Chapter 4
Pierce stood in the church and watched the confusion spread. He had interrupted the ceremony before a single vow had been exchanged, precisely as he had intended, and he felt no guilt whatsoever.
His sole concern was Hugh.
My child needs a mother, and I need a woman who would accept an arrangement without demanding love, tenderness, or any of the other sentimental nonsense I had spent most of my life avoiding.
As fate would have it, he knew exactly where and when to find such a woman, and she was presently standing at an altar beside a man she desperately wished to escape.
"What is the meaning of this?" Geoffrey demanded, stepping towards Pierce with a furious expression. "This is a private wedding, and you have no right to interrupt it."
Pierce regarded him calmly before reaching inside his coat and producing a folded document. "I am the Duke of Ravenfield, and I believe you will find that I have every right," he replied, handing the paper to the vicar.
The vicar accepted it with visible uncertainty and carefully examined the special licence, reading every line before lifting his eyes towards Pierce with an expression of growing astonishment.
Geoffrey's face darkened. "Whatever that document says, it cannot invalidate my contract with the Wilmore family."
Pierce turned his attention towards him, his expression remaining cold. "The contract does not give you the right to marry a woman who does not consent," he said evenly. "Nor does it give you ownership of Lady Margaret."
Geoffrey opened his mouth to respond, but Margaret spoke first, finding courage in the interruption that had suddenly given her a moment she had desperately needed.
"I do not consent," she declared, stepping forward. Her voice trembled slightly, but she did not retreat. "The contract was signed before I was born. I never agreed to it, and I want no part in it."
Bernard's expression tightened with relief, while Iris and Camelia exchanged startled glances.
Geoffrey stared at Margaret as though she had committed some unforgivable betrayal.
"You are bound by the agreement," Geoffrey snapped.
"I am not," Margaret replied, lifting her chin. "And I shall not pretend otherwise merely because you say so."
Pierce watched her with a flicker of admiration. She was frightened, but she was fighting, and that mattered. He had expected resistance from Harrowby, but Margaret's courage was the more interesting discovery.
He stepped forward and placed himself beside her. "Fortunately," he said calmly, "there is another agreement."
Margaret turned towards him.
Pierce looked directly at the vicar. "Lady Margaret is promised to me instead."
Bernard made a strangled sound, Iris whispered something sharply to Camelia, Blais looked as though he had forgotten how to blink, and Raph actually stood from his seat.
Margaret stared at Pierce in complete disbelief, while Geoffrey's face became so red that Pierce briefly wondered whether the man might actually explode.
"You cannot simply announce that!" Geoffrey shouted.
Pierce glanced at him. "It appears I can."
"This is madness!"
"Quite possibly."
The vicar raised both hands in an attempt to restore order. "Gentlemen, please." He looked from Geoffrey to Pierce, then towards Margaret, whose expression suggested she had no idea whether to laugh or scream.
"I cannot proceed with this ceremony while the bride's right to marry remains in dispute. Until the matter is settled, there will be no wedding today."
"There will be a wedding today!" Geoffrey roared, turning upon the vicar. "You have a contract before you!"
"And I have a Duke that has just claimed ownership over this woman," the vicar replied firmly. "I will not proceed."
Geoffrey argued for several minutes, growing increasingly furious as the vicar refused to change his position.
Finally, he turned towards Margaret with a murderous glare. "This is not finished," he snarled. "I shall take the matter to court."
Margaret said nothing as he stormed from the church, the heavy doors slamming behind him.
Silence descended once more. Pierce turned towards Margaret. She was smiling.
Not the nervous smile she had worn at the masquerade, but a genuine one, bright with relief and amusement.
"That was quite a performance," she said, looking him over with an expression that was dangerously close to teasing. "I must admit, Your Grace, you were magnificent."
Pierce allowed the faintest smile to touch his mouth. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him. "Do not become too pleased with yourself. This is not over yet."
Her smile faltered. "What do you mean?"
"I shall see you tomorrow."
Margaret blinked. "For what?"
"I shall explain soon."
She studied him suspiciously.
Pierce's gaze moved briefly over her gown, taking in the fine embroidery and the delicate lace at her sleeves. "For what it is worth," he murmured, "you look remarkably delicious in that dress."
A flush crept into Margaret's cheeks.
Pierce found himself unexpectedly pleased by it.
"I shall throw this wedding gown away at the first opportunity," she declared, looking down at the dress with renewed irritation. "I never wish to see it again."
"Do not hurry," Pierce replied.
Margaret looked up at him, puzzled. "Why? I do not understand."
His eyes held hers. "You will."
Then he walked out of the church.
* * *
That evening, Margaret sat with her sisters in the parlour at Lempster House, still wearing the expression of a woman who could scarcely believe she had escaped her own wedding.
The events of the morning seemed almost impossible when viewed from the safety of the familiar room, yet every time Margaret closed her eyes, she could still see Geoffrey's furious face and Pierce Sterling standing at the church doors as though he had been summoned by fate itself.
She ought to have been frightened by the duke's intervention, and perhaps she was, but beneath the confusion was an undeniable sense of relief. For the first time in days, she could breathe without feeling that a noose was tightening around her future.
"What do you think the Duke meant, that you are promised to him?" Iris asked.
"I do not know, but there is something about the duke's expression that I did not like," Margaret admitted, curling one leg beneath her as she sat upon the sofa.
Iris and Camelia both looked towards her, their expressions serious.
"When he said that he would see me tomorrow, he looked as though he knew something I did not.
" She frowned, remembering his strange confidence.
"I have no idea what that means, but he is certainly up to something.
Still, I want to leave all of this behind me, and for the moment I am free.
He rescued me, so I suppose I am willing to comply with whatever he wishes to discuss. "
She paused and allowed herself a small smile. "Besides, I am convinced my reckless plan worked."
Iris's brows drew together. "What plan?"
Margaret's smile disappeared.
She looked from Iris to Camelia, then swallowed. "Do not get angry with me."
"That is generally how people begin before telling us something that will make us angry," Camelia observed, folding her arms.
Margaret sighed. "I attended the masquerade at the duke's home."
Both sisters stared at her.
"And," Margaret continued cautiously, "I tried to persuade him to kiss me in public for everyone to see so that I would be ruined and the wedding would be called off."
Silence filled the parlour.
Then Iris stood so quickly that Margaret nearly jumped. "You did what?"
"I know it sounds rather…"
"Reckless?" Camelia supplied incredulously.
"Desperate," Margaret corrected.
"Entirely mad," Iris said, pacing towards the fireplace. "Margaret, you sneaked into a duke's masquerade without telling either of us, deliberately sought out a man you scarcely knew, and attempted to persuade him to compromise you in front of half of London."
"When you put it that way…"
"There is no other way to put it," Camelia interrupted.
Margaret sank lower into the sofa. "I was desperate."
"And now your desperation has become a scandal that could stain the entire family," Iris said, turning towards her. "We have spent months trying to protect you, and you decided to solve the problem by throwing yourself into the middle of another one."
Margaret's expression hardened. "I am not entirely helpless, you know."
"No," Camelia said more gently, "but you are still in danger. Harrowby's contract has not disappeared simply because the wedding did not occur today."
Margaret knew that was true, and the reminder chilled some of her optimism. She rubbed her hands together and forced herself to remain calm. "Then stop looking at me as though I have ruined everything. The duke must not be so terrible after all. He clearly decided to save me."
Iris gave her a doubtful look.
"Only a few days ago, I hated him after he refused me," Margaret continued, a faint smile appearing despite herself. "Now he is rapidly becoming my favorite person on earth."
Camelia's expression softened, but only for a moment. "It does do his character credit that he refused you when he could have taken advantage of that opportunity; however, there are things you should know about him."
Margaret's smile faded. "What things?"
Camelia hesitated before answering. "There are whispers about the duke."
"What sort of whispers?"
"The sort that I wish I had never heard," Camelia replied quietly. "People say he was cruel to his previous wife, Lady Augusta. They say she fled Ravenfield Manor in the middle of the night to escape him."
Margaret's stomach tightened. "His wife?" she repeated.
Camelia nodded. "She died almost a year later. No one truly knows where she was during that time, only that she disappeared after leaving him."
Margaret swallowed. She remembered the duke's cold expression, his commanding manner, and the way he had told her that everyone needed to carry their own burden. Suddenly, the memory of his mismatched eyes seemed less romantic and considerably more dangerous.
Iris sat beside her and reached for her hand. "And there is something else."
Margaret looked at her.
"No sensible man would spend the time and money to rescue a woman to whom he has no family connection simply out of charity," Iris said gently. "Pierce Sterling has a reason for doing this."
Margaret stared down at their joined hands. Her heart sank.
Iris is right.
Pierce had said he would see her tomorrow. And now Margaret desperately wanted to know what he intended to demand in return.
She got ready for bed but found that she could not sleep. She had changed positions so many times that the sheets had become hopelessly tangled around her legs, yet every time she closed her eyes, the same question returned with renewed insistence.
What will the Duke of Ravenfield ask of me?
It was no use. Her thoughts wandered inevitably back to the masquerade.
She remembered the moment he had stepped towards her, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed upon hers.
Most of all, she remembered the warmth of his breath when he leaned close, and his lips brushed her neck, and a sudden heat rushed through her.
Margaret pressed her fingers against her cheek, horrified to discover how warm it had become.
"Why did I want him to kiss me?"
She had gone to the masquerade intending to manufacture a scandal, but the instant Pierce had come near her, her carefully constructed plan had become something entirely different. She had wanted his attention. Worse, she had wanted him to continue.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy above her bed.
"This is ridiculous," she whispered, though there was no one present to hear her.
Pierce Sterling was a stranger, a dangerously mysterious man with a reputation she had only begun to understand, and yet her body seemed determined to remember every detail of their brief encounter.
She could still imagine his hand beneath her chin, the quiet authority in his voice, and the astonishing sensation of being looked at as though he truly saw her.
Margaret pulled the pillow over her face.
"Tomorrow he will come. And I have the sinking suspicion that whatever arrangement he intends to propose, surviving the conversation will require considerably more composure than I currently possess."