Page 66 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Nathaniel's grin widened. "There he is. There's the debauchery I recognize… even if it is for your own wife."

Pierce ignored him. "I do not particularly like the fact that she makes me break my own rules. Yet I find myself rather entertained by the possibility that she is beginning to break hers as well."

The servant arrived and set down a breakfast before them. There were sausages in a thick gravy, roasted potatoes, and bread. A steaming pot of tea was set alongside it.

"Is that all, Your Grace?" the servant asked.

"More port," Nathaniel answered for him.

Pierce nodded his head in agreement. Considering what he was dealing with, he could use another drink. Possibly several.

Pierce sliced into his breakfast with a famished hunger. He had not realized that last night's incident had given him an appetite.

"Hungry?" Nathaniel asked.

Pierce slowed down, "I'm merely thinking," he said to recover his obvious folly.

"About?" Nathaniel asked.

"What to do about Margaret's constant disobedience. She is meant to be an arrangement and therefore not have any say in the household, but she thinks otherwise," he said.

Nathaniel pointed at him with his glass. "You are so accustomed to having everyone obey you that you have not considered what happens when your duchess decides to become even more difficult."

"She is already difficult," Pierce.

"And if she retaliates by refusing to let you enter her bedchamber?"

Pierce went still.

Nathaniel's grin became positively wicked. "I believe, Your Grace, that you may discover you do not enjoy losing quite as much as you pretend."

Pierce slowly lifted his glass, his expression unreadable, though the faintest smile returned to his mouth. "Then I suppose," he said, "we shall have to see which of us is more stubborn."

Nathaniel laughed again, and Pierce said nothing more. Yet beneath his calm exterior, he was already wondering precisely how far Margaret would push him, and, more dangerously, how far he was willing to let her.

* * *

Margaret entered the breakfast room the following morning and stopped just inside the doorway when she realized, with growing horror, that she had slept extraordinarily late.

Sunlight had already flooded the tall windows, illuminating the polished table and the silver laid out for breakfast, and several servants were moving quietly about the room. Her cheeks warmed as an unpleasant thought occurred to her.

Did everyone in the household hear me the previous night?

She could still remember the quiet intimacy of Pierce's study, the warmth of his voice, and the fact that she had let him pleasure her.

Good heavens, I am a wanton woman.

She took her seat and tried to appear perfectly composed, though she was anything but.

"Where is His Grace?" she asked, reaching for the teapot with far more dignity than she felt.

The nearest servant lowered his eyes, wisely deciding that this was not a question he ought to answer, and Margaret immediately called for Mrs. Norris.

The housekeeper arrived moments later, her expression calm and entirely too knowing for Margaret's comfort, and gave a polite curtsy.

"The Duke departed for business about an hour ago, Your Grace," Mrs. Norris explained, approaching the table. "He left instructions that I was to give you his message when you appeared."

Margaret stared at her. "Instructions?" she repeated, setting down her teacup. "How very thoughtful of him. I do hope he remembered to leave instructions regarding the weather as well."