Page 20 of His Highland Duchess
She was starting to very much. Not that this helped with her confusion, as she was still struggling to understand the man to whom she was married. He was extremely calm in all things, proper and put together as any gentleman of the ton should be.Rarely did he rise to anger. Rarely did he display any emotion…except for when he is silently mocking me.
This marriage was obviously a hasty affair with an end date attached, but the way he was treating her almost suggested it might not be.
“Does that mean we will be attending the Mayfield Ball this week?”
“It does.”
She could not help but chuckle. “And ye trust me to do sa?”
“Should I not?”
Feeling strange standing over him, Margaret stepped down from the stool. And although her hands still covered her breasts behind the shift, she decided right away that making the move to the floor was a bad idea. It put her right in front of the duke. Less than a foot between them. He did not move an inch, but his eyes looked her over… lingering for a moment too long on her bosom.
“Well, ye da nae trust me with your daughters,” she pointed out, looking down and away from him. “So, why ye would trust me in the ton…”
“Yes, about that.” He considered her for a moment, and she could feel his eyes on her. It made her skin flush pink and her heart race. “It seems to me that I was wrong to suggest such athing of you. Barring you from my daughters…” He sighed. “The logistics alone make it impractical.”
“So, that is why?” She snapped up her head and raised an eyebrow. She was not upset by what he said, as his logic made perfect sense. But Margaret was who she was for a reason, and seeing a chance to poke at his armor and unseat him was not a chance she could miss. “It has nothing to da with me.”
“I did not say that.”
“Ye implied it.” She raised both eyebrows. “Tell me, when we are at this ball, will I be with ye all evening, or da ye expect me to hide in the corner so I might not embarrass meself? And ye by extension?”
He did not answer immediately. His brow furrowed and he looked right at her. Through her, it seemed. It was as if he could read her mind.And as if I can read his…
“You have a nasty habit of seeing the worst in me. Do you know that?”
“Some may call me perceptive.”
“Not the word I would use.”
She scoffed, forcing herself to hold his probing stare. “And what would ye call it, exactly?”
His smirk grew, and she felt her heart race faster. She had not meant to bicker with him. She had not meant to lead the conversation down this hostile path. But again, she remembered what had happened the last time, where it had led to, and despite what she wished to believe about herself and her opinion of her husband, she knew, too, why she did it.And from the look in his eyes, he knows the same.
“Temperamental,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Well, ye are –”
“And stubborn.”
“I am nae –”
“And outspoken.” Suddenly, he stepped in closer so that their bodies were touching. She reared back, the stool hitting her knees so she could not move. “Feisty. Free spirited. Possessed of a smart mouth and a sharp tongue that you seem incapable of controlling.”
“Who…” Her body was shaking, and all she wanted to do was turn around for the way he looked at her… “Who is saying I want to control it?”
He chuckled and moved his hand to her waist. She gasped and attempted to wiggle free, but he held on tight. “You’re going to have to learn. If you do not…” He clicked his tongue and flashed his eyes with hunger. “I cannot see this working.”
“Maybe I da nae want it to work.”
“Clearly,” he said. “But I do not care. You will learn to control yourself, or you might not like what happens when you don’t.”
Her heart beat so hard in her chest that it hurt her. From where he gripped her, waves of heat rushed over her body so that her knees shook. She could see what was on his mind. Yet she did not know why.Daes he nae hate me? Daes he nae want nothing to do with me? Perhaps that daesnae matter so much as I thought…
“Yes, well…” She widened her own eyes at him. “Guid luck with –”
And that was when he kissed her.
