Page 4 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Margaret stared at him. "Prison?"

Bernard nodded miserably.

Margaret slowly lowered herself into the nearest chair.

The room appeared unchanged, the same familiar chairs, the same portraits upon the walls, the same fire burning quietly in the grate, yet everything suddenly felt foreign.

Geoffrey Harrowby was a name she had not thought of in years, and now her father had placed that name directly between them as though it were a sentence already passed. For years, Geoffrey had been nothing more than an unpleasant memory. He had once been her grandfather's ward, until he gambled away the fortune and support he had been given and eventually ended up in prison.

Margaret opened her mouth to demand an explanation, but the drawing-room door opened before she could utter a word.

The butler appeared in the doorway. "Lord Harrowby has arrived, my lord," he announced.

Margaret's stomach dropped. Bernard's face went pale, while Margaret turned slowly towards the door, unable to understand how the man they had just been discussing could possibly have appeared at precisely that moment.

Geoffrey entered without waiting for another invitation. He had changed considerably since Margaret's childhood, though there was nothing about him that inspired comfort. His red hair was untidy, his face was covered with freckles, and his severe nose gave his features an almost perpetually unpleasant cast.

Prison had hardened him rather than humbled him, and there was something cold and crude in the way he surveyed the room, as though he had returned not to ask permission but to collect something he believed belonged to him.

When his eyes settled upon Margaret, his mouth curved into a smile that made her skin crawl.

"Lady Margaret," he said, crossing the room before bowing before her with exaggerated politeness. "There is no need for secrecy anymore."

Margaret stared at him.

"The church has already begun announcing our banns," Geoffrey continued, straightening slowly. "I only regret that I have not seen my bride there myself."

The room seemed to tilt. "What?" Margaret asked, gripping the edge of the chair. "What is the meaning of this?"

Geoffrey chuckled softly. "Surely your father has explained the matter."

"He has explained nothing that would lead me to believe the banns would be read," Margaret replied, forcing herself to stand despite the weakness suddenly spreading through her legs.

"A Wilmore bride was promised to me by contract," Geoffrey said, looking almost amused by her distress. "And after all these years, I have finally come to claim what was agreed."

"You cannot simply claim a person," Margaret snapped, though her voice trembled despite her effort to keep it steady.

"Cannot I?" Geoffrey asked, lifting one eyebrow.

Bernard rose abruptly. "Geoffrey, that is enough."

The young viscount barely glanced at him. "Your father did everything he could to delay me, my lord. I have been patient. He kept me away from Margaret for years, but the time has come to honor the agreement."

"Iris and Camelia are both married," Geoffrey continued, turning his attention back to Margaret. "That leaves you as the remaining Wilmore daughter." His smile widened, and Margaret felt a wave of disgust rise in her throat. "It is rather a fortunate arrangement, is it not? And you always liked me when you were a girl."

Margaret stared at him in horror. "I most certainly did not."

Geoffrey laughed. "You were always watching me."

"I was watching you because I was afraid of you," Margaret retorted, her old wit returning despite the terror twisting inside her. "I had no interest in you."

Bernard stepped between them. "Nothing has been settled yet," he said firmly, his gentle voice carrying more authority than Margaret had ever heard in it. "You may have your contract, but there are still matters to be addressed. You have one week before anything can proceed."

"One week?" Margaret repeated faintly.

Her father looked at her apologetically.

Geoffrey smiled. "You see? I am doing you a kindness by preparing you for the inevitable. Your family has hidden the truth from you, whereas I have decided you deserve honesty." He adjusted his coat with infuriating calm. "I am considerably more compassionate than they have been."