Page 81 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Camelia caught her expression and narrowed her eyes. "You are thinking about him."

"I am thinking about this lovely meal."

"You are looking at that strawberry as though it has offended the Duke."

Margaret bit into it. "It has."

Pamela giggled. "Is he really as formidable as everyone says?"

Margaret hesitated. The answer was complicated. Pierce was certainly stern, commanding and infuriating, but she had discovered another side of him too. There was the man who held Hugh with unexpected tenderness, the man who had listened to her, teased her, and looked at her in a way that made sensible thoughts remarkably difficult.

"He is…" she began carefully, "very particular."

Iris smiled knowingly. "That is the polite version."

"He is sometimes impossible," Margaret admitted.

"And yet you blushed when we suggested you liked him," Camelia reminded her.

Margaret reached for her tea. "The room was warm."

Before Margaret could invent another excuse, Pamela suddenly sighed and placed her roll upon her plate. "Speaking of impossible men, I have been thoroughly annoyed by the Duke of Knoxford."

Iris looked interested. "Marcus Vale?"

Pamela nodded vigorously. "That very man."

Margaret had heard the name before. Marcus Vale was Blaise's twenty-three-year-old nephew, and if Iris's husband had ever mentioned him, it had rarely been with the tone one used when describing a model young gentleman.

"What has he done now?" Iris asked, lifting her cup.

"He exists," Pamela replied with great seriousness.

Margaret laughed. "That hardly seems grounds for annoyance."

"With Marcus, it is an excellent beginning."

Iris shook her head affectionately. "My husband has said he hears Marcus is a handful."

"A handful?" Pamela repeated, looking offended by the understatement. "He is a whole basket."

Camelia laughed behind her teacup. "What did he do?"

"He followed me through the ballroom at Lady Whitmore's assembly and insisted that I was avoiding him."

"Were you?" Margaret asked.

"Of course."

The three women laughed, and Margaret felt the last of her nervousness disappear. This was what she had missed, her sisters' teasing, Pamela's dramatic complaints and the freedom to laugh without wondering whether she was behaving as a duchess ought.

Yet beneath her amusement remained the strange knowledge that she had another home now.

Ravenfield. Pierce. Hugh.

She touched her teacup thoughtfully, surprised by the warmth that filled her at the thought of the little boy's smile.

The servants began clearing the table, removing the silver dishes and gathering the delicate china with quiet efficiency. Margaret watched them for a moment, strangely conscious that she had never imagined herself sitting at such a table discussing her household as though she had been mistress of it for years.