Page 34 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Camelia stepped beside her and smiled at their reflections. "I think the Duke will approve."

Margaret's eyes met hers in the mirror. "I am not dressing for his approval."

"No," Camelia said knowingly. "Of course not."

Margaret sighed. "Do stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you know something I do not."

Iris laughed softly. "Perhaps we merely know you."

Margaret turned back towards the mirror. Tomorrow, she would walk towards Pierce. Tomorrow, she would become his duchess.

And despite every sensible argument she had made to herself, some small, secret part of her was beginning to wonder what it would feel like to belong beside him.

* * *

Margaret lay awake long after the household had fallen silent, staring at the canopy above her bed as moonlight slipped through the curtains. Sleep had abandoned her entirely. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Pierce standing before her in the library, heard his calm voice telling her that she would be his, and felt again the unsettling warmth of his kiss.

"This is absurd," she whispered to herself, turning onto her side. "I am to be married tomorrow, and instead of sleeping like a sensible woman, I am thinking about him."

She sat upright with a sigh. Husband. The word still sounded strange. Pierce Sterling was not merely some gentleman she could dismiss after breakfast if he irritated her. Tomorrow he would be her husband, and she would be responsible for his household, his estate, and most importantly, his one-year-old son. Margaret pressed her palms against her cheeks.

"The child," she murmured. "That is why I cannot sleep. I ought to meet him before tomorrow." She paused, then frowned at herself. "Yes. That is the reason. It has nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to see Pierce."

Margaret narrowed her eyes at the darkness. "Do not be ridiculous."

Yet the idea had taken root. She had agreed to marry Pierce because of Hugh, and if she was truly going to become the child's mother, she ought to see him before the ceremony.

It seems entirely reasonable. Sensible, even. The only difficulty is that sensible women did not usually sneak out of their father's house at midnight to visit their future husband's nursery.

Margaret threw back the covers. "Well, I have never claimed to be sensible."

She dressed quickly in a simple gown and wrapped a dark cloak around herself, hiding her hair beneath the hood. Her heart pounded as she crept through the quiet corridors of Lempster House. Every creaking floorboard sounded like a servant shouting for her father, but somehow she reached the back entrance without being discovered.

Outside, the cool night air struck her cheeks. Margaret hurried towards the stables, lifting her skirts as she crossed the courtyard. The driver looked startled when she appeared.

"My lady?"

"I need you to take me to Ravenfield House," Margaret whispered, glancing nervously towards the sleeping residence. "And please do not ask questions."

The driver hesitated. "At this hour?"

"Yes." Margaret climbed into the carriage and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. "It is terribly important."

CHAPTER 9

Pierce had long ago discovered that sleep was an unreliable companion, particularly when his mind had been given a problem it could not immediately solve.

Tonight, the problem is Margaret.

The irony was not lost upon him that he created this problem.

He sat behind the broad mahogany desk in his study, the lamps burning low while correspondence lay scattered before him, though he had been reading the same paragraph for nearly ten minutes without absorbing a word.

Tomorrow I will marry her. Tomorrow the woman who had first appeared before me dressed as Flora would become the Duchess of Ravenfield, and I still could not decide whether the prospect pleases me or threatens the careful order of my existence.