Page 58 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

That night, Margaret could not sleep. She had tried everything sensible, including reading, closing her eyes, counting the hours until morning, and telling herself that a duchess ought to possess enough dignity not to lie awake thinking about her husband.

None of it worked. Ever since she had met Pierce, there had been something inside her that felt unfinished, some restless dissatisfaction she could neither name nor understand, and she had decided that the simplest explanation was…

I dislike him very much. He's stubborn. He's arrogant, and he has an infuriating habit of looking at me as though he knows precisely what I am thinking.

With a huff of annoyance, Margaret abandoned her bed and slipped into the corridor in her dressing gown, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders as she wandered through the unfamiliar house.

A glass of warm milk will help me sleep. I hope.

Ravenfield still did not feel like home; every corridor seemed too grand, every portrait too watchful, and every shadow reminded her that she was now living in a place belonging to a man she scarcely understood. As she passed another corridor, she noticed a thin line of golden light beneath a door that was half ajar. She hesitated when she recognized it as Pierce's study, then took one step closer before deciding she ought to leave him to his privacy.

"If you intend to linger there, you may as well come inside," Pierce called from within, startling her so thoroughly that she nearly jumped.

She pushed the door open and found him seated behind his desk, a glass of brandy beside one hand and several letters spread before him.

"I was not lingering," Margaret protested as she entered, closing the door behind her.

Pierce lifted his gaze from the page and studied her with an expression that was far too knowing. "You were standing outside my door," he replied, reaching for his glass. "That qualifies as lingering."

Margaret folded her arms. "I was deciding whether you were worth disturbing."

His mouth curved faintly. "You should know by now that I would have heard you eventually."

She frowned. "I was perfectly quiet."

"You were," he agreed, taking a slow sip. "But I could recognize your scent."

The words should have been entirely innocent, yet they sent a strange shiver down Margaret's spine. She suddenly became painfully conscious of the fact that they were alone in a darkened room, with only the fire and a few lamps illuminating Pierce's broad figure behind the desk.

Then she saw it. His gaze moved from her face down her body, and she remembered that she was in her very thin night dress and the shawl had fallen down her shoulders, revealing to much.

She pulled the shawl tighter and cleared her throat.

"That is a rather unsettling thing to say," she managed, moving farther into the room.

"I thought you preferred absolute honesty?" he said.

"I do."

His mismatched eyes lingered on her. "That was honest."

Margaret was not convinced. She touched the edge of a chair and tried to compose herself and shift the subject. "What are those letters?"

Pierce's expression changed at once, becoming guarded. "It is not your burden."

Margaret's brows rose. "I am your wife. Surely I am permitted to know what keeps my husband awake at this hour."

"Not everything that concerns me needs to concern you."

She glanced at the papers again. "Are they about Hugh?"

The question silenced him for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

Margaret's curiosity sharpened. "How long has Hugh been here?"

Pierce leaned back in his chair, his fingers tightening around the glass. "Not long. A few weeks"

Her eyes widened. "Then where was he before that?"