Page 6

“Ah, yes…” The duke smiled softly, and his eyes glimmered with love. Not that it was aimed at her. “My daughters. While living under my roof, you will be free to do pretty much as you wish.”

“So long as I behave,” she scoffed.

He ignored her. “The one thing I must insist upon is that while you are here, you stay away from my daughters. I cannot stress this enough.”

This had her frowning. “Ye… ye want me to avoid yer daughters?” She laughed. “Surely, ye are joking?”

“Do I sound as if I am?” He did not.

“But… but why?” She knew he had two daughters, for Catherine had told her as much.

She also knew he loved them, that he was a good father, and that he would do anything for them.

Again, all Catherine’s words. In truth, this had given Margaret hope, as surely a man who loved his daughters like that had a kind heart? At the very least, he isnae a monster.

“I do not wish to hurt your feelings,” the duke began. “But in this, I will not be budged.”

“Ye shuid know, I practically raised me younger sister and me brother. It is nae as if I da nae ken how ta –”

“That is not the point,” he spoke over her, and then sighed as if with regret.

“The simple fact is, my daughters are being raised as is expected of their station. Proper young ladies, bastions of their class and the titles they will inherit. When they are of age, I will see them marry good men, men who will clamor for them as their reputations will be unmarred and perfect.”

“Alright…”

“You have many good qualities, dear wife, but propriety and proper decorum are not among them.” He raised an eyebrow at her, a rebuke that she was not to argue against. “You are a bad influence, and I do not wish for you to tarnish their good names or sensibilities.”

“Ye…” She leaned back as if struck. “Ye think I will… that I will ruin them?”

“Not in so many words, but yes.”

Anger flooded Margaret in that instant. Fury. Disgust. That this man… this cold, dispassionate, hollow shell of a human who had forced her to marry him through trickery should judge her! That he should look down on her as if she were less than him! It infuriated her beyond reason.

“How dare ye!”

“It is not personal,” he said calmly. “It is just the way that –”

“Of course it is personal!” she snapped.

“And ta say otherwise insults us both. I understand well enough what ye think of me.” She laughed bitterly.

“But if it is yer daughters’ reputations ye are so worried about, perhaps ye ought ta look at yourself first. How far does the apple fall from the tree? ”

His expression darkened. “I would be careful what I say next.”

“Why? In case things get worse for me? What’s next? You’ll tell me how hackit ye think I am? That I smell? Please, what else can ye possibly da that has nae been done! Tell me that.”

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Be reasonable. Think of how we met. The precedence of that alone –”

“What are you doing,” she started up. “Tell me, when ye woke ta find me in yer bed, why did you nae leave? Why did ye wait for me ta wake?” She stood up to him. “I can’t help but think ye wanted to get caught.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed.

“And waiting for me to change me clothes,” she continued. “There was a perfectly good window in that room from which ye could have escaped. But nae, nae. Ye chose to remain. And ye accuse me of dastardly behavior. That is richer than honey.”

She was expecting anger. She was hoping for it! She hated how calm he always was. She hated that she was always the one losing her temper. Again, it was that perfect control, as if he were toying with her simply for the fun of it.

“I have been thinking a lot about that morning,” he began calmly, the anger gone. “And do you know what I keep coming back to?”

“What?”

Suddenly, he stepped toward her, closing the small gap between them. She gasped and had to stop herself from scurrying back, needing to assert some sense of confidence and control, even if she felt she had none. “How you were forced to climb over me to reach your side of the bed.”

“Wh – what?” She leaned back, and he took that as a chance to lean forward and over her.

“That’s right…” His voice dropped as he inched in closer, over her, his breath a whisper. “You knew I was there, didn’t you? You must have.”

“I… I did nae.”

“Perhaps it is normal for you…” His hand moved to her waist and grabbed it. She gasped, frozen. Not petrified. Not frightened. Simply stunned and without a sense of control. “Perhaps you saw me slip in earlier and decided to follow me.”

“I… I…” A lump appeared in her throat, and she began to shake. He was leaning over her so she could not see his eyes, only feel his breath on her neck as he continued to whisper.

“It matters not, really,” he continued, purring as his breath traced her skin. “But the point remains the same.”

“The… the point?” Her heart was racing, and her mind filtered between his hand on her waist and his breath on her neck.

“That you are not to be trusted around my daughters. And I trust that I make myself clear.” She did not answer right away, so he squeezed firmly on her waist, and she yelped. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Y–yes,” she stammered, her body burning now, her legs shaking.

“Good girl,” he said. “See, it’s not so difficult to behave. All one needs to do is find a way of controlling those pesky impulses of yours.” He laughed softly, his breath still tracing her neck…

And then he released her, took a step back, and straightened up. Back to his usual, calm self, he looked down at her, with no sense at all of what had just happened. No indication of what he had just done.

Margaret wished she could have said the same of herself. Her body was shaking. Her chest was burning. And her thighs tingled, her knees shook, and she could hardly breathe. What… how… what was that?

He smiled at her and indicated past her, toward the house. “Shall we?”

She could hardly think, and where earlier she had stopped herself because she wished to enter the home on her own accord, a final effort at taking some control in this marriage and her life, she knew now that control was one thing she did not have. Nor would she ever, by the looks of things.

Was he toying with her? Was he enjoying himself? Or did he simply know her better than he said he did, able to pull her strings and manipulate her very being as if she were a puppet? And all of a sudden, I feel even less prepared than I already was. That is to say, nae at all.

Shaking, still trying to regain her senses, Margaret stepped through the doorway and into the foyer of the manor as if she were being pulled by an unknown force.

“Welcome to Windermoore, my wife.”