Page 89 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Margaret opened her mouth, but no answer came. She hated that he had asked because she did not know. She did not want to kiss him. She told herself that firmly. She simply did not want to move away either.

Pierce suddenly stepped back.

The loss of his warmth was strangely disappointing.

He gathered himself with visible effort and reached for the library door. "Read whatever you like," he said stiffly. "But I expect you to use some judgement."

Margaret folded her arms. "I always use judgement."

He glanced back at her. "That is debatable."

"So is yours."

His mouth curved faintly, but his eyes remained guarded. "Goodnight, Duchess."

"Goodnight, Your Grace."

He left. Margaret waited until the door closed before releasing the breath she had been holding. She stared at the books on the table, but she no longer had the slightest idea which stories she had been considering.

She touched her fingertips to her lips and immediately dropped her hand.

Ridiculous.

She was married to the most infuriating man in England, and somehow their arguments were becoming more dangerous than their silences.

Does this have to do with what Lady Darren said? Is Hugh’s mother not Lady Augusta?

Margaret gathered the books into a neat stack and shook her head. Tomorrow, she decided, she would avoid him. It was a sensible plan.

Unfortunately, sensible plans had never been particularly successful in her marriage, and she found herself marching toward the door instead.

He thinks he can hide the truth from me? I'll show him.

* * *

Pierce stormed down the corridor with his jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, furious with himself for allowing Margaret to unsettle him so completely. He had walked away from the library because remaining there another moment was too much of a test for his restraint, yet every step he took only made the memory of her standing before him more vivid.

The warmth of her, the challenge in her dark eyes, the brief moment when their faces had drawn close enough for him to imagine the taste of her lips; it was all still there, tormenting him. He had spent years mastering himself, and now one stubborn woman with a talent for argument had reduced his celebrated restraint to something perilously thin.

"Your Grace!"

He stopped at the sound of her voice and slowly turned, surprised to see Margaret hurrying towards him from the library. She gathered her skirts as she walked, her expression determined and her eyes bright with irritation.

Pierce stared at her for a moment, wondering whether she had followed him merely to continue their argument, and some unreasonable part of him hoped she had.

"What is it now?" he asked, his voice deliberately cool as she approached.

Margaret stopped several feet away and placed her hands upon her hips, looking entirely too composed for a woman who had just chased her husband down a corridor.

"You are not going to run away from me," she declared, lifting her chin.

Pierce raised an eyebrow. "You are making demands of me?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation, and the certainty in her answer almost made him smile. "I have questions that you never allow me to ask."

He folded his arms across his chest and studied her. "Very well. Ask them."

Margaret's confidence faltered for the briefest instant before she gathered herself again. "I want to know about Augusta," she said more quietly. "Your late wife. What happened to her?"