Page 100 of Surrender Your Grace
“This is unlike you, sister. You’ve never been spoiled and selfish, Or hurtful. You insulted the duke of Cantwell’s cousin. He’s Her Majesty’s cousin, mind you. She and the entire family were deeply offended.”
“I only said his daughter was light on her feet. What’s wrong with that?”
Andrew fought to keep his composure. “You likened her to a poodle.”
“She was rather perky,” Maggie mused. Duncan was more interested in his sausages than the conversation, so she reached down deep for another appalling jab. “When the girl danced, all those corkscrew curls bounced, and she had no fewer than three bows.”
Cici choked on her tea.
“I didn’t say it to her face,” Maggie added, as if this diminished the offense.
“Others overheard you,” Andrew said, his voice tight. “Which I’m sure was intentional.”
“Why would I do that?”
Andrew’s gaze flicked toward Lord Rothbury. “You tell me.”
“Speaking of dogs with bows,” Duncan said, interrupting smoothly as he spread jam on his toast, “I find your bark delightful. Your bite... well, I’m eager to experience it more fully after the wedding vows.”
Maggie flushed scarlet. “You are insufferable.”
“Mayhap, but not so often. Be happy you’re living, lass. You’re a long time dead.”
“What does that Scot’s gibberish mean?”
“It’s an old saying. You have to learn to find joy in life rather than being upset all the time.”
She threw up her hands. “Where is the joy in this? You took liberties with my person and then threatened me with scandal.”
“You consented,” he said with infuriating calm then winked. “Soon, on our wedding night, you’ll be grateful you did.”
Andrew stood, casting a weary glance skyward. “On that note, I’m off to soothe Cantwell’s bruised ego. I’ll apologize profusely for Lady Margaret’s undisciplined tongue and assure him she will be under strict control once her new husband takes charge. The bishop will be here at four o’clock. Let’s aim for civility until the vows are said at least.”
“Today?” Maggie exclaimed, surging from her chair.
“Yes. With the license in hand, there is no reason to delay.”
“I can think of one big Scottish one!” Also, she hadn’t had enough time to convince the arrogant laird that wedding a spoiled debutante was a horrendous idea. She stomped her foot in protest and panic. “I will not be strong-armed into a hushed ceremony like I’m some shameful mistress!”
“You’d make the most scandalous mistress,” Rothbury murmured, sipping his coffee.
Her blush intensified as she turned to quit the room. “I’m going riding.”
“I’ll join you,” Cici declared, popping up from her chair like a spark. “Anything to escape the flying barbs.”
“Only in a carriage,” Andrew called after her. “You’re not galloping anywhere—not in your condition.”
That was the high-handedness Maggie feared—warranted for Cici, perhaps, in her condition—but not for her. Not with Duncan.
As she reached the door, his rumbling burr followed her, lazy and impossible to ignore.
“Don’t forget your bridal fitting at noon,” he called. “We wouldn’t want your gown too tight. It might spark gossip about our haste. Though I do rather enjoy a corset.”
Maggie’s fists clenched. She didn’t care who heard her muttered threat. “If he reaches the wedding night with all appendages intact, it’ll be nothing short of divine intervention.”
***
In the hallway outside the drawing room, where in minutes she would walk out as a bride, Maggie wrung her hands as she paced. Her pounding heart louder than the hushed voices of the few guests and therustle of the heavy brocade of her hastily stitched wedding gown.
