Margaret took her hand. The guilt was thick in her throat, for there was no excusing the fact that she had ruined her sister’s evening.
“Trust me.”
That stilled her. Within minutes they were moving toward the exit, their departure noticed by far more people than their arrival had been. Conversations quieted as they passed. No one spoke openly. They did not need to.
Margaret did not look toward the Duke again, but she felt his gaze follow her. The night air struck her lungs sharply as they stepped outside. The carriage was called for with haste, and Lady Fairleigh maintained her posture until the door closed behind them. Only then did she turn to Margaret.
“What occurred?” she asked, voice controlled.
Margaret stared at her gloved hands.
“We were seen,” she said.
Emily’s jaw tightened. Poppy’s eyes widened.
“Seen how?” Lady Fairleigh pressed.
Margaret swallowed. It was dreadful having to say it in front of her sisters, but she knew it was best that they heard it from her, rather than the rest of theton.
“Closely.”
Silence fell heavy inside the carriage. Margaret felt only the echo of the moment; the warmth of his hand, the near certainty of a kiss, and the instant it had transformed into something dangerous. By morning, London would have decided what it believed had happened, and belief was often more powerful than truth.
Regardless of what that truth was, it had ruined her.
CHAPTER 19
Nathaniel had not slept when dawn arrived.
Light spread slowly across the ceiling of his bedchamber, covering the floor that he had spent much of the night pacing. He lay still, replaying the terrace with merciless clarity– Margaret’s hand on his sleeve, the space between them vanishing, the doorway behind them filled with witnesses.
He had miscalculated, and she would suffer for it if he did not act. He rose before his valet knocked. Dressing required no thought; his movements were exact, stripped of distraction. A duke could withstand rumor.
Miss Margaret Fairleigh would not.
A knock sounded at the door just as he fastened his cuffs.
“Enter.”
Mrs. Hill stepped inside. She had managed Ravensmere House for years and possessed the steady composure of someone who observed much and commented rarely. Nathaniel appreciated that about her.
“You are awake early, Your Grace.”
“Yes.”
She studied him briefly.
“There has been talk.”
“I expected as much.”
“Shall the carriage be ordered?”
“It already has been.”
A flicker of approval crossed her face.
“Very well.”
