Page 49 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

It was evening by the time the last of the guests had departed, and Margaret found herself walking beside Pierce towards the staircase, her hand resting lightly upon his arm. The wedding breakfast had seemed endless, filled with introductions, congratulations, probing questions, and enough conversation to leave her exhausted, yet none of it had prepared her for the quiet intimacy of being alone with her husband at the end of the day.

Her heart had begun pounding the moment they left the drawing room, and she could not stop herself from wondering.

Will tonight be the night Pierce expects me to fulfil the marriage? We had agreed that it would be a practical arrangement, but what if he has changed his mind? Does he expect consummation?

She glanced towards him and caught the clean, masculine scent of him, and the thought immediately became more troublesome than it had any right to be.

Pierce seemed entirely unaware of the turmoil inside her, or perhaps he was simply very good at pretending. His expression remained composed as they climbed the broad staircase, one hand resting casually behind his back.

"Did you have a pleasant time?" he asked, glancing down at her.

"It was pleasant enough," Margaret replied, attempting to sound indifferent.

"You performed your duties well as duchess," he observed, the faintest amusement touching his voice. "You met all the right people, smiled at all the right moments, and managed not to insult anyone important."

Margaret looked up at him. "I am wounded that you noticed only the last part."

"I noticed everything."

She decided she did not like the sound of that. "It was an exhausting day."

Pierce stopped before a door farther along the corridor. He turned towards her with that maddeningly calm expression and gestured towards it. "We have arrived at your room. Goodnight, Duchess."

Margaret stared at the door, then back at him. "Oh. Yes... Goodnight."

Pierce's brow lifted. "Were you expecting more than me escorting you to your room?"

"No," she replied too quickly. "Of course not."

Unfortunately, her gaze betrayed her by dropping momentarily to his mouth. She cursed herself inwardly. Of all the foolish things she might have done, staring at her husband's lips was surely among the least dignified. Pierce noticed, naturally. The man noticed everything.

He stepped closer.

Margaret's breath caught as he placed one hand against the door beside her and gently closed the distance between them. His other hand settled at her waist, not quite pulling her closer, but near enough that she could feel the warmth of him.

His voice lowered, thickened by restrained desire. "Are you certain about that? Because I would be happy to oblige."

Margaret's heart seemed to leap into her throat. "I..." She swallowed, suddenly very conscious of how little space remained between them. "No. I do not need anything from you."

She lifted a hand to his chest, intending to push him away, but the moment her palm touched him, she forgot what she had meant to do. Beneath the fine fabric of his evening coat, his chest was solid and warm, and her fingers lingered for one treacherous second too long.

Pierce looked down at her hand, then back into her eyes.

The amusement had disappeared from his face.

His gaze travelled slowly over her features, pausing at her eyes before dropping to her lips. Margaret felt the weight of his attention like a physical touch, and when his eyes lowered briefly towards the curve of her bodice, heat rushed into her cheeks. She should have moved. She should have removed her hand. Instead, she remained perfectly still, caught between wanting him to step away and wondering what would happen if he did not.

Pierce seemed to be fighting the same battle. For one breathless moment, neither spoke.

Then he stepped back. "Very well," he said quietly. "Goodnight."

Margaret blinked, scarcely believing him. He straightened his coat, restored his usual composure, and walked down the corridor towards his own chamber without looking back.

She remained where he had left her for several seconds before fumbling with the handle and entering her room. The moment the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and pressed a hand to her racing heart.

"What is wrong with me?" she whispered, staring at the ceiling.

She had spent days convincing herself that Pierce was dangerous, arrogant, moody, and possibly incapable of tenderness. She had promised herself that she would keep her distance and preserve her freedom. Yet the instant he stood too close, all her sensible arguments seemed to vanish.