Page 11

He eyed her curiously, a smirk still on his lips.

“You will remember what else I told you. That you are to act as the perfect wife to me.” A raised eyebrow.

“The entire point of this marriage is to squash any rumors that might rear their heads, meaning we cannot afford for people to think that we married for any reason other than it was our own choice.”

“Then why this?” She indicated to the room and the chaos of the scene that Miss Pinpoint had left behind. “Da I need to dress in accordance with what ye perceive as necessary? Was me own wardrobe so off-putting that ye –”

“You do not like the new outfits?”

She sighed. “That is nae the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

Margaret didn’t have an answer for that. She supposed that all this was yet another example of her feeling powerless. Being treated as a mere object with no will of her own. She appreciated what the duke had done; she just wished she had been given a say or been told in advance.

“I might have liked to have kent ahead of time,” she said, albeit without any real enthusiasm because saying it out loud sounded immature.

“I am sorry,” he said, sounding like he meant it. “It won’t happen again.”

She frowned, not certain if he was in fact being genuine. “And it still daesnae answer why ye have bothered? If I am nae ta leave the house –”

“I never said that.”

“Oh… I just thought –”

“As I explained…” He approached where she was standing on the stool, putting himself only a few feet away.

And even though he was looking up at her, there was still that sense that he stood over her.

“We are to present a front that suggests to the ton that we are a happily married couple. That this was a planned affair. Meaning that while you are staying here, you and I are to attend the expected social events. Balls. Galas. Promenades, and the like.”

“We… we are?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “You are not a prisoner here, Your Grace –”

“Please,” she cut him off. “Call me Margaret.”

“Margaret,” he said with a smile. “As I was saying, you are not a prisoner. I hope you realize that.”

She was starting to very much. Not that this helped with her confusion, as she was still struggling to understand the man to whom she was married.

He was extremely calm in all things, proper and put together as any gentleman of the ton should be.

Rarely did he rise to anger. Rarely did he display any emotion…

except for when he is silently mocking me.

This marriage was obviously a hasty affair with an end date attached, but the way he was treating her almost suggested it might not be.

“Does that mean we will be attending the Mayfield Ball this week?”

“It does.”

She could not help but chuckle. “And ye trust me to do sa?”

“Should I not?”

Feeling strange standing over him, Margaret stepped down from the stool.

And although her hands still covered her breasts behind the shift, she decided right away that making the move to the floor was a bad idea.

It put her right in front of the duke. Less than a foot between them.

He did not move an inch, but his eyes looked her over…

lingering for a moment too long on her bosom.

“Well, ye da nae trust me with your daughters,” she pointed out, looking down and away from him. “So, why ye would trust me in the ton…”

“Yes, about that.” He considered her for a moment, and she could feel his eyes on her. It made her skin flush pink and her heart race. “It seems to me that I was wrong to suggest such a thing of you. Barring you from my daughters…” He sighed. “The logistics alone make it impractical.”

“So, that is why?” She snapped up her head and raised an eyebrow. She was not upset by what he said, as his logic made perfect sense. But Margaret was who she was for a reason, and seeing a chance to poke at his armor and unseat him was not a chance she could miss. “It has nothing to da with me.”

“I did not say that.”

“Ye implied it.” She raised both eyebrows. “Tell me, when we are at this ball, will I be with ye all evening, or da ye expect me to hide in the corner so I might not embarrass meself? And ye by extension?”

He did not answer immediately. His brow furrowed and he looked right at her. Through her, it seemed. It was as if he could read her mind. And as if I can read his…

“You have a nasty habit of seeing the worst in me. Do you know that?”

“Some may call me perceptive.”

“Not the word I would use.”

She scoffed, forcing herself to hold his probing stare. “And what would ye call it, exactly?”

His smirk grew, and she felt her heart race faster.

She had not meant to bicker with him. She had not meant to lead the conversation down this hostile path.

But again, she remembered what had happened the last time, where it had led to, and despite what she wished to believe about herself and her opinion of her husband, she knew, too, why she did it.

And from the look in his eyes, he knows the same.

“Temperamental,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Well, ye are –”

“And stubborn.”

“I am nae –”

“And outspoken.” Suddenly, he stepped in closer so that their bodies were touching. She reared back, the stool hitting her knees so she could not move. “Feisty. Free spirited. Possessed of a smart mouth and a sharp tongue that you seem incapable of controlling.”

“Who…” Her body was shaking, and all she wanted to do was turn around for the way he looked at her… “Who is saying I want to control it?”

He chuckled and moved his hand to her waist. She gasped and attempted to wiggle free, but he held on tight. “You’re going to have to learn. If you do not…” He clicked his tongue and flashed his eyes with hunger. “I cannot see this working.”

“Maybe I da nae want it to work.”

“Clearly,” he said. “But I do not care. You will learn to control yourself, or you might not like what happens when you don’t.”

Her heart beat so hard in her chest that it hurt her.

From where he gripped her, waves of heat rushed over her body so that her knees shook.

She could see what was on his mind. Yet she did not know why.

Daes he nae hate me? Daes he nae want nothing to do with me?

Perhaps that daesnae matter so much as I thought…

“Yes, well…” She widened her own eyes at him. “Guid luck with –”

And that was when he kissed her.

His head moved forward. His lips found her mouth.

His other hand reached up and held the side of her face so she could not pull away.

Not that she would have, for the moment their lips touched, Margaret’s entire body seemed to explode in ways she had never felt before.

It was like taking a breath of air after having been holding it her entire life.

It was like a flower opening to the sun.

It was like… it was like… I da nae ken how to describe it. Nor do I care…

Their lips parted, and their tongues danced. A moan escaped her lips. She did not know what to do with her hands, so she kept them by her sides, concentrating fully on the kiss because she did not want it to –

The duke stepped back suddenly. She gasped, her chest seizing from the shock.

“There,” he said with a coy smile. “That is one way to control your mouth, isn’t it?”

“I… that is nae… how dare –”

“Tonight,” he spoke over her. “You will join me and my daughters for supper.” A raised eyebrow, daring her to argue. “Unless you have somewhere else you need to be.”

“N – nae,” she stammered, her mind fractured from her body for she was still stuck on that kiss.

“Good,” he said. “I will see you then.” And with that, he turned and strode from the room, throwing the door open at which point Miss Pinpoint and her helpers swarmed back in.

And as for Margaret? She stood frozen. Mouth hanging open.

Eyes wide. Heart hammering. No idea what to make of what just occurred.

No idea what she should think or how she should react.

The only thing she did know was that she understood her husband about as well as she’d suspected she did. That was not at all.

But then again, it is nae as if I understand myself right now either. A very strange marriage indeed.