Page 3 of Taken By the Dangerous Duke

“I heard,” interrupted Arthur. “Will he not come to the door?”

“He might if there is some money involved,” commented Margaret. “Are you here to repay some money to my father? If that is the case, I am sure he will be delighted to see you. But, if you are here to demand money from him, I am sure you will find that he is nowhere to be found.”

Margaret knew that her father was likely listening to the conversation, and she knew she should not speak about her father like that, but she could not help it sometimes. Not when he treated her far worse. He liked to degrade and punish her for no reason, so better to give him one and let her emotions out at the same time.

There was a lot that she should not be doing. She knew that she should not be speaking to any man who came to the door like she was, especially not a duke. And, she knew that she should not be answering the door at all. There was some embarrassment in her heart for having to do so instead of having a butler or a housekeeper to take up such tasks. And, she was livid that her father had not come to the door yet. That might save the situation.

“This is not about money,” said the duke. “Look, I really would prefer to speak to your father instead. So, if you would mind fetching him, I would be grateful.”

Margaret held her ground, staring into rich green eyes that might have been more joyful if they were not creased around the edges by his frown, nor lacking the joy that most people in these parts had.

“I shall try my best,” sighed Margaret. “Give me a moment.”

Margaret left the duke standing at the door while she went to go and talk to her father. She knew that he would only be angrier at her than he already was, but there was a duke at the door, and she did not feel right about disobeying him either.

When she reached the drawing room, her father was sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. He had a long, thin cigar sticking out of his mouth, a slight wisp of smoke winding its way up toward the ceiling, and there was a crystal glass (the only crystal glass in the house) on the table beside him, a decanter of cheap whisky beside it.

“The Duke of Garriot is at the door, Father,” murmured Margaret.

“Yes. I believe we’ve already established that,” he responded.

Margaret looked from her father to her mother. She sat six feet from her father, working on a sewing project, perhaps darning a sock. That was the only thing they ever bonded over. Eleanor looked up at Margaret, and she had a softer expression, but it was still one of annoyance, mimicking the emotions of her husband.

“He asked if he could speak with you, Father,” said Margaret.

“What about?” asked James.

“I don’t know.”

“Then stop wasting my time and find out,” ordered James.

“Yes, Father,” replied Margaret. Again, she knew better than to argue, no matter how exasperated she was. Perhaps it was better not to have a housekeeper answer the door. Margaret could not imagine the poor person who would have to deal with her father as she did. Margaret had years of experience to fall back on.

“My father has kindly asked me to find out what it is you want,” said Margaret when she got back to the door.

“Did you speak to him?” demanded the duke. “Can you not do one thing I ask?”

“Ask?” quipped Margaret. “The last time I checked, I was not in your employ. I don’t need to do anything you ask, but for your information, I did ask my father and he probably heard how rude you were being to me and decided he did not want to speak with you. To be honest, I am getting rather annoyed myself.”

“I am sorry to have bothered you then,” replied the duke, rolling his eyes this time. “I did not have to do your family this kindness by coming down here, but I believe that every person deserves some respect. I might have to rethink that assumption.”

“I have already rethought it,” replied Margaret quickly, unable to shroud her emotions.

The duke shook his head. “If your father will not come to the door, then you can pass on a message to him.”

“I might.” Again, Margaret was unable to quell her feelings. They were not toward this man, only toward life, but this provided a good outlet. If she treated her father this way, she would pay for it dearly over the next few days or weeks, depending on how far she had pushed him (though he always deserved it). With the duke, he would be gone once they had finished this interaction, and she might feel less angry.

The duke became more enraged, his face reddening, and Margaret felt some of her own anger dissipate more as if she were passing it onto the duke.

“There have been complaints,” stated the duke.

“Complaints?”

“I might have assumed that they were directed at your father, but perhaps the entire family is involved.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” spat Margaret. The mention of her in the same breath as her father only increased her ire. She was nothing like that man.

“There have been complaints about the noise coming from your house. Late night drunken reveries and gambling sessions that go on through the night and into the early hours of the morning.”

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