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“I do not want you to feel alone in this home–your home,” he continued, his voice turning soft, his eyes turning regretful.

“I do not want you to walk on eggshells, afraid that one wrong thing done or said might see me lose my temper. And most of all, I do not want you to spend the rest of the Season existing in a state of uncertainty, worried you are doing the wrong thing, feeling a need to act out to prove your independence, not knowing what tomorrow might bring. This is your home, as much as it is mine. And…” He exhaled further; relief was evident on his face at having come to the end of his piece.

“And you should act accordingly. Whatever or however that might look like.”

Margaret stood frozen, her mouth half hanging open, her expression one of bewilderment, her mind railing against this apology as it was so sudden and unexpected that she could not say how she felt about it. Or if it was even real.

Where did this come from? What does he expect of me? And what shuid I say?!

She ran through the apology in her head, ignoring the probing eyes of the duke.

Biting her lip, she considered what he said the best she could.

It was an apology well overdue, to be honest. The right one, but no less confusing because of it.

It would have been better if he’d said this to her a week ago, before all the confusion had set in.

“I… I do nae ken what to say.”

“You do not have to say anything,” he said quickly.

“Just understand that I was wrong. I have seen how you treat the girls. I have seen how they adore you. And where I find some of your antics a little…” He chuckled.

“Odd for my liking, there is no doubt that you are not the agent of chaos I originally presumed.”

“How kind.”

She could not help but notice that he gave no mention of the future. The implication in his words was that he wanted this arrangement to take on a more agreeable course, yet it still seemed to her that he assumed she would be leaving at the end of the Season.

What this felt like to her was a peace offering aimed at creating stability.

He might not wish to remain married, but he did not wish to fight or argue or live in a constant state of tension.

Which I should be grateful for. Which I am grateful for.

As to how grateful… I suppose that depends on how serious he is.

“That is all you have to say?” he said with surprise.

“Well…” She hesitated, feeling the urge to respond sharply. But he was being kind, so she did her best to curb it. “I do nae ken what else to say. I appreciate the apology, and where it is perhaps a little overdue –”

“There it is,” he cut her off.

“There what is?”

He scoffed and shook his head. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to find fault.”

“I most certainly am nae findin’ fault.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, smirking as he did. “It is perhaps a little overdue? If that is not finding fault, I do not know what is.”

She huffed. “I was merely agreeing with ye, is all – and accepting the apology!” she cried. “It has caught me by surprise, is all. I am nae even sure what to make of it.”

“What is there to make?” he said. “I am sorry that I have caused you such confusion since you have arrived, and now I hope that will not be the case.”

“Confusion. That is what ye call it?”

“Yes…?” He tilted his head, sensing now that she had more to say, which she did. Where she wanted to accept the apology and move on, keeping the discourse civil, she also felt that pesky need to voice what was really on her mind.

“I appreciate that ye have admitted to the mixed messages ye have sent me since I arrived. And I appreciate that ye are willing to allow me to be meself and live in this home as if it is my own. However –”

“And here it –”

“—I still do nae understand what you want from me,” she spoke over him, widening her eyes at him in warning because he needed to understand that she was not being purposefully antagonistic. Not this time, at least.

“I just told you what I wanted.”

She scoffed. “Peace and stability, ye mean. A better way of sayin’ it is ye want me well trained. So I do not cause ye a headache.”

“That is not…” The edges of Lysander’s lip twitched with frustration. “That is not at all what I was implying.”

“It sounded like it to my ears.”

“I was apologizing,” Lysander said defensively. “I did not have to even do that.”

“And I accepted the apology,” she countered. “Although why I did, I cannae even say. You were not apologizing because ye felt sorry for me. Ye did it because ye felt guilty about how ye have treated me. Admit it.”

Margaret knew she was overreacting. This was, after all, what she wanted, wasn’t it? The duke to admit fault. For her to be given a new lease that might allow her to exist in this home without constantly worrying that one wrong thing said would see her chastised. She should have felt relief.

Yet there was a niggling feeling deep within that told her it wasn’t enough. It was a middle ground, but it changed nothing. Not really. Although, what do I even wish for? I am leaving come the end of the Season. Surely, a peace offering is the best I could be after?

Perhaps it was more to do with the man than the situation. Perhaps Margaret wasn’t upset with what he had offered, rather that she simply liked seeing him upset despite the absurdity of the cause.

“Of course I did,” Lysander huffed. “And I do not see how that makes a difference? I upset you, I felt guilty for it, and now I am saying sorry.”

“And then what?” she pressed, letting her annoyance take over simply because she liked the way it made Lysander bluster, forcing him to show strength. What am I even doin’? “I am still to leave at the end of the Season, I take it?”

Lysander blinked. “I… well, yes. Why would that change?”

Her eyes widened when she realized the mistake she had made. “It shouldn’t.” She looked away, cheeks turning red. “I mean, it does nae change anythin’. Of course I still wish to leave.”

Lysander watched her with amusement now, a smirk on his lips and a knowing look in his eye.

She had revealed too much, letting her pesky emotions get the better of her, and in so doing had given Lysander the upper hand.

And if she knew him half as well as she thought, he wasn’t about to let her get away with it.

“Your Grace,” he purred mockingly. “Do not tell me you are having second thoughts.”

“Of course not!”

“What is the matter?” he continued, voice dropping low. “Still thinking about that little kiss? I had no idea it had such an effect on you.”

She snapped her head up and glared at him. “Do nae flatter yerself. I… I would rather leave today than even think of kissin’ ye again.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

Margaret could feel herself growing as hot as she was flustered.

It was made worse when she met the duke’s eyes, seeing the amusement in them.

More than that, there was a sense of knowing, as if he could read what was on her mind.

Her lips began to tingle again with memories of that kiss, and Margaret wondered if it was worth turning and running now to save herself.

She did no such thing, of course. The duke continued to watch her.

She made herself hold his stare. Her pulse quickened.

She could feel the energy coming from the duke as it wrapped around her.

For all their fighting, for all their arguing, for how much they seemed to dislike one another, there was one thing, one desire, above all others keeping them together. And they both knew what it was.

“Then go,” the duke said as he stepped toward her. Into her. An act that might have seen her stumble back and run… if it were anyone else.

“You would like that, wouldn’t ye?” she snarled softly, standing up to him in a way she knew would drive him mad. “Save ye havin’ to make me leave yerself.”

“Still, I am confused. Does she want to stay? Does she want to go? I do not even think you know.”

“I know exactly what I want.”

“Do you?” His eyes flicked to her lips hungrily. “And what is it that you want?”

They held one another’s stares. They bared their teeth. They growled. They glowered as if trying to scare the other into submission. But neither would break. Neither would back down. And for that reason, they both knew exactly what the other wanted. The only way this conversation was going to end.

The duke acted first, stepping into Margaret fully, a hand grabbing her by the back of the head, and pulling her lips to his face.

It was not a surprise. Dammit, it was expected, which had Margaret giving in fully as her lips pressed into the duke’s just as her body seemed to melt into his powerful frame.

The kiss sparked the memory, which captured her arousal, and saw her embrace the kiss as if it was life itself. Ah… so this is what I wanted all along?

The duke’s hands wrapped around the sides of her face, holding her there as his tongue opened her mouth and began to explore her. Her hands were on his waist, holding him as if afraid he might pull back, not that there was any need, for the way he kissed her suggested he would never stop.

Passion. Fire. Intensity. His tongue licked and lapped the inside of her mouth. His lips pressed and sucked. His teeth nibbled. He held her and breathed her in, trying to swallow her whole. And Margaret, for how good the felt kiss, wanted to be swallowed.

Gone was her confusion. Gone was her internal struggle.

Gone were the lies, for this kiss dashed them to dust. She wanted the duke like she had never known was possible.

And in that moment, she was willing to do anything he wanted.

To behave. To misbehave. Whatever he desires of me. Truthfully, control is overrated…

There was a sense that the kiss was all that Lysander had intended, but it became clear quickly that it couldn’t possibly stop there.