Page 27 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Margaret glanced down at it. "I was thinking."

"Dangerous," Camelia observed.

Margaret gave her a look. "I was considering whether it would suit my gown."

Iris's expression softened with understanding. "Your wedding gown?"

Margaret hesitated. "Yes," she admitted.

Camelia smiled. "Then you have accepted this marriage more completely than you realize."

Margaret looked back at the ribbon, suddenly unable to meet either sister's eyes.

Perhaps she had.

And perhaps the most dangerous part of marrying Pierce Sterling was not becoming his duchess.

Perhaps it was discovering that she was beginning to want to be his wife.

* * *

"Your Grace, Lord Harrowby has called upon you," Mrs. Norris announced, standing perfectly straight at the study door with the expression she reserved for visitors she considered particularly unpleasant.

Pierce looked up from the letter in his hand. "Harrowby?" The name alone was enough to sour his mood.

"Yes, Your Grace," Mrs. Norris replied. "He is waiting in the drawing room, and I confess I was tempted to tell him you had been called away to Scotland."

Pierce's mouth twitched. "You should have."

"I thought so," she said, "but I suspected you would prefer to deal with the nuisance yourself."

Pierce found Harrowby standing before the fireplace when he entered the drawing room. The man looked precisely as Pierce remembered him from the church, red hair, freckles, a severe nose, and an expression that suggested the world had been created specifically to deny him whatever he wanted.

Harrowby turned and bowed with exaggerated politeness. "Your Grace."

Pierce inclined his head. "Lord Harrowby." He gestured towards the chairs. "Sit."

Harrowby remained standing. Pierce took his own seat regardless. He had never understood why men believed refusing a chair somehow strengthened their position.

"I shall make this brief," Harrowby announced, folding his hands behind his back. "I have come to inform you that I will not release Lady Margaret from the contract."

Pierce regarded him steadily. "I did not ask whether you intended to release her."

"Then you misunderstand me," Harrowby replied with a smug smile. "That contract has existed for years. I have been waiting for my opportunity to enforce it, and I shall not surrender my right simply because you have decided you want the girl."

Pierce felt something cold settle behind his ribs. The word right, coming from this man, sounded almost obscene. Harrowby had been rescued by the very family he now intended to exploit, and he had repaid their kindness by attempting to claim their daughter as though she were an object left in an inheritance chest.

"You have an unusual understanding of gratitude," Pierce observed quietly. "The Wilmore family supported you when you had nothing. They gave you opportunities you squandered, and now you intend to repay them by forcing their daughter into a marriage she does not want."

Harrowby's expression hardened. "Sentiment does not alter a legal agreement."

"No," Pierce said, reaching for a document in his coat pocket. He set it upon the table. "But consequences can."

He pushed the deed across the polished surface. "You will sign this."

Harrowby approached it and stared at it. "I cannot."

"You can." Pierce's voice remained calm. "And you will."