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CHAPTER ONE

“ D id you sleep well?” a deep male voice spoke. It sounded distant, like a memory that refused to fade.

“Mmmm,” Margaret Lennox purred. “I did.”

“Comfortable, I hope,” the male voice asked her next.

“Very…” Margaret was half-asleep, her eyes shut tight, her body warm and cozy. With the blankets pulled over her, the pillows nice and soft, the air chilled but unable to penetrate the warmth of the bedding, she doubted that she had ever slept so well.

“Hmm,” the male voice said. “That just leaves me with one more question.”

Margaret snuggled deeper into the bed, wiggling her body and pulling the blankets up further.

She was caught in that space between waking and sleeping, no idea where she was or who was speaking, but caring not for the answers.

It might have been a dream for all she knew.

And as she felt herself drift further back into sleep, she was quite certain that it was…

“Who the devil are you?” the male voice asked sharply.

The change in tone jolted her. She felt movement from beside her, pulling back the blanket so the coolness of the morning air could be felt seeping through her shift.

A shudder ran through her body, bringing her further toward being awake.

Still not quite there, she pouted and reached for the blanket, wishing for this dream to change back to how it was.

“Well?” the male voice asked, angry now. “Or are you going to insist on feigning sleep?”

She came into herself suddenly.

It was like a bucket of water had been thrown on her, snapping her awake, dragging her into the world of the living.

Her heart seized. Her stomach dropped. And she snapped open her eyes to find a face she did not recognize looking down at her.

And, just as the tone had been, this face was one of anger.

“Oh!” Margaret balked to see this strange man staring at her, his face perhaps a foot or so away from where her head rested.

She sat up quickly, looked about in a panic, and realized in the moment that where she was indeed in bed, so was this strange man.

That panic grew, her mind raced, and she did the only thing which seemed to make sense in the moment; she took hold of the blanket, yanked it into her, and fell backwards from the bed with a loud crash.

“Ow!” she yelped as she tumbled onto the floor.

“Miss!” Whoever the man was, he jumped from the bed and rushed to her. “Are you hurt? Is everything –”

“Dinnae touch me!” Margaret cried, throwing out her arms and kicking up her legs to keep the strange man at bay.

He heeded her request and paused by the end of the bed, giving her time to jump to her feet.

In her rush and her confusion, she left the blanket on the floor.

“Wh – what is going on!” she blustered with bewilderment, looking about the bedroom, confirming it was just the two of them.

“Who are ye? What are ye daein’ in my room! ”

“Your room?” the man said. “This is not –”

“I was sleeping!” she cut him off, panic rising, the situation and how serious it was quickly dawning on her.

“And ye… where did ye come from? What are ye doing in here?” She widened her eyes at him, aware of how crazed she must have looked, but not caring.

If I am jammy, he migh’ think I am a loon and run in a gliff.

The strange man’s brow furrowed as he studied her. He stood with one hand extended, as if she were a skittish cat whom he was trying to calm down.

“Well?” she pressed him. Her eyes darted to the closed bedroom door, relieved because at least it meant they would not be happened upon. If that was tae happen… I cannae imagine the outcry! Then again, was being trapped in a room with a stranger any better?

“I will have your name first,” the man said, behaving with far more calm than she was. “And then, you can tell me how it is that you found your way into my bedroom.”

“Your room!”

“Yes.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “For this is my bedroom, Miss, meaning that you are the one who should not be here.”

“I…” Margaret opened her mouth to protest, only to find her words dying on her tongue because where she believed truly that this was her room and this strange man had forced his way in, even climbing into her bed with her, she knew also that she couldn’t be certain. I am never swallyin again.

She did not recognize the man standing before her, although that wasn’t surprising as this was not her home, making her a guest as she assumed he must be also.

He was of average height but possessed of a commanding presence and a natural authority.

Strong shoulders. Thick arms and a broad chest were noticeable beneath his loose nightshirt.

His features were dark and stern, his eyes darker still.

And where it was perhaps an odd thing to notice, considering the circumstances, he had a square chin and deep cheekbones, handsome in a classic sense.

“Your name,” he said again. “I will have it now. Although…” He studied her, his dark eyes roaming her body. She had on only a night shift, and she felt suddenly exposed, forcing her to cover herself with her arms. “With that accent you carry, perhaps a name is not necessary.”

“I dae nae…” She bent down quickly and lifted the blanket to cover her. “I dae nae ken who you think I am, but that disnae matter. Ye are the one who –”

“Miss Margaret Lennox, no?” he cut her off. “Sister to Her Grace, the Duchess of Rosehall. Unless there are more of you running about?”

“More of us?”

“That accent,” he scoffed. “You are from the Highlands, here visiting your sister, if my memory serves. Yes, I remember Sampson telling me of you. Although he failed to warn me, which he ought to have.”

“Warn ye?” she blurted, no idea who this man was or how he knew of her. “Warn ye of what?”

His expression turned dark. “Do not play me for a fool, Miss. Your histrionics might serve you well where you are from, but I will not be a party to them. Nor do I intend to fall victim to them, despite your valiant efforts.”

Margaret’s head was beginning to hurt. Surely, I did nae dream that muckle last night ?

A tumbler or two at most. Apparently nae…

Although she was certain she did not drink very much at all.

She had been careful not to! Not used to this part of the world or the people in it, she had not wished to drink too much and make a fool of herself.

It must have been the wine itself. T’was awfully sweet, which was why I only sampled a tumbler or two.

The strange man had his eyes narrowed, wary of her, as if he were the one who should have been concerned for this most precarious situation. Indeed, he even took a step back, a quick glance at the closed door as if he meant to escape.

“What are ye on about?” she demanded. “All I know is that I woke up to find ye in me bed.”

“My bed.”

She glared at him. “Explain yerself. Who are ye? And what are ye doin’ here?”

“Still playing the fool,” he scoffed. “As if you do not know that I am the Duke of Windermoor.”

“The Duke of…” Margaret’s face dropped, and she could feel the color drain from it as all the pieces fell into place. Oh no .

“And you, Miss Lennox, have seen fit to sneak into my bedroom as I slept, for reasons that I can only assume to be malevolent.” He fixed her in a stare that spoke of warning and mistrust. “You wish to trap me in a scandal, be found out, force my hand and drag me into a marriage of which I will have no choice but to accept, lest my name and title and reputation be permanently marred. Admit it.”

“Oh no…” Margaret’s stomach flipped, and she thought she might be sick; a sickness which had nothing to do with the excess wine she had drunk the previous evening. Some days one simply shouldn’t git out of the kip.

None of what the duke said was true, and that needed to be stated and then repeated.

Margaret had most certainly not snuck in here like a thief in the night with the intent of trapping the man in a scandal.

Of course she hadn’t! Unfortunately, that was where her confidence in the situation and how she had gotten here ended.

There was a good reason that Margaret hadn’t recognized the duke, and it had everything to do with her not being from here.

Here being London, or England for that matter.

She was from Scotland, her father a well-renowned laird, but also a baron, making her a technical member of the ton, even if she had little to do with it.

Her older sister, Catherine, was the reason she was here.

Last year, Catherine had married the Duke of Rosehall, had fallen pregnant, given birth, and then insisted that Margaret pay her and her husband a visit to see her newborn nephew.

A visit that Margaret was more than happy to pay them, as she loved children and wanted very much for her nephew to know her.

She had only been in town for a week when her sister and brother-in-law told her of a house party they had been invited to, dragging Margaret along as she was technically a member of the peerage and should thus get to know those who were her equals.

She had come begrudgingly, drunk too much sweet wine early, and then retired to what she had thought to be her bedroom and passed out within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

All that was to say that her waking up in the same room as the duke had been an honest mistake, assuming he was telling the truth! Somehow, to look at the sternness of his character, she doubted he was the type who would believe her story.

“Oh no, indeed,” the duke said.

“This is all a terrible misunderstanding,” she sighed, even laughed a little to try and break the tension. “I assure ye, I am not tryin’ ta trap ye in a scandal. Surely, ye da nae think I would do such a thing?”