Page 103 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

"I was not aware you required a map," he said.

Margaret's lips twitched despite herself. There was the Pierce she knew. "And did you find a welcoming place to stay?" she continued, refusing to be discouraged.

His brow rose. "I stayed at an inn, like most travellers."

"An inn?" she repeated, turning slightly towards him. "How terribly adequate."

"I was not travelling for pleasure."

The answer should have relieved her, yet somehow it made her more curious. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked, softer now.

"I believe I am closer and closer to getting what I want," Pierce said, and the quiet certainty in his voice told her there was far more beneath those words than he intended to reveal.

Margaret sighed inwardly. She was getting nowhere. Every question seemed to strike an invisible wall, and Pierce appeared perfectly content to stand behind it.

She turned fully towards him. "Well, I am glad you have returned safely. All is well here at Ravenfield."

"Indeed it is," he said, his voice quieter.

"Then what brings you to my bedchamber?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "You could have summoned me to the parlor and…"

Pierce stepped towards her. The rest of her sentence vanished.

He moved slowly, deliberately, until the distance between them seemed to shrink with every measured step. Margaret's breath caught as his familiar scent reached her, warm and unmistakably masculine, carrying the faint trace of leather, fresh air, and something uniquely him. She hated how quickly her body recognized him, how her pulse began to race before he had even touched her.

Has he come merely to speak with me? Has he missed me? Or has he come because, like me, he had found the distance between us rather more difficult to endure than we wished to admit?

Margaret held her breath as he came nearer, her eyes fixed upon his. She could almost feel the memory of his kisses returning, and every sensible thought seemed to retreat beneath the anticipation gathering inside her. She had spent days convincing herself that she could manage perfectly well without him, yet now that he stood before her, she knew with humiliating certainty that she had been lying to herself.

Pierce stopped only a step away.

Margaret swallowed and lifted her chin, determined that if he intended to unsettle her, he would have to work for it.

"You have travelled a considerable distance," she murmured, attempting a teasing smile. "Surely you did not return merely to stand there and stare at me."

His eyes darkened. "No," he said quietly. "I did not. I came to tell you something."

Her heart gave one hard, traitorous beat.

Margaret suddenly wished she had never asked.

CHAPTER 25

She folded her hands before her, determined not to stare at him as though she had been waiting all evening for him to appear, and asked, "What have you come up to tell me, then?" Her voice sounded calmer than she felt, and she silently congratulated herself for that small victory.

Pierce regarded her for a moment before answering, his gaze travelling over her face with an intensity that made her wonder whether he had forgotten his own question.

"I came up to extend an invitation," he said.

She raised one eyebrow, fighting the urge to smile. "What sort of invitation?" she asked, stepping nearer to the dressing table as though the distance might somehow protect her from the effect of his voice.

It was absurd that she could now hear a particular note in his speech and immediately feel warmth spreading through her, especially when she had spent so much of their marriage insisting that she would not be affected by him.

"We have been invited to a masquerade ball," Pierce explained, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. "We have now been married long enough to move beyond a honeymoon period, so it is only proper that we make more social appearances together. I thought you might enjoy attending this ball."

Margaret blinked at him, astonished by the sheer seriousness with which he delivered the invitation. She was sorely tempted to remind him that the last masquerade ball she had attended had ended with her deliberately trying to ruin herself by kissing him in public, only for him to drag her away before she could accomplish it. The memory made her cheeks warm, and she nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of their first meeting, but one glance at his formal expression made the words die upon her lips. Perhaps he did not remember it with quite the same amusement.

"Very well," she said, smoothing the front of her gown with unnecessary care. "I accept."