Page 32 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

She looked down at her untouched breakfast and tried to imagine herself leaving this room tomorrow. The familiar walls, the voices, the laughter, the comfort of knowing exactly where she belonged would all become memories.

This time tomorrow, she would be the Duchess of Ravenfield.

She would never again sleep in her own home as an unmarried woman.

Margaret drew a slow breath. The thought frightened her. It thrilled her.

And, much to her annoyance, it made her wonder whether Pierce had chosen tomorrow because he was impatient to make her his wife, or because he had already realized that if he gave her too much time to think, she might change her mind.

* * *

After breakfast, Margaret escaped to her bedchamber with Iris and Camelia following close behind, only to discover that escaping one form of chaos had merely led her into another.

Her sisters immediately began opening wardrobes, examining gowns, pulling ribbons from drawers, and discussing wedding attire as though Margaret had not been informed only an hour ago that she was to be married the following day.

Margaret sat upon the edge of her bed and watched them with the dazed expression of someone who had somehow wandered into another person's life. She still could not quite believe that tomorrow she would be Pierce Sterling's wife.

"I shall wear the same dress that I wore with Harrowby," Margaret announced, attempting to settle the matter before either sister could become more energetic. "It is perfectly respectable, and I have no intention of spending an entire day running about London because a duke has suddenly decided to marry me."

Camelia emerged from the wardrobe holding a pale blue sash. "That dress is bad luck."

Margaret stared at her. "Bad luck?"

"It was the dress you wore when you were supposed to marry Harrowby," Camelia explained, as though the answer were obvious. "Therefore, it is contaminated."

"Contaminated?"

"With bad memories," Iris clarified, though she was already examining Margaret's gloves. "Although I believe Camelia's word makes it sound considerably more dramatic."

"It is dramatic," Camelia insisted. "Margaret needs a new gown."

"I do not need a new gown," Margaret protested. "I need a moment to breathe."

Iris glanced at her sympathetically. "You can breathe whilst shopping."

Margaret groaned and sank back against the pillows. Her sisters continued their discussion, but their voices became little more than background noise. A new dress seemed absurdly unimportant when compared with the reality waiting for her tomorrow. She was going to marry Pierce. The thought pressed upon her with a strange heaviness, one that had nothing to do with Geoffrey Harrowby's discarded contract.

I had agreed to this. I had chosen it.

That was the part she kept reminding herself.

Yet she was still marrying a man she did not love. Worse, she scarcely knew him. She knew that he was commanding, secretive, stubborn, and maddeningly certain of himself. She knew that he had a beautiful little boy who needed her. She knew that when he looked at her with those mismatched eyes, something inside her responded in a way she had no intention of examining too closely.

And she knew what had happened in his library.

Margaret's cheeks warmed.

That was precisely the memory she needed to avoid.

Pierce had stirred forbidden things inside her, things she had not known existed until his mouth had touched hers. She had spent the night insisting that their marriage would be practical, yet her body seemed determined to disagree whenever she remembered him standing too close.

The bedroom door suddenly flew open.

Margaret jumped.

"I will not have my daughter wearing the same dress tainted by Harrowby!"

Bernard stood in the doorway, looking more determined than Margaret had seen him in weeks.