Chapter 5 #2
His jaw tightened. "I have someone to protect now."
She waited, but he said nothing further. "Who?"
Pierce looked towards the window.
"Your Grace," Margaret pressed, "if you expect me to marry you, I believe I am entitled to know what precisely I am marrying into."
His gaze returned to hers. "I have a son."
Margaret blinked.
"A son?" she repeated.
"He is one year old."
The library seemed suddenly very quiet.
Pierce continued, "I need a mother to help raise him."
Margaret's thoughts stumbled over themselves.
A child. A baby. A tiny, innocent person who has somehow become the center of this astonishing arrangement.
"Do you mean…" She hesitated, watching his face carefully. "A son with your late wife?"
Pierce's expression hardened, and Margaret instantly sensed that she had stepped into dangerous territory.
"You do not need to know anything else for now," he replied. "Only that I have a boy who needs a mother, and I need a duchess who can care for him."
Margaret stared at him.
Of all the things I had imagined Pierce might demand, I had never considered this. A mother? Me?
How could she refuse an innocent child? The thought of little baby, whoever he was, stirred something painfully tender within her.
She had always been sensitive to those who could not defend themselves, and a one-year-old boy certainly could not be expected to navigate the peculiar disasters created by adults.
More importantly, Geoffrey waited at the end of the other path. The very thought of becoming his wife made her stomach turn.
Perhaps there were worse things than becoming a duchess.
Margaret drew a slow breath. "I had no idea I would become a mother when I went to your ball that night."
Pierce watched her closely.
"But there is something I must ask," she continued, her courage faltering only slightly. "Will I suffer the same fate as your previous wife?"
The change in him was immediate.
Pierce crossed the space between them so swiftly that Margaret instinctively stepped backwards.
Her shoulders nearly touched the bookcase before his hand came down beside her, effectively trapping her without actually touching her.
His face was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath, and her heart began pounding with an entirely inconvenient intensity.
"Do not speak of matters you know nothing about," he warned, his voice low and dark.
Margaret swallowed, but she refused to retreat.
"I am trying to understand what I am agreeing to," she said. Her lips trembled.
"And I am telling you that you know nothing about my marriage." His words were sharp as a blade.
His gaze held hers, fierce and unwavering.
Margaret could feel the tension between them like a drawn thread, and for one treacherous instant she remembered the masquerade again, his hand beneath her chin, his lips near her neck, the sensation of wanting him despite every sensible instinct she possessed.
She pushed the thought away. "I will never love you," she said.
Something flickered in his expression.
Margaret lifted her chin. "If this marriage takes place, our only true connection will be the child. I will care for him, and I will fulfil whatever duties are expected of a duchess, but I will not pretend this is a love match."
"I have not asked you to love me."
"Good." She placed a hand against his chest and gently but firmly pushed herself away from the bookcase.
The contact was brief, yet she felt the solid warmth beneath his coat and immediately regretted noticing it.
"Because the moment I suspect that I am losing my freedom, I shall do the only natural thing. "
Pierce raised one dark brow. "And what is that?"
"Flee," she said.
He scowled at her.
Margaret gave him a pointed look. "You know I am capable of bold decisions. You witnessed that yourself the night we met."
"I remember," he said.
"Then do not expect a docile wife," she said.
"And do not expect an affectionate husband," he replied.
She studied him, uncertain whether she ought to be relieved or offended. Margaret's heart continued to beat far too quickly. She had expected a proposal. Instead, she had been offered a bargain involving a duke, a child, and a freedom she refused to surrender.
And somehow, impossibly, Margaret was beginning to think she might accept it.
It's him or Harrowby.
Margaret folded her arms and regarded him with narrowed eyes.
"You make marriage sound remarkably simple, Your Grace. A duchess here, a child there, and everyone goes home satisfied."
Pierce's expression remained perfectly composed, which only irritated her further. "I did not say it was simple," he replied. "It is practical."
Margaret gave a short laugh. "Of course. How romantic."
One corner of his mouth lifted. "I have never been accused of being romantic."
"That is fortunate," she said sweetly, "because I should hate to discover that beneath all this brooding there was a poet."
Pierce's eyes glinted with amusement. "And beneath all your defiance there is apparently a woman who attended a masquerade intending to disgrace herself before half of London."
Margaret's cheeks warmed. "You promised not to mention that."
"I promised nothing of the sort."
"Then you are an honorless man."
"And yet you are considering marrying me."
She opened her mouth, then closed it again when she realized he had trapped her with her own argument. "I am considering escaping Geoffrey Harrowby," she corrected. "You happen to be standing conveniently between us."
"I shall try not to take it personally," he said.
Margaret studied him for a moment, suspicious of the faint amusement in his expression.
"Do you always speak this calmly when people insult you?" she asked.
"Only when they are entertaining."
Her eyes widened. "Was that a compliment?"
"Possibly."
"How disappointing. I was beginning to think you incapable of giving one."
Pierce stepped closer, though this time he stopped well beyond the distance that would have allowed his hand to touch hers.
"You looked…intriguing at the masquerade."
Margaret's breath caught despite herself. "I am aware."
She looked away, suddenly conscious of the warmth rising into her face. "You are very troublesome."
"So I have been informed."
"By whom?"
"Everyone." That made her laugh before she could stop herself, and Pierce's expression softened for the briefest moment.
Margaret noticed it immediately. There was something almost vulnerable beneath his stern exterior, something he seemed determined to hide. It made her wonder.
What sort of man was he before grief hardened him? Or has he always been this way?
She turned serious again. "If I agree, there will be conditions."
Pierce nodded. "Name them."
Margaret raised one finger. "My freedom." A second followed. "My sisters remain welcome at Ravenfield." A third. "And I will not be ordered about like some possession."
Pierce considered her demands with an expression of grave seriousness. "Agreed with all but the possession. It is my household, and I shall have strict rules. If you see that as possession, then so be it."
Margaret blinked. "I suppose we shall see."
"Now, my conditions," he said.
Pierce's eyes settled upon hers. "You will never leave Ravenfield without telling me where you are going."
Margaret stared at him. "That is not a condition. That is tyranny."
"It is protection."
"It sounds remarkably similar to tyranny."
His mouth curved slightly. "You will learn the difference."
Margaret sighed, though she could not suppress her smile. "I have a feeling, Your Grace, that marrying you will be the most exhausting decision of my life."
Pierce inclined his head. "I suspect you will make it considerably more exhausting for me."
She smiled despite herself.
And that, Margaret thought, was perhaps the most dangerous part of all.