Page 198 of Dukes for Dessert

Margaret’s heart thumped as she awaited an explanation. And while she waited, she noticed Gabriel didn’t bother to arise from his reclined position—so rude!

His manners were atrocious, and it didn’t matter that half the men she’d encountered were equally self-involved and dismissive. For some reason, his rudeness grated on her all the more—perhaps because she was about to bind herself to him inextricably. His gaze was unreadable through the shadows.

“I do have one requirement of my own.”

She lifted her chin, repeating the word. “Requirement?”

“A perfectly harmless one,” he reassured. “But a requirement, even so.”

Capital! Margaret thought, her hackles rising. She’d taken such care not to call her own such demands requirements, rather concerns, and perhaps it was all a matter of mincing words, but he clearly felt no such obligation to finesse his own.

He likely wanted more money. That’s what they all wanted—money. And, of course, the cad would wait until they had scant-few hours remaining—so was that his plan all along? Wait until he had her boxed into a corner and then make unreasonable demands?

But then another thought occurred to her: Was this why Philip was in such a tizzy? Did he realize what this man intended?

Her sarcasm couldn’t have been more evident. “What requirement?”

His teeth flashed white. “Well, you see, it occurred to me… just now... as you were ogling my mouth—”

Margaret gasped. “Sirrah! I was not ogling your mouth!”

“—That I should very much like to kiss you... and yes… I do believe you were ogling, Lady Margaret. To ogle is to gawp, and you were most certainly gawping.”

Horrified, Margaret inhaled sharply. She had, in fact, been staring, but she couldn’t very well admit such a thing. She withdrew trembling fingers from her lips, forcing her gaze to meet his, only to discover that they were twinkling with an unsettlingly familiar light. “How dare you make such a rude demand!”

One brow lifted. “Rude? Because I long to kiss my bride?”

Margaret’s heart began to hammer in earnest. Bride? Was she blushing? Her face felt mortifyingly hot. Sweet lord—he wished to kiss her? The thought left her reeling. “You take this too far, sir. And no.” she said, shaking her head. “The answer is no. You are in no position to make demands.”

“But, of course, I am,” he answered easily. “You need me.”

Margaret glared at the other occupant of her coach, his posture entirely disrespectful, and his request even more so, but, yes, it was true; she did need him. And yet, she was far too angry right now, and much too offended by his impertinence to concede that fact.

For just one infuriating moment, she had the inclination to pound on the roof of the carriage and demand the driver take her home and cast this man off on the side of the road. But, really, there wasn’t time enough for theatrics. One way or the other, she was on her way to Gretna Green with this… miscreant… whose arrogance she couldn’t abide. Margaret continued to glower at him, unsettled by their scandalous exchange.

“Mr. Morgan. You should have spoken up long before now to voice your unreasonable demand—as any gentleman might have done.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head at her. “I’m sorry. Did Mr. Goodman mislead you? I thought you required a commoner? Everyone knows we commoners have no couth.”

“Yes, but—”

“Regardless, I don’t find it unreasonable in the least to wish to kiss my bride.”

“But sir… I am not your bride.”

“Of course, you are—or will be—as soon as we reach Gretna Green.”

Flustered now, Margaret straightened in her seat. She didn’t know any other way to address this issue than to speak candidly. “We are both quite aware that this is a marriage of convenience, sirrah. A kiss is only reasonable between lovers, and we are not lovers—nor shall we ever be.”

“I see,” he said, and managed to appear a scant injured by her vehemence—how dare he make her feel like a shrew for having to point out the facts. He exhaled deeply. “Apologies, madam. Your beauty blinded me, and I somehow forgot.”

He straightened in his seat, stretching out his long legs before him, his tone hardly matching the nature of his words. “Thank you for reminding me,” he said. “But, in any case, I see now that the prospect distresses you, so, please forgive my rudeness.”

He thought her beauty blinding?

She didn’t want his inappropriate compliment to distract her from her anger, but it did. “It does not distress me,” she countered, her cheeks burning with chagrin. “I merely find your approach distasteful, Mr. Morgan.”

“Do you?”