Chapter 9 #2
"You are very confident," he observed. "No one talks to me like that save my close friend, and he barely survives each time."
"I have discovered that confidence is useful when speaking to arrogant dukes."
Pierce glanced over his shoulder, amusement darkening his expression. "Careful."
"Or what?" she challenged.
He stopped so abruptly that Margaret nearly walked into him.
For a moment they stood far too close, her eyes lifting to his, and Pierce could see the challenge there, but beneath it lay something softer that tempted him to step closer still.
The tension between them was becoming familiar, and that familiarity was dangerous.
"Or," he said quietly, "you may discover that I am not nearly as patient as you believe."
Margaret held his gaze for another heartbeat before stepping around him. "Then perhaps you should learn to be more patient."
Pierce watched her continue towards the nursery and shook his head, fighting a smile. She was going to be trouble.
When they entered Hugh's nursery, the fire had burned low, leaving the room warm and dim. Hugh was asleep in his crib, one tiny fist curled beside his cheek, and Pierce instinctively lowered his voice as he said, "Sleeping is the only time Hugh is not crying."
Margaret looked at him over her shoulder. "You make fatherhood sound terribly inviting."
"It is an exhausting enterprise."
"Perhaps he cries because you look so severe."
Pierce gave her a flat stare. "He is one year old."
"Children have instincts."
Despite himself, Pierce smiled. Margaret crossed the nursery and bent over the crib, and her entire manner changed when she looked at Hugh.
The teasing disappeared, replaced by a tenderness Pierce had not expected to see so quickly.
She gently brushed one finger over the baby's cheek.
Hugh stirred but did not wake, and Margaret smiled as she whispered, "You and I shall get along just fine, little one. "
Pierce remained silent, watching her with an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. He had spent so long searching for answers about the reappearance that he had forgotten there might be another question worth asking.
What sort of woman could love my son?
Margaret might be that woman, and the thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit. She straightened and turned towards him. "He is lovely."
"He has your approval, then?" Pierce asked.
"He does."
"Good. I should hate to have to find another duchess."
Margaret laughed softly. "You are dreadful."
"I have been called worse than that," he said.
"I am certain you have earned it."
Pierce escorted her downstairs towards the front entrance, where the footman waited to help her into the carriage. The hour was late, and the house had grown utterly still. When Margaret reached the door, Pierce folded his arms and regarded her with a mixture of amusement and disapproval.
"Once again," he said, "you have proved yourself bold and reckless."
Margaret turned towards him. "Reckless?"
"Showing up at a man's door at this hour is reckless, is it not?" his brow rose.
"It needed to be done," she said. "I could not sleep otherwise."
"Of course it did," he nodded in agreement.
She narrowed her eyes. "Do not mock me."
"I would never." He gave her a sideways grin that had been known to stop women in their tracks.
"You are doing it now," she said.
"I am merely observing."
Margaret pulled her cloak around herself. "You seem to observe me quite frequently."
"That is because you are interesting," he said.
She blinked, apparently caught off guard by the compliment, and Pierce enjoyed that immensely. "Your bold nature will get you into trouble one day," he continued, his voice taking on a teasing note.
"That may be," Margaret replied, lifting her chin, "but it will be trouble of my own making and doing, not someone choosing trouble for me."
Pierce smirked. There it was again, that stubborn independence that had first caught his attention. "You realize," he said, "that you are arguing with the man you are marrying tomorrow. A man who will decide your fate."
"I am aware. Are you aware that I might decide yours, instead?."
Pierce raised his brows. "That is an ambitious prediction."
Margaret smiled sweetly. "You said yourself that I was a walking contradiction."
"I did."
"Then you should expect the unexpected."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I always do where you are concerned."
Her smile faltered for half a second, and Pierce noticed it immediately.
So did she, judging by the way her eyes shifted away, but neither of them acknowledged what had passed between them.
The carriage arrived, and he walked her out.
Instead of the footman helping her in, he himself held her hand.
Margaret placed one foot upon the step before looking back at him.
"Goodnight, Your Grace," she said.
"Goodnight, Goddess."
She shook her head. "Do stop calling me that."
"I have no intention of stopping."
"Then I shall have to find something equally irritating to call you."
Pierce smiled. "I look forward to it."
Margaret climbed into the carriage, but before the door closed, she leaned towards him and said, "I shall think of something dreadful."
"I have no doubt."
The door shut, and the carriage rolled away into the darkness.
Pierce remained on the steps, watching until the lights disappeared, though his thoughts were no longer on the hour or the wedding arrangements.
He should have been thinking about tomorrow's ceremony, about the legal documents, the guests, and the thousand practical matters that required his attention.
Instead, he was thinking about Margaret… in his bed.