“Quiet, then?”
Margaret struggled not to smile. “Yes, very quiet. She has an exceptionally creative mind, however, and is always reading and painting. Her favorite subjects are flowers and fairies, though it is rare that she can find a fairy to sit for a portrait, so she mostly contents herself with flowers. She has entire sketchbooks full of peonies and roses.”
She stepped back from the painting, her heart heavy with the thought of Eliza. She began walking to the next piece, but this time, the duke didn’t follow her.
“Hers is a cruel start to life,” he said.
Heart skipping a beat, Margaret turned to look at him. He seemed genuinely moved, staring into space. He knew a great deal about difficult childhoods, Margaret wagered.
“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking into a whisper. “She had a few happy years, and I intend to procure her a great many more.” She paused. “Children are resilient creatures, aren’t they? But that doesn’t mean they don’t feel things deeply and won’t remember what happened to them. I fear she will suffer all her life from the strain of these few short months. The abandonment, the rejection... First her father left, and then her beloved governess. She has watched her mother and sister be ejected from society... It is my duty to preserve what love and hope in her remains.”
“And you have a plan?” he asked, ambling toward the balcony, where he stopped.
“The idea of a plan.” Margaret watched him, wondering why he was interested. He had debated leaving her to die not hours ago. “There is a man who would wed me, against all odds. He is titled, and I believe him to be respectable in so far as it matters. He has promised to overlook my father’s indiscretions and provide for my family forevermore.”
“A fine outcome for you.”
“Hm. Except he is much older than I am and something of a hermit. But on paper, in the grand scheme of things, I agree I could not find much better than him.” The duke fell quiet again, and Margaret questioned why. “You have no designs of marriage yourself?”
He laughed softly, angling his body toward her as he leaned on the balcony. He was a sight for sore eyes, a strand of dark hair falling over his forehead. “Miss Pembroke, you will scare your betrothed away if you insist on interrogating men thusly.”
“Well, you are not my betrothed, for one. And you and I will doubtless never cross paths again, for another,” she said in challenge. “You inquired about my life. Why should I not inquire after yours?”
He looked like he had many good reasons to provide her, but chose to remain silent instead. Margaret couldn’t believe he was even talking to her like this. He seemed like a completely different man from earlier, neither warm nor open. But curious and enjoying himself, even though she doubted he would ever admit it.
She was enjoying herself too.
“I shall marry one day,” he replied. “But I am a solitary creature at heart and am delaying the obtention of a wife until such a day as I should desire one.”
Solitary creature?Margaret held back a laugh.That's far from what Beth implied.
“I suppose His Grace does have the benefit of allowing desire to rule his decisions,” Margaret suggested. “And time, of course. You could justly wait until you were the same age as my suitor before getting wed. A good thirty, forty years.”
He looked exasperated. “In the carriage, you called me rigid. Yet that does not align with your newest evaluation of me. The woman scarcely knows her own mind,” he said as an aside. “Am I a creature of desire or rigidity?”
Margaret blushed. Was he teasing her? It was not possible.
“You may employ rigidity and desire in different aspects of your life,” Margaret said, shrugging one-shouldered, trying to remain aloof. “Running your house like a despot, and yet managing your personal life like...”
“Go on,” he dared.
She shook her head, leaving him without an answer.
The duke smiled, the flame from their candles flickering in tandem as a soft breeze swept in. They had stepped closer during their conversation, side by side on the balcony.
There it was again: soap and smoke. Margaret felt suddenly exposed in her thin chemise, and yet somehow, she didn’t care what he saw or thought of her. In a month, she would likely be married to Baron Faversham, and men like the Duke of Langley would be a thing of the past. Inspiring anger and attraction in her. Making her feel hot and then cold. Wanting to rip the head from his shoulders one moment, and then...
Well, and then he leaned in to kiss her.
CHAPTER 6
There was a pause, like before all bad decisions, a break in time between the conception of the mistake and its execution. The matter of a second, between Alexander’s lips seeking Margaret’s and finding them, during which his better judgment returned to him.
He drew back with a sharp exhale, stomach tightening with denied lust. He was grateful for the darkness around them, concealing the shock on his face and the power of her influence over his body. How could this have happened? Every action he took was the result of careful consideration. Yet the only thing he had considered before leaning in was his deep desire to taste her. And of all the ways that night could have ended, almost kissing her butnotkissing her was certainly the worst. A mistake he could not afford to repeat.
“Why did you...” she murmured, stopping herself by placing her fingers over her lips in a torturous gesture.
The confusion in her voice almost broke him, making him want to crush her mouth shut with his own for a much different reason than before.
