Chapter 15
Does she know she drives me mad in that nightdress?
Pierce remained beside Margaret on the chaise, acutely aware of the dangerous intimacy of the moment.
The study seemed quieter than before, the fire burning low while the rest of Ravenfield House slept, and he found himself noticing every small detail of her, the warmth in her cheeks, the softness of her expression, the way her fingers curled around her glass as though she needed something to anchor her.
"I've realized I never thanked you truly for helping me escape Harrowby," she said.
"Harrowby was a nuisance I was pleased to remove. I never thanked you for keeping your word to marry me instead."
Margaret glanced at him with a faint smile. "A nuisance?"
"A particularly persistent one," he replied.
She laughed softly, and the sound struck Pierce with absurd force. He looked away for a moment, annoyed.
I should not be so affected by something as innocent as her amusement.
When he looked back, he found her watching him, and the warmth in her eyes made restraint considerably more difficult.
Margaret's smile widened. "You did not need to thank me for not abandoning you at the altar."
Pierce's mouth twitched. "That was worth mentioning."
"I have had quite enough adventures involving altars and didn't want to add another marriage incident to my list."
"I should hope so."
She laughed again. Pierce looked at the delicate fabric of her night dress as it caught the firelight, making her seem softer, more vulnerable than the spirited woman who had once marched into a smoking room full of gentlemen and demanded that someone ruin her reputation.
He remembered that woman vividly. He remembered the challenge in her eyes and the reckless courage that had drawn him towards her before he had understood what he was doing.
Now she is my wife.
The thought should have been reassuring. Instead, it was intoxicating.
Pierce tightened his grip around his glass.
He had spent years mastering himself, controlling his temper, his appetites, his impulses.
Yet Margaret had somehow slipped past every barrier he had built.
She did not merely attract him; she unsettled him.
Every smile, every sharp reply, every glance seemed capable of stripping away another layer of his composure.
"You are tense," he observed.
Margaret looked at him suspiciously. "I wonder why."
"Have I done something?"
"You have merely been sitting beside me so close."
"That appears to be enough?" he asked.
"It is," she admitted, then immediately looked annoyed with herself for saying it.
Pierce raised an eyebrow. "Should I move?"
She hesitated. "I…I do not know."
He did not move. Neither did she.
Instead, Margaret swallowed and looked towards the fire. "You make my body behave strangely."
Pierce went still. She seemed horrified by her own confession and hurried to add, "Maybe… I am becoming ill."
Despite himself, a low amusement stirred in him. "I assure you, Duchess, you are not ill."
"How would you know?"
"Because I know exactly what is causing it."
Her eyes returned to his. Pierce slowly lifted one hand. He gave her ample opportunity to pull away, but she remained perfectly still as his fingers brushed lightly against the side of her neck. Her breath caught, and the reaction sent a fierce surge of satisfaction through him.
"Does that make the symptoms worse?" he asked quietly.
Margaret's lips parted. "Yes."
He traced his thumb gently along her skin, watching the color deepen in her cheeks. "And that?"
"Yes," she whispered.
Pierce felt his restraint fraying. He wanted to draw her closer, wanted to discover how far that trembling composure would carry her, but he forced himself to remain controlled.
This is Margaret, not some mistress to toy with. She is my wife, and the trust between us matters more than my hunger. Does it not?
He allowed his hand to fall away, though the absence of her warmth felt almost unbearable. "You see?" he murmured. "Not an illness."
Margaret gave him a breathless look. "Then what is it?"
Pierce's gaze held hers. "Something neither of us has been particularly good at ignoring."
She looked down at her hands, then back at him. "And can it be cured?"
He leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping. "Indeed it can."
Her heart seemed to beat visibly beneath her throat. "How?"
Pierce studied her face, searching for uncertainty. What he found instead was desire mingled with nerves, and that combination nearly destroyed the last of his restraint.
His heart pumped. The heat on his skin overpowered every thought.
Pierce drew a slow breath. He had never wanted anything quite so fiercely, and that frightened him more than he cared to admit. He reached for her hand instead, threading his fingers carefully through hers.
"I'll show you, but once I do so," he murmured, holding her gaze, "there is no turning back."
* * *
Margaret stared at him, her pulse fluttering beneath her skin as the firelight cast a warm glow across the handsome severity of his face.
"What exactly are you going to do to me?" she asked, though the question emerged far more breathlessly than she intended, and she immediately wished she had managed to sound less nervous.
Pierce’s mouth curved with quiet amusement as he regarded her from beneath dark lashes.
"I am going to give you… a massage of sorts to relieve you," he replied, lifting one brow as though the answer ought to have been obvious.
Margaret narrowed her eyes at him, though the faint smile threatening her lips betrayed her amusement. "And you are an expert in this?" she asked, folding her hands primly in her lap.
"I am a duke," Pierce answered smoothly, moving closer with that maddening confidence she was beginning to recognize. "I am expected to be competent at everything."
She gave a disbelieving little laugh and shook her head. "That is an astonishingly arrogant thing to say."
His expression remained perfectly composed, though amusement flickered in his mismatched eyes. "It is also true."
Despite herself, Margaret laughed, and some of the nervousness inside her eased at the sound.
"Very well, Your Grace," she said, settling herself more comfortably. "But you must be gentle. I have never done anything like this before."
Something softened in Pierce’s expression, and his teasing manner gave way to quiet attentiveness. "Then I shall be gentle," he promised, his voice lower as he moved behind her.
Margaret became acutely aware of him as he turned his back to him and sat behind her. She could feel the warmth of his body through the small space separating them, and the awareness sent an inexplicable shiver along her spine.
With careful fingers, he removed the shawl from her shoulders and dropped it on the floor. Next, he loosened the small ties at the neckline of her nightdress so that the fabric rested more comfortably around her shoulders, and Margaret drew in a startled breath as she turned her head slightly.
Pierce immediately paused, his hands still. "Is that all right?" he asked, watching her reflection in the polished mirror across the room.
"Yes," she whispered, reassured by the fact that he had asked. She faced forward again and drew a slow breath. "It is simply... all very new."
His hands settled upon her shoulders, warm and firm, and he began to work the tension from the muscles there.
Margaret closed her eyes almost immediately. His touch was deliberate rather than hurried, his thumbs tracing slow circles along the tightness gathered at the base of her neck, and she felt herself gradually sinking into the cushions.
"Oh," she murmured before she could stop herself.
Pierce gave a quiet, satisfied laugh behind her. "I shall take that as praise," he said, his fingers continuing their steady rhythm.
Margaret opened one eye. "Do not become insufferable."
"I am afraid it is too late," he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
She smiled despite herself, then sighed as his hands moved lower and lower until his hand was inside her dress and cupping her breast.
She gasped.
"You tell me to stop," he said quietly, "and I will."
Margaret's eyes widened, but she did not move away. "I do not want you to stop."
The words settled between them. He continued gently kneading her mounds. His finger grazed over her taut rosebud.
The sensation was soothing, almost hypnotic. Everywhere his fingers passed seemed to loosen beneath his touch, leaving behind a pleasant warmth that travelled through her to a pulse beginning to throb between her thighs.
"You are very beautiful," he groaned.
She looked at him over her shoulder, her dark eyes bright with lust. "Am I?"
"You know that you," he acknowledged, and then pressed his mouth over hers.
The kiss was deep and hungry. His hands continued to press into her bosom, massaging and pinching her rosebuds.
"Oh, Oh Pierce," she moaned between kisses.
"You will drive me insane saying my name like that," his voice thick with desire.
His hands moved down her belly. His touch remained careful and respectful, yet the intimacy of it made her heart beat faster.
She had spent so much time insisting that she felt nothing for this infuriating man that she was beginning to suspect her arguments had become less convincing even to herself.
"You are very good at this," she admitted, relaxing her back against his chest.
Pierce's mouth curved with unbearable satisfaction. "I know."
She shook her head, looking forward again. "There is no humility in you whatsoever."
"Humility has never loosened a woman's bliss," he replied, his hand moving low until they were between her thighs.
"Oh!" Margaret froze. She did not know what to do.
"I'll stop if you want me to. I only want to touch you with my hand, nothing more. If you want me to stop, say so, but if you do not want me to, then open yourself to me," he said with all the confidence of a man that knew exactly what he was doing.
I should walk out of here this instant, but I cannot.
She opened her thighs wider, propping one leg on the chaise lounge.
Pierce released a hungry groan in response.
His hands slid down and came to rest on her sensitive button, where he massaged around with slow, careful circular motions.
"That's… that feels…" Margaret could scarcely speak.
"It feels as it should. Do not fight it. Let it bring you to release, my Duchess," he said.
Margaret felt the last remnants of stiffness gradually disappear. The movement was methodical and gentle, and she found herself sinking deeper into the chaise as the warmth of the room and the quiet rhythm of his hands lulled her into complete desire.
"There," Pierce murmured, watching the tension leave her body. "You are beginning to relax; trust my hands."
Margaret let out a contented sigh and opened her eyes. "I fear you will become impossible now."
"I already told you that I was excellent," he reminded her, his expression smug.
"Your confidence is remarkable."
"My confidence," Pierce said, as his other hand moved to her breast and squeezed. She released a moan. He continued, "has been earned."
Her eyes drifted closed again. "I really cannot resist it. What is happening to me?"
"Shh… let it happen," he replied. "You are very seductive, Margaret," he said quietly.
Her eyes opened at once. She turned her head towards him, uncertain whether she had heard him correctly.
Pierce was looking at her with an intensity that made her suddenly conscious of everything she usually tried not to notice: her loose dark hair, her flushed cheeks, the softness of her gown, and the way his gaze seemed to linger upon her with unmistakable admiration.
"I do not believe you have ever said that to me," she whispered.
Pierce's gaze remained fixed upon hers. "I have thought it, constantly. Your dark eyes make it difficult to think of anything else. Your hair is far too tempting when you wear it loose, and your figure makes it remarkably difficult for a man to behave with indifference."
Margaret's cheeks warmed beneath his praise. "You cannot possibly say things like that while touching me this way," she protested, lowering her gaze.
Pierce's brow lifted. "Why not?"
"I do not know. It is too much," she answered but in that moment his finger moved faster and faster over her sensitive button and she lost herself.
She wiggled under his touch. "Oh, oh my," she said with a breathless whisper.
His mouth curved slowly. "That's it. Do not fight it."
She could not deny it. Her body had grown wonderfully heavy against his body, every muscle loose and peaceful, while her thoughts drifted pleasantly away from the worries that had plagued her for weeks.
For a few precious moments, she allowed herself simply to enjoy the pulsing building inside of her, the soothing pressure of his hands, and the strange comfort of having nowhere else she needed to be.
In this moment I am his.
Pierce continued the gentle circular motions, his touch careful but faster and faster.
Margaret breathed deeply, feeling the last of her restraint dissolve until she could scarcely remember why she had been so anxious when she entered his study.
Then a tremor moved through her entire body. "Pierce, I am… something is happening," she said.
"Let it happen," he said as he kissed her shoulder softly, his hands massaging and bringing her to the brink.
Margaret tensed her body as the pulse exploded into a blissful wave of release. She had never felt anything like it before.
She wanted more.
What has happened to me? What did he do?