Page 123 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Margaret's expression softened, and Pierce drew her closer until she stood between his knees. He looked at her and felt something inside him settle. For years he had believed his future would consist of duty, solitude, and the careful management of Ravenfield. Elegant, respectable, but empty. Now there was Margaret, laughing at him, challenging him, loving Hugh, and somehow making a family out of all the broken pieces he had thought could never fit together.

He lifted her hand again and kissed her fingers. "Goddess Flora," he murmured, "I believe you have saved me as much as I have ever saved you."

Margaret smiled and touched his cheek. "Then perhaps we are meant for each other, even if this started as a mere arrangement."

Pierce turned his face and kissed her palm, allowing himself, for once, not to think about the next threat or unanswered question. Ophelia was safe for the moment. Hugh was upstairs with the aunt who loved him. Margaret was beside him. And perhaps that was enough for one evening. For the first time since he had begun his search, Pierce allowed himself to believe that his family might not merely survive the secrets of the past. They might finally become something stronger than them.

EPILOGUE

By the time the household had settled for the night, Margaret felt as though the day had lasted a month. After showing Ophelia to her new room, she had watched the young woman’s nervous smile turn into something warmer when Margaret assured her that Ravenfield was now her home.

Pierce had said little, but Margaret had seen the quiet determination in his expression. Ophelia would not be sent away. She belonged here, and so did Hugh’s aunt, whether society approved of it or not.

They had then gone together to the nursery, where Hugh had received his goodnight kisses with considerable impatience, apparently believing that sleep was an unreasonable interruption to his evening. Margaret had kissed his soft cheek twice before Pierce had gently drawn her away, promising their son that they would see him in the morning.

Now, at last, they were alone in their shared bedchamber. Margaret climbed sat on the bench before the hearth and settled against the pillows, watching Pierce remove his coat with the calm efficiency that seemed to accompany everything he did. She smiled as he glanced towards her and caught her staring.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," she replied innocently, though her smile betrayed her. Pierce gave her a suspicious look before coming to sit beside her, and Margaret shifted closer until her shoulder rested against his.

"You are staring," he murmured.

"I like looking at my husband."

His mouth curved. "A dangerous habit, considering your husband is accustomed to being admired."

She gave him a playful smile. "Do not flatter yourself, Your Grace. I was merely confirming that you still have two eyes."

"And yet," he said, "you seem particularly fond of them."

Margaret laughed softly, but after a moment her expression became more thoughtful.

"I have a confession to make."

Pierce immediately turned towards her, his amusement replaced by interest. "A confession?" he asked. "Now I am intrigued. Go on."

Margaret hesitated, suddenly finding the ceiling fascinating. "Lady Darren suggested that you might have a mistress."

Pierce's brows rose. "Did she?"

Margaret nodded. "She also told me that Hugh was not Augusta's son, but the son of this mistress." Her cheeks warmed as she continued. "I refused to believe her, of course. I put her very firmly in her place."

Pierce's mouth twitched. "I have no doubt that you did with that silver tongue of yours."

"I did," Margaret assured him, pleased despite herself. "She deserved it."

Her confidence faded as she admitted the rest. "But when you kept leaving Ravenfield, I thought perhaps your personal affairs that you were attending to could be this mistress after all." She lowered her eyes. "I am sorry. I should not have allowed my suspicions to get the better of me."

For several seconds Pierce said nothing, and Margaret feared she had made a terrible mistake by confessing it. Then a slow smirk appeared upon his face.

"That explains much about your behavior when I was leaving. I rather like the idea of knowing that it was because you were jealous."

Margaret looked at him in disbelief. "You do?"

"Very much." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "It does explain so much about your foul moods."

She gasped and struck his arm with the pillow. "My moods were not foul."