Page 26 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

"It was a masquerade, Iris. Everyone was dressed provocatively."

"Was everyone proposing marriage afterwards?"

Margaret sighed. "No."

Camelia laughed, and Margaret gave her a warning look before picking up another ribbon. "I have accepted his proposal," she said, attempting to steer the conversation towards safer ground. "Though I am not entirely certain whether trading Harrowby for the Duke of Ravenfield is truly an improvement."

Iris stopped walking. Margaret turned towards her. "What?"

"The Duke of Ravenfield is attractive," Iris declared with complete seriousness. "Harrowby looks like a worn leather pouch."

Margaret stared at her. Then she laughed.

She laughed so suddenly and so loudly that several shoppers turned to look at them. Camelia covered her own mouth, though her shoulders shook with amusement.

"Iris!" Margaret protested, still laughing. "That is dreadful."

"It is accurate," Iris replied, entirely unrepentant. "I have never seen a man whose face appears to have been folded, stored in a cupboard, and forgotten for several years."

Camelia finally lost the battle and laughed aloud. "She does have a point."

Margaret tried to compose herself, though the image of Geoffrey as a neglected leather pouch had already lodged firmly in her mind. "You are both terrible."

"We are your sisters," Iris said, linking her arm through Margaret's. "It is our duty."

Camelia picked up a length of burgundy ribbon and examined it critically. "And there is another matter. Harrowby has no finances. He will use your dowry within a month, and then what? The man was in prison for God knows what. He is a terrible man. The Duke of Ravenfield is…"

Margaret's smile faded slightly. "What?"

"The Duke is stable," Camelia continued, her tone becoming more practical. "He has an excellent income, a substantial estate, and every advantage that comes with his title. You would never have to worry about money."

Did she try to hide something from me? I know that look.

There was something comforting about the certainty of it all. With Geoffrey, she had always imagined herself counting coins, protecting household expenses, and watching her inheritance disappear beneath foolish gambling debts. Pierce, by contrast, seemed to possess an almost intimidating command over every aspect of his life. He had money, influence, property, and the sort of authority that made other men step aside without being asked.

It ought to have been reassuring. Instead, Margaret found herself thinking about his eyes.

She turned towards another display of ribbons and reached for one that was a delicate shade of cream, threaded with tiny embroidered flowers. She held it against her glove and studied the colour. For one absurd moment, she imagined it woven into the details of a wedding gown. She saw herself walking down an aisle again, but this time there was no Geoffrey waiting at the altar. There was Pierce.

The thought made her heart give an unexpected little flutter.

She imagined his expression as she approached him, his dark hair neatly arranged, those remarkable mismatched eyes fixed upon her. She imagined standing beside him as his wife, carrying his child in her arms perhaps, and becoming the mistress of Ravenfield. The image felt strangely natural.

Margaret immediately lowered the ribbon.

What on earth am I thinking?

She had spent days insisting that this was a practical arrangement. She would gain freedom from Geoffrey, Pierce would gain a mother for his son, and neither of them expected love. That was the agreement.

Simple. Sensible. Entirely manageable.

So why had she just imagined her wedding day?

"Margaret?" Iris asked.

She looked up quickly. "Yes?"

"You have been staring at that ribbon for nearly a minute."