The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M. Raven McAllan

time and it was over thirty minutes past the hour she usually left.

      Cake time, in fact. A situation brought home to her when the gentleman – and oh he was a gentleman, be him in country clothes or not – held a basket aloft and the children cheered.

      Mary stood up and curtseyed without making eye contact. ‘I’ll be off. I’ll see you next week, children.’

      The chorus of “yes miss, thank you miss, see you then miss,” reassured her. No one here linked her to her family, which was how she wanted it.

      ‘You’re not about to leave on my account, I hope,’ said the tall, dark and really impossibly handsome man who crowded her, even though he stood several yards away. He spoke suavely, and still had that intense look in his eyes. That insulting look which stripped her naked and showed Mary he thought of her as someone with whom he could play fast and loose.

      She shook her head, and ached to add, “you don’t figure large enough in my life.” Of course she didn’t, and responded lamely with… ‘Not at all, sir, I should be long gone.’

      ‘This is the Duke of Welland,’ Peggy Grey said quietly. A gasp ran through the assembled children, which echoed in Mary’s mind.

      That was all she needed. Mary had heard all about him and his ways. No wonder he had looked at her in such a way. She made the mistake of glancing at his face. The admiration and challenge in his eyes hit her with the force of a runaway carriage. He didn’t intend to let her run and hide easily. She curtseyed and did her best to ignore the humour in his eyes. Obviously he knew he’d unsettled her, and did not care one jot. She gave a curtsey to the perfect degree of deference. ‘Please excuse me, Your Grace. Please excuse me.’ She didn’t exactly run from the classroom, not quite, but his soft laughter made her want to.

      Mary was halfway home before she realised she’d left her basket and her hat behind. They’d have to stay in the teacher’s room until the following week. She had no intention of returning for them that day, or any day soon.

      Brody, the new Duke of Welland. She’d heard of him of course, who hadn’t. Even before she came out, her fellow pupils – at the exclusive school in Bath her papa had sent her to – spoke of his exploits in hushed whispers and giggles. One girl swore he winked at her and she swooned, another girl said he had propositioned her sister who had to be sent to Leamington Spa to recover. As his antics grew more outrageous so did the alleged meetings between schoolgirls and the rake. Not that most people believed them, although Mary thought most secretly wished it had been them on the receiving end of his attention. Strangely, by the time she’d left school and begun her brief time enjoying the delights of her first season, he wasn’t around and no one seemed to have any idea where he was.

      As far as she knew, whilst she and Horry were in the north of England this Duke’s father has been alive; he’d died not long before her beloved husband. But the duke hadn’t appeared back in Britain until recently, and to Mary’s knowledge this was the first time he’d been to the school.

      Suddenly, fiercely, she missed Horry and his common sense.

      If anyone had questioned her why she fell in love with a man forty years her senior, at the first ball she attended, she couldn’t answer. She just did, and in a bold manner so unlike her usual self had let him know it, in no uncertain fashion. It was her husband who held back and said it wouldn’t be fair on her to be tied to someone so much older, and Mary who pushed. People might comment that things like that didn’t happen, and before she met Horry, she would have agreed.

      Now she knew they did, but was under no illusions that it was the norm, and was sceptical she’d ever fall in love again. Horry was a hard act to follow and to be honest she didn’t feel so inclined. He had fulfilled her every need. Now, her life might be mundane but it suited her better than to be pestered and courted for her money, not her mind or personality. All she had to do was persuade her brother of that fact.

      Luckily, the Grange was hers, but Desmond, her brother, was her guardian until she was twenty-five. Another three years to go. Why Horry had insisted on that, she had no idea, but it was a fact she had to cope with.

      Desmond was a good brother and Patience, his wife, the perfect sister-in-law. But neither of them could comprehend that she might not want to be wed again. In both Desmond and Patience’s opinion, a woman needed a man to keep her safe and provide the children. A woman’s role was to bear said children, and support her husband however he wanted. Even if that meant staying in the background. However, to Mary, a woman needed a man for all those purposes plus some definite other reasons, many involving the pleasures of the flesh. An open and clear view of life had shown her marriage wasn’t necessary for that to be accomplished. Not that she’d actually found anyone she’d want to indulge with, but it was there in the back of her mind.

      A vision of the duke flashed through her mind and she shook her head with a wry laugh. He was one person not to tangle with. Instead, she judged he was the very sort of person Horry had warned her about. They’d known it was on the cards that Mary would outlive her husband, and he’d been assiduous in his efforts to ensure she was as savvy as possible and alert to all things that could affect her wellbeing.

      So far it had worked. Now Mary wasn’t so sure. She walked briskly up the short drive to her home and let herself into the peaceful house. She loved it, it was her sanctuary. From the snug parlour to the more formal drawing room and elegant dining room, every room reflected Mary’s taste. When she’d arrived several months before, the house hadn’t been lived in for years, and although it was clean and tidy, it was also tired. As if it was waiting for her to wake it up once more.

      With the help of Mr and Mrs Niven, the husband and wife team who had been caretaker and housekeeper to Horace for years, and Nettie, a local girl hired as a housemaid, the house was now warm, homely, and loved. Before she’d moved, Mary had decided to call herself Mrs Lynch, and just be a villager. Then once settled, and she was comfortable, she began to involve herself with village life.

      Now she took her turn on the church flower rota, did her stint at the school and was an active member of the ladies’ club. To some, her life must be seen as tedious and uninteresting in the extreme, but to Mary it was what she wanted and needed. Or had been, until one look from a pair of dark eyes reminded her of all she was missing.

      Damn him. Mary kicked off her shoes, replaced them with an old pair of half boots suitable for gardening, and wandered into the kitchen. At this time of the day, the Nivens were in their cottage and wouldn’t return for another hour or so, when it was time to prepare for and cook dinner. Plus, Mary trusted Nettie was at home chatting to her mother and hopefully enjoying her free afternoons.

      Mary went into the pantry and selected a ripe peach. It would hold her until dinnertime. She bit into the soft flesh and as juice dripped down her chin and the sweet scent assailed her senses, she sighed in ecstasy. They might only have a tiny hot house but it provided an abundance of fruit and vegetables, more than enough for her to have plenty to share. Mary made a mental note to take some of the bounty the following day to the elderly lady who was helping her to overcome the intricacies of tatting.

      For now though she’d enjoy the fruit, and then go and weed her lettuces.

      Sadly it didn’t put the duke out of her mind. It might have only been a brief meeting but she sensed his interest in her, or, she thought with a silent laugh, her bosom. It had obviously been an effort for him to look elsewhere. Well Horry had said it was a particularly splendid specimen, and presumably he knew such things. Her nipples tightened under her serviceable gown as she remembered the duke’s probing look and the way his eyes glowed.

      Mary sat back on her knees and sighed. Why on earth was she hankering after a man who had stared at her in such an audacious way? If only she could give him a piece of her mind. Not that she’d have the chance. She understood he was not a man to pit her wits against – she would surely lose. He might want her, but no duke – or as in this case, also lord of the manor – would, in Mrs Niven’s vernacular, play in his own yard

      Did the Grange count as that? She had no idea, but whilst he thought of her as a maiden,