Page 45 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

CHAPTER 11

Later, Margaret stood in the quiet corridor with her father, watching wedding guests drift around the house. The noise of the wedding breakfast had softened behind the closed doors, leaving only the occasional burst of laughter and the distant clink of silver being gathered by the servants. For the first time all day, Margaret had a moment to breathe, and with that breath came the uncomfortable realization that she would not be returning to Lempster House that evening.

She looked at Bernard and tried to smile. "Well, I suppose this is goodbye, Papa, since I shall not be living in our home anymore."

Bernard's expression immediately softened, and he reached for her hands, enclosing them between his own.

"Marriage will never change the fact that you are my little girl," he said quietly, his voice carrying the tenderness that had always made Margaret feel safe. "You may become a duchess, command servants, own half of London, and terrify an entire household merely by raising an eyebrow, but you shall always be my Margaret."

She laughed despite the ache gathering in her throat, and he brushed his thumb gently over her knuckles before continuing, "And no matter where you live, I shall always make certain you are safe. If you need me, you send for me. I do not care whether you are at Ravenfield, Scotland, or the other side of the world."

"You would come?" Margaret asked, blinking rapidly.

"I would come," Bernard promised without hesitation. "I might complain about the journey, naturally, but I would come."

A tear slipped down Margaret's cheek before she could stop it, and she laughed softly as she wiped it away. "You are a very good father."

"I have tried to be," Bernard replied, looking almost embarrassed by the praise. "Though I have made mistakes."

Margaret stepped forward and embraced him, resting her cheek against his shoulder as she had done when she was a child. "You saved me when you could," she whispered. "That is what matters."

Bernard wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. "I love you, my dear. Never doubt that."

"I never have. I will always protect you."

The moment might have remained private had a deep voice not interrupted them from behind. "As my duchess, Lady Margaret will always be protected."

Margaret turned and found Pierce standing a few paces away, his expression composed but his eyes unexpectedly serious. She had grown accustomed to his imposing presence, yet there were moments when he seemed even more formidable than usual, particularly when he spoke in that calm, authoritative tone that suggested the world had very little choice but to obey him. Bernard released his daughter slowly and faced the duke.

"I shall hold you to that word, Your Grace," Bernard said, extending his hand.

Pierce took it firmly. "You may."

The two men shook hands, and Margaret watched them with a strange mixture of amusement and affection. Her father looked as though he were handing over the keys to a fortress rather than his daughter, while Pierce looked as though he had just accepted responsibility for guarding it.

"I believe," Pierce said, releasing Bernard's hand, "that my new duchess and I must speak to several people before they leave."

Margaret sighed. "Must I?"

Pierce offered his arm. "You are a duchess now. Apparently, you must do many things."

She placed her hand upon his arm. "I am beginning to regret accepting the position."

"You accepted it willingly," he said.

"I was under considerable emotional pressure," she said with her chin held high.

"Was that your excuse?" he arched a brow.

"It shall be, until I think of a better one." She playfully smiled.

Pierce's mouth twitched, and he led her towards the drawing room. As they walked, he leaned slightly towards her, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

"Of course, I cannot guarantee that you will remain protected if you choose to flee," Pierce said.

Margaret turned her head just enough to look at him. "Then do not give me a reason to flee."

His eyes flickered towards hers, and for a moment neither spoke. Margaret felt the familiar flutter in her stomach and immediately blamed the champagne.