Chapter 24
Margaret slipped toward a shadowed alcove near the tall windows, half-concealed by the sweep of heavy draperies. She drew a steadying breath, trying to calm the pulse that still raced from the waltz, when she felt a presence behind her—a hand brushing lightly, too deliberately, against her arm.
She turned, and her stomach dropped. A gentleman, his smile smooth and dangerous, stepped closer than propriety allowed.
“Duchess of Ravenscourt,” he said, voice low and mocking, “how very brave of you to slip away from the crowd. Alone… quite daring, isn’t it?”
Margaret’s pulse jumped, and her hand lifted instinctively toward him, though she did not step back. “I am quite capable of navigating the ballroom, sir. There is no need for assistance.”
He chuckled, a dark, unpleasant sound. “Ah, but one can see why you might need it. So quick to fluster, so tense… There’s a fire about you, isn’t there? They say the Ravenscourt Duchess is… cursed, in a way. Mad, some call it. I wonder if it is true. Are you, perhaps, mad?”
Margaret’s stomach turned, a flicker of fear threading through her irritation. She lifted her chin, trying to steady her voice. “I am very much myself, sir. I suggest you step away before my husband finds you lingering so… personally.”
He tilted his head, his eyes raking over her face. “Ah, yes… your husband. Sebastian, is it? I imagine he is… formidable. But would he care for you, mad or cursed as you are? Or does he merely tolerate your fire?”
Margaret’s pulse surged with alarm. She tried to put space between them, but he mirrored every step, his presence pressing in on her. “You would do well to leave. Now. Or I assure you, you will regret testing me.”
He laughed, low and cruel. “Test you? I only wish to know the truth. And truth, my dear, is often unpleasant. Especially for a woman such as you.”
Margaret’s hands lifted in a subtle defense, though she remained firm. “I am not as fragile as you imagine. Leave before my husband returns and discovers your audacity.”
He scoffed, circling her like a predator. “Audacity… yes, that’s one word for it. But there’s more to you than I expected. Danger, madness, cursed beauty… such things fascinate, do they not?”
A shiver ran down her spine, but she squared her shoulders. “Fascination can be dangerous, sir. For you, if you linger here.”
The man’s smirk deepened as he hovered, clearly readying some insolent remark.
Margaret’s chin lifted, her voice cool and cutting. “Do not trouble yourself, sir. Whatever insult you meant to form, I assure you I have already heard cleverer and from men with twice your wit.”
He chuckled darkly, leaning nearer. “Not madness, then? Curious… Society cannot seem to agree whether you are touched with fire or folly. Tell me, Duchess, do you delight in keeping them guessing?”
Margaret’s pulse raced, bravado fraying as she silently willed Sebastian to appear. Still, she forced her chin higher, though his hand had already claimed her wrist, the strength in his grasp rooting her in place. “You are a fool!” she spat, struggling. “Leave me! Or I swear—”
The sound of boots against the polished floor cut through the tension like a blade. Sebastian’s voice, low, cold, and full of restrained wrath, rang out. “Release her.”
The man froze, eyes flicking toward the commanding figure now stepping between them.
Sebastian’s tall frame, perfectly still yet radiating lethal control, filled the small space.
The man’s smirk faltered. He released Margaret abruptly, a hand running nervously down his lapel. “I… I only—”
“Step away from her!” Sebastian growled, voice low, dangerous, and unrelenting. His other hand flexed, ready, the sheer tension in his stance warning of what might come next. “Now.”
His hand shot out like lightning, gripping the man by the shoulder and shoving him back with a force that sent him stumbling. The man’s head snapped against the polished floor with a sharp thud, and his smirk vanished, replaced by shock.
The man, pale and shaking, attempted a weak protest. “I… she…”
Sebastian’s fist swung in a controlled, precise punch to the man’s jaw, not brutal but enough to leave him reeling and finally retreating. “Do not presume again,” Sebastian hissed, eyes blazing. “Do you understand me?”
The man staggered, clutching his face, and without another word, he melted back into the crowd, leaving only the wake of his humiliation behind.
When he turned to Margaret, there was no softness in his face, only a cutting chill. “You should not have been here alone.”
Her breath caught, the sting of his words sharp. “I needed air. I did not think—”
“No,” he interrupted, voice low, flat, merciless. “You did not think. And this…” He jerked his head toward the man, who was retreating under the icy weight of his glare. “Is the consequence.”
Margaret’s spine straightened, though her heart thudded. “I am not a child, Sebastian. I can defend myself.”
“You would have been forced before you raised so much as a hand,” he returned, each syllable edged in steel.
Her lips parted in outrage. “And you think me so weak as that? That I would stand idle and let myself be overpowered? I am not some trembling fool to collapse at the first shadow of danger.”
“And in that moment, you invited danger.” His gaze swept her face, lingering on the way her breath shook. “Do you think I can be everywhere at once? That I will always arrive before the worst happens?”
Her chin lifted, though her throat was tight. “I am not helpless.”
“You are vulnerable,” he countered, the words dropping like cold iron between them. “And that is why I would see you guarded. But you must guard yourself as well. Do you understand me?”
Margaret’s breath caught, then released in a sharp exhale. His voice—so cutting, so certain—scraped against the jumble of gratitude and indignation rising in her chest. “You speak as though I were a child in need of a nursemaid,” she snapped, color rising high in her cheeks.
“I speak as a man who just pulled you out of a stranger’s hands.” His jaw flexed, the line of his mouth hard as stone. “Would you rather I had left you to prove your independence?”
Her fingers curled against her skirts. The sting of shame mixed with the sting of his words until it burned too fiercely to contain.
“Why do you care, Sebastian?” The question broke from her lips, sharper than she intended.
“One moment you’re cold as glass, the next you burn with rage if I so much as breathe without your permission.
Why? Why should my safety matter to you? ”
Something dark flared in his eyes. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then finally ground out, “Because you are mine to protect.”
“Yours?” she echoed, incredulous, her laugh catching on the edge of hysteria. “You cannot claim me as if I were property you keep in your pocket while you spend your nights chasing every whispered scandal in London!”
His eyes narrowed, storm brewing. “You think me so base?”
“I think you’re everything you pretend to be,” she retorted, voice shaking but fierce.
“A rake, a libertine, and a man who guards nothing but his own pleasure. And if that is what you are, then perhaps…” She broke off, her breath sharp as she forced the words out.
“Perhaps I ought to find someone else who values me.”
That struck. His whole frame went taut, his shoulders bunching as though bracing against a blow. When he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous.
“You will not,” he said.
Her chin lifted in defiance. “And why not? If you may roam, why not I? Or do you only allow freedom for yourself?”
“Because we are married, Margaret.” His words were soft as a whip crack.
He took a step closer, then another until she felt the heat of him crowding her breath.
“You are my wife. You are mine. No matter what you think of me, no matter what I pretend… nothing changes that. And I will not have you speak of giving yourself to another.”
Her pulse skittered, racing to keep up with her fury. “Yours in name, perhaps, but not in truth. You cannot lay claim to me with one hand while pushing me aside with the other.”
His hand shot out, not to seize her but to brace against the wall just beside her head, the gesture trapping her in a prison of his presence. His face lowered, voice rough.
“I do not push you aside. I keep myself from consuming you whole. Do you not see that?”
She froze, breath shaking. “And if I do not wish to be kept at arm’s length?”
His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “Then you will drive me to ruin,” he said, his voice guttural. “Because I cannot be what you deserve, Margaret, and yet God help me, I cannot let you go.”
A pause fell, heavy as the silence between heartbeats. Margaret’s breath came quick, her lips parting before she dared give voice to the thought that had been pounding at her ribs.
“Then that means you will be mine,” she whispered, the words trembling yet unflinching.
His eyes narrowed, the flicker of surprise there swiftly buried beneath something darker, hotter. The space between them pulsed, charged as a storm. “Yours?” he echoed, stepping closer, his tone a silken challenge. “You would claim me so easily, Margaret?”
Her chin lifted, though her chest ached with the weight of her own daring. “If I am yours, Sebastian, then it follows you must be mine as well. Or does your pride allow only one direction to that claim?”
His breath left him in something perilously close to a laugh—low, sharp, disbelieving.
He leaned down until the edge of his words brushed the curve of her cheek.
“Tell me then, if I lay aside every rakish inclination, every careless indulgence, will you, in turn, stop being so infernally rude to the wolves who circle you? Will you give them no cause to think you are an easy mark?”
Margaret’s eyes flared. “Rude?” she hissed, her voice a tremor of outrage. “You mean the only weapon a woman is allowed when a man presumes too much? Am I to curtsy and smile sweetly while being cornered like prey?”
“No,” he snapped, fire sparking in his gaze. “You are to know when danger is danger and when defiance will only stoke it. If you are mine…” His hand brushed the air between them, as if resisting the urge to touch her. “You will be clever, not reckless. You will trust me to keep you safe.”
Her breath shuddered out, and for the first time, she did not meet the blaze of his gaze with defiance but with something rawer, more dangerous. Her lashes fluttered, her lips parted—so close now, she could feel the warmth of him seep across the narrow divide.
“Why?” The word left her almost without sound, fragile as a thread, a plea wrapped in challenge.
Sebastian stilled. Every muscle in him pulled taut as though she had set a blade to his throat. For a moment, silence roared louder than thunder between them.
“Because I cannot help it,” he ground out, the confession torn from him as though against his will.
His voice was rough, husky, a rasp born of denial too long strained.
“Because the thought of harm brushing against you makes me half-mad. Because I cannot…” He broke off, breath harsh, his forehead nearly touching hers.
Her eyes widened, her whisper spilling into the charged space. “Sebastian—”
He could bear no more. Sebastian moved as if something inside him had finally broken. With a guttural curse, the restraint shattered. His hand shot to her waist, the other sliding up her spine, hauling her against him with a force that made her gasp.
His hand rose, cupping her face with a suddenness that stole her breath, and his mouth crashed down on hers, fierce and unyielding, as though all the fury, the tenderness, the torment he had fought were set ablaze in that one kiss.
When he tore his mouth from hers at last, both of them gasping, his forehead dropped against her temple, his voice hoarse and shaken.
“You drive me past all sense. I’ve never burned for anyone the way I burn for you.”