Page 75 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Margaret studied him, and then, with astonishing simplicity, said, "Then it is no wonder you are so rigid."

Pierce looked at her sharply, but she did not appear frightened by his expression.

"You never had a woman's gentle presence in your life to show you that it is all right to reveal your softer side," she continued, her voice gentle rather than accusing. "You were raised to be an heir, to perform your duty and never show weakness. You simply never learned how to be anything else."

Pierce said nothing. No one had ever spoken to him like that. People had called him cold, severe, arrogant, ruthless and, on more than one occasion, cruel. He had accepted most of those descriptions because they were easier to carry than sympathy. But Margaret had looked at him and somehow found something beneath all of it, something he had spent years convincing himself did not exist. She had not called him good, nor had she excused his faults, she had merely suggested that there was another explanation for the man he had become. It unsettled him more deeply than an accusation ever could.

"You seem remarkably certain that I possess a softer side," he finally said, his voice deliberately dry.

Margaret smiled sleepily. "I have seen it."

"When?" he asked, genuinely curious. Her eyes were already closing. "With Hugh," she murmured. "And sometimes with me."

Before Pierce could formulate an answer, her breathing had changed. He looked down and realized she had fallen asleep against him. For some reason, he did not move her. He simply remained there, watching her face in the flickering firelight, studying the loose strands of dark hair across her cheek and the peaceful expression that replaced her usual determination. He had intended to stay only a few minutes, yet the minutes stretched into something longer. There was something deeply disarming about seeing Margaret without her sharp tongue or challenging gaze. She looked softer and entirely trusting.

Eventually, Pierce carefully eased himself away and rose from the bed. His attention fell upon the collection of boxes near the dressing table, and curiosity got the better of him.

How many frocks could she possibly buy in one day?

He crossed the room and lifted the lid of the nearest one. Inside were tiny garments, little socks, a soft knitted bonnet and several other things clearly intended for Hugh.

Pierce stared at them, then found himself smiling. Margaret had been shopping for his son. Not because he had ordered her to, but because she had thought of the boy herself. The smile lasted only a moment before he frowned at his own reaction.

"What the devil am I doing?" he muttered, closing the box carefully.

I did not marry Margaret for affection. I had not invited her into my life because I wanted companionship.

The arrangement had been simple from the beginning: she needed freedom, he needed a duchess, and Hugh needed a mother. Yet lately, every simple rule seemed to become complicated whenever Margaret was involved. He had meant to break her rules because she broke his, to teach her that neither of them could expect to have everything precisely as they wished.

That is all. It has to be all.

Pierce glanced back at the sleeping woman before quietly leaving the room. He closed the door behind him and stood in the corridor, his jaw tightening as though sheer force of will could restore the distance he had intended to keep between them. Margaret had already begun changing the household, changing Hugh, and, much to his irritation, changing him.

He walked away with a dark expression, determined to put an end to such foolish thoughts.

Before the thoughts become something I can no longer control.

* * *

The next morning, Margaret awoke to discover that the perfectly brushed hair Pierce had so carefully arranged the night before was now an unruly tangle around her shoulders.

The memory of their deliciously intimate evening returned with startling clarity, bringing warmth to her cheeks before she realized the space beside her was empty.

"Pierce?"

Pierce was gone. She stared at the rumpled sheets for a moment, then forced herself from the bed and began dressing, determined to ignore the strange little ache of emptiness inside her.

"It is better this way," she told herself firmly. "It is safer.”

She got dressed and started on her day. Half an hour later, she found Pierce already waiting in Hugh's nursery, looking as though he had been awake for hours and had never once entertained the possibility of dishevelment.

Margaret paused at the doorway, her cheeks warming at the sight of him before she quickly composed herself.

"Good morning," she said, smoothing her sleeve as she entered.

Pierce glanced towards her. "Good morning, Duchess."

She looked at the sleeping child. "Did you sleep well?"