering the ballroom, his tall figure drawing every eye in the room—and more than a few speculative glances from the ladies who had just been discussing his fictional exploits.

“I think I need some air,” Marina murmured to Caroline. “Just for a moment.

The balcony doors offered a blessed escape from the heated ballroom and the whispers that swirled around her.

Marina had just drawn her first deep breath when voices drifted up from the garden below.

“It’s the most delicious story,” came a breathless voice Marina immediately recognized as belonging to Lady Thornley, the young viscountess whose husband was forever away at his country estate. “The scene in the conservatory—I nearly swooned!”

“Hush, My Lady!” Her companion’s voice was sharp with worry. “Someone might hear you. If anyone were to discover that it was I who… that the Duke of Blackmere and I…”

Marina pressed deeper into the shadows of the balcony alcove, her heart racing. The companion—her voice identified her as Miss Ashworth, a baron’s daughter who had made her debut three seasons ago, now engaged to a wealthy baron—sounded genuinely frightened.

“Really, Jane, you worry too much.” Lady Thornley’s laugh tinkled like fine crystal. “What does it matter if people know? The Duke certainly isn’t discreet about his conquests.”

“It matters to my father, and my fiancé! To my prospects!” Miss Ashworth’s voice dropped further. “Papa would lock me away in the country if he knew I’d been… that the Duke and I had…”

“Had enjoyed each other’s company in the most delightful way?” Lady Thornley finished wickedly. “Though I must say, that scene in the conservatory—the one with the silk ribbons—I was quite shocked to read such a detailed account. One might think the author had been present.”

Marina’s cheeks burned. She hadn’t been present, of course, but Mr. Lupton’s carefully cultivated network of informants had served him well.

According to his notes, Miss Ashworth had been particularly forthcoming after a few glasses of sherry at a literary salon last month. The young woman had confided in someone she thought was a sympathetic widow, unaware that her whispered confessions would eventually find their way to Marina through Mr. Lupton’s meticulous intelligence gathering.

“Do you think…?” Miss Ashworth’s voice trembled. “Do you think he knows? That the Duke realizes the stories are about him?”

“If he does, he hasn’t said anything publicly.” Lady Thornley sounded thoughtful. “Though I heard he’s recently returned to London after years abroad. Perhaps that’s why.”

“Oh, God.” The rustle of skirts suggested Miss Ashworth had buried her face in her hands. “If he discovers it wasmewho shared such intimate details about our encounter three years ago, he’ll ruin me.”

“Nonsense. From what I understand, the Duke is most generous to his former lovers. Provided they remain discreet of course.”

“But I wasn’t discreet, was I?” Miss Ashworth sounded close to tears. “I spoke to someone. I must have. And now all of London is reading about… about things that should have remained private.”

Guilt shot through Marina. She hadn’t considered that her stories might cause such distress to the women who had unwittingly provided her with material. In her mind, they had been willing participants in the Duke’s scandalous lifestyle—women who, unlike herself, had experienced passion.

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