Page 194 of Dukes for Dessert

Dizzy.

Oh, yes, undoubtedly dizzy.

Goodness. She was going to have to work at remedying such things—perhaps build him a small house elsewhere on the property, where she wouldn’t have to see him each morning for breakfast. Because then, how would she eat?

Even now, her stomach was in a roil.

Resisting the urge to fan herself, Margaret pushed away from the door frame, focusing her gaze on Philip Goodman, giving him a scolding glance. “At last!” she said, admonishing both.

“Do you gamble?” she asked her fiancé, without bothering to look at him. She snatched her gloves from the table and determined to wrest some measure of control.

“No, I do not.”

“Good.” She tugged on her white gloves. “Do you have any concerns at all over any of my provisions?”

He gave her a single, exaggerated shake of his head as she finally addressed him. “Not unless you’ve added something I’m not aware of.”

His voice was entirely too silky, and none of her questions had the least bit of effect to rattle him. His composure made her feel all the more hot and bothered. She longed to tug off her gloves and slap him with them, Mr. Goodman as well.

“Well… do you now have one, or have you ever considered acquiring a mistress?”

“Acquiring?”

“Well, yes, isn’t that what you men do—acquire things?”

He arched a brow. “No. No mistress for me,” he said.

“Well,” Margaret countered. “You’d best be considering it, Mr. Morgan. I am not in the market for a lover and this arrangement does not include the marriage bed.”

Both brows shot up at her plain-speaking, but Margaret didn’t give him time to respond. She turned to address her butler, keeping her gaze deliberately averted from Mr. Morgan’s face. “Please have the carriage brought about,” she directed him. “We’ve no time to waste.”

“Yes, mum,” Godfrey said, and he bowed as he took his leave, completely unaccustomed to her temper and looking bemused.

She turned again to address Mr. Goodman, all the while avoiding Mr. Morgan’s gaze, as she had already determined it to be most detrimental to her composure.

It would have been far easier to deal with him had he been a toad.

As for Mr. Goodman, she would cross words with him later.

“Come now. We must take our leave at once,” she apprised both, trying to maintain some measure of aplomb, despite feeling scattered.

“Lady Margaret, please forgive our tardiness,” Mr. Goodman appealed. He removed his hat, shaking it off, and clutching it before him as he said, “I’m afraid we managed to run into a bit of bedlam.” He peered up uneasily at his companion.

Although she had the urge to, Margaret didn’t follow his gaze. “Bedlam?”

Mr. Goodman’s brows lifted. “Well, yes, but no worries, Lady Margaret... ‘tis nothing for you to be concerned over. ‘Tis bedlam of a personal nature, I assure you. Quite personal—and tedious—and—”

“Never mind,” Margaret said. “I understand.”

“Thank you, mum,” Mr. Goodman said. “And now I should be pleased to have you make the belated acquaintance of Mr. Gabriel Ssss...” He received a very sudden, but discreet and rude elbow to the ribs. “Morgan!” he finished.

Margaret furrowed her brow. “Sssss Morgan?”

“No, just S,” Mr. Morgan interjected, and Margaret barely had the nerve to peer at him out of the corner of one eye. “Gabriel S. Morgan.”

Mr. Goodman’s face was flushed. He looked chagrined, as well he ought to be. “At any rate, I am so sorry for the delay!”

We’re all here now, aren’t we?” She smiled sweetly, turning to her husband to be.