Chapter 26
"Your Grace… is it?"
Pierce had made it no more than halfway across the ballroom when Lady Darren intercepted him with the uncanny precision of a woman who had spent years hunting down husbands, scandals, and anything else of interest to the ton.
She arrived accompanied by three other ladies, all heavily masked and decorated with enough feathers, ribbons, and jewels to furnish a small theatre, and Pierce recognized them as the usual collection of women who could discover a rumor before the person at the center of it had even committed the offence.
"Indeed," he said, acknowledging that it was him under the mask.
"How delightful to find you here," she curtseyed.
Pierce inclined his head politely, though his attention had already wandered past her shoulder.
Margaret was standing across the ballroom, and yet another gentleman had approached her, this one in a gold mask. Pierce watched the man bow, say something that made Margaret smile, and extend his hand. He could not hear the man's request, but he did not need to.
Margaret hesitated for perhaps half a second before placing her hand in his, and Pierce's fingers curled slowly into fists at his sides.
Then the gold-masked stranger led his wife onto the dance floor, and Pierce's expression hardened as he watched Margaret's blue-green costume sweep around her like the waves of some enchanted sea.
She looked magnificent. She also looked entirely too magnificent while dancing with another man.
"Your Grace?" Lady Darren prompted, and Pierce realized that she had been speaking to him.
He turned his attention back to her with effort. "Forgive me. I was distracted."
Lady Darren followed his gaze, and her eyes immediately brightened with the satisfaction of discovering something interesting. "Ah," she murmured knowingly, turning to watch Margaret as well. "I see."
Pierce disliked the sound of those two words almost as much as he disliked the expression that accompanied them. The other ladies looked towards Margaret too, their interest sharpening with every passing second.
Lady Darren gave a delicate little laugh. "How is your second marriage progressing, Your Grace?" she asked, fanning herself as though the question were entirely innocent.
Pierce looked at her. "Quite well."
"Indeed?" she replied, drawing out the word while watching Margaret turn gracefully beneath her partner's arm. "Your duchess is certainly an... interesting choice."
Pierce's eyes narrowed. There it was. The insult concealed beneath a compliment so thin that even the most charitable person could have seen through it.
He remembered Lady Darren's previous comments about Margaret, including her cruel insinuations concerning Augusta, and his patience had already been worn thin by watching another man's hand rest upon his wife's waist.
"Interesting," Pierce repeated, his voice dangerously mild. "What a… fascinating choice of word."
Lady Darren smiled, clearly believing herself clever. "I meant no offense, of course. Lady Margaret is spirited, unconventional, and rather..." She paused, clearly searching for a polite word that would disguise the insult. "Unrefined."
Pierce stared at her for a moment, genuinely astonished that she had been foolish enough to say it aloud. "How fortunate for my wife," he replied, "that she possesses qualities you evidently find so lacking in yourself."
The ladies beside Lady Darren fell silent, and one of them coughed delicately into her glove.
Lady Darren's smile stiffened. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, lifting her chin.
Pierce took one slow step closer, his expression composed but his voice cold. "You heard me."
He had never understood why people mistook rank for permission to be cruel.
Perhaps they assumed that because he was a duke, he would politely tolerate any insult delivered with a smile.
Margaret certainly had not tolerated such behavior, and he found himself rather proud that she had taught the ton to regret underestimating her.
"My wife is intelligent, warm, courageous, and considerably more interesting than anyone in this ballroom."
Lady Darren's mouth fell open. "I was merely making conversation."
"Then I suggest you find a subject at which you are more accomplished," Pierce said, taking another glance towards the dance floor.
Margaret was laughing at something her partner had said, and Pierce felt another sharp twist of jealousy.
He knew she was doing nothing wrong. He knew the gentleman could not possibly know that the beautiful sea goddess before him was the Duchess of Ravenfield, and yet logic did very little to soothe the primitive irritation tightening his chest.
"Perhaps gardening," he added dryly. "I understand you are fond of discussing other people's dirt."
One of the hen ladies made a strangled sound that might have been an attempt to suppress laughter.
Lady Darren looked as though she had swallowed a lemon whole. "Your Grace, that is hardly…"
"Good evening," Pierce interrupted, offering her the smallest possible bow.
He had no interest in hearing the explanation that would inevitably follow, because explanations from people like Lady Darren were rarely apologies and almost never sincere.
He turned away before she could recover enough to stop him, leaving the group in stunned silence behind him.
He moved towards the dance floor, his eyes never leaving Margaret.
He ought to have been embarrassed by his behavior.
A duke should possess restraint, dignity, and enough social polish to endure a foolish remark without threatening the offender's peace of mind.
Pierce possessed all three qualities when he wished to.
Tonight, however, his wife was wearing the pearl necklace he had given her; she was dressed as a sea goddess, and another man's hand was resting at her waist. His restraint had apparently decided to attend a different ball.
Nathaniel's voice echoed in his memory, teasing him about jealousy, and Pierce grimaced.
He had denied it then, but perhaps his friend had been right.
There was something deeply unreasonable about the possessiveness rising within him, especially when Margaret had done nothing but accept a dance.
Yet he could not deny what he felt when he watched her move through another man's arms. He wanted her attention.
He wanted her laughter directed at him. He wanted every gentleman in London to know precisely who she belonged with, and he suspected that if another man asked her for a second dance, he might make a very public announcement of their marriage.
Then Margaret glanced toward him.
Their eyes met as he approached, and the warmth that immediately appeared in her expression did more to soothe his temper than any sensible thought could have accomplished. She smiled at him, and Pierce's chest tightened for an entirely different reason.
Pierce stepped forward and intercepted the man before he could complete the turn of the dance.
"Thank you," he said with a courteous nod that contained not the slightest suggestion that further conversation would be welcome.
The gentleman hesitated, glanced at Margaret, then at the imposing duke standing before him, and wisely retreated into the crowd.
Margaret watched the exchange with amusement rather than outrage, her lips curving. "You are quite rude," she observed, placing her hand in Pierce’s.
"I am aware," he replied, drawing her towards him. "It is one of my more consistent qualities."
She laughed, and the sound immediately eased something inside him.
Pierce placed one hand at her waist and took her other hand in his, and as the musicians began another dance, Margaret settled into his arms with an ease that made his thoughts considerably less respectable.
She looked perfectly content there, her pearl necklace resting against her throat, the blue-green fabric of her costume flowing around them as they moved.
He could feel the warmth of her through the layers of silk, and the sight of her smiling up at him made him wonder how he had ever convinced himself that marriage to Margaret would be a matter of duty alone.
She was devastatingly beautiful tonight, but it was not merely her appearance that affected him, it was the knowledge that beneath the mask and elaborate costume was the woman who challenged him, laughed at him, disobeyed him, and somehow made his immense, orderly life feel considerably less empty.
"I thought you disliked dancing," Margaret said, lifting her chin as he guided her through the turn.
"I dislike dancing with most people." His answer brought another smile to her lips.
"How fortunate I am."
Pierce's mouth twitched. "Very."
She studied him for a moment, and he recognized the expression immediately.
Margaret was about to ask him something inconvenient. "When will your investigation finally come to an end?" she asked, her voice gentler now.
Pierce looked over her shoulder towards the musicians. "This is not the time to discuss it."
Margaret's eyebrows rose. "That sounds suspiciously like something a man says when he does not wish his wife asking questions."
"That is because it is something a man says when he does not wish his wife asking questions."
"You have been gone for days, Pierce. You came back saying that your journey was productive, and now you are standing here looking as though you expect another man to steal me away because he dared to ask for a dance."
Pierce glanced down at her. "That is an entirely separate matter."
"Is it?" she asked innocently, and he knew perfectly well that she was enjoying herself.
"Yes."
"You are certain?" she asked.
"Margaret."
She smiled. "Very well."
Pierce should have known that her agreement meant nothing whatsoever.
A few moments later, she asked again, "But truly, when will you finish this investigation?"
He sighed, and she looked far too pleased with herself. "You are relentless."
"You married me," she reminded him sweetly, turning beneath his arm before returning to him. "You must accept the consequences."
Pierce almost laughed. "I am beginning to understand that.
" He looked down at her, and the amusement in her eyes softened him despite himself.
Perhaps this was what he had missed while he was away.
Not simply her presence, but this ease between them, this ridiculous banter that made him feel almost ordinary.
For a few minutes he forgot the questions surrounding Hugh, the mystery of Augusta's disappearance, and the uncertainty that had followed him for years.
He simply danced with his wife, and it felt good.
Eventually, however, Margaret's persistent questioning wore down his resistance.
"You have to tell me something about these travels or I will not stop questioning," she said.
"I have found my first real lead," he admitted quietly. Her expression changed immediately, and he continued before she could interrupt. "I intend to travel there myself."
Margaret frowned slightly. "Travel? Again? Where?"
Pierce's gaze settled upon hers. "South." He paused before adding, "You were right."
She blinked. "About what?"
"About the clues pointing south. They all lead in the same direction, towards the countryside. I believe that is where I need to go next."
He had expected satisfaction. Maybe even triumph. Pierce had thought she would be pleased to know that his investigation had finally confirmed her instincts.
Instead, the brightness disappeared from her expression.
Pierce noticed it at once. "Why are you frowning?" he asked, slowing slightly as the music continued around them.
Margaret looked away, her fingers still resting in his hand, and for the first time that evening she seemed unwilling to meet his eyes.
"Margaret?" he pressed, his brows drawing together. She did not answer. He searched her face, trying to understand what had changed, but she merely withdrew her hand from his and stepped away. "What is it?" he asked, genuinely confused.
She still said nothing. Margaret turned and walked from the dance floor, her sea-goddess costume trailing behind her as she moved towards one of the corridors leading away from the ballroom.
Pierce remained where he was, watching her disappear beyond the doorway.
The music continued, couples continued dancing, and hundreds of masked guests continued laughing as though nothing at all had happened.
Pierce stared after his wife, utterly baffled.
What did I say?
He replayed the conversation in his mind, searching for the offense.
He had told her she was right. He had given her precisely the information she had demanded.
Surely she ought to have been pleased. Instead, she had walked away without a word, leaving him standing alone in the middle of a crowded ballroom like a fool.
Pierce glanced towards the corridor again. Margaret was gone.
His jaw tightened. He could ignore society. He could tolerate Nathaniel's teasing, Lady Darren's gossip, and even gentlemen foolish enough to ask his wife to dance. But he could not tolerate Margaret walking away from him when he did not understand why.
With one last look at the ballroom, Pierce followed her. Duty might have called him to investigate a mystery in the southern countryside, but at that moment there was a far more immediate mystery standing somewhere beyond that corridor, and he intended to find its answer.