“Yes, yes,” Sampson waved the man down. “We saw the duke’s mount outside. Where is he?”
“In the drawing room, Your Grace,” The butler swept his hand to indicate the direction. “I told him that you would be informed of his arrival the moment you stepped inside.”
Sampson nodded once to the butler and then turned on Margaret and Catherine. “I think it is best if I speak with him alone–”
“No!” Margaret cried before she could help herself. She grimaced to see Sampson scowl at her, softening her expression into one of apology. “I am sorry, but as it concerns me, I think it best if I am present.”
“That is not a good idea.”
“Me too.” Her sister came in beside her. “The duke needs to know that we believe what Margaret has told us, that this entire thing was just a misunderstanding.”
“It will not make a difference.”
“Be that as it may,” her sister took her by the hand in support. “There is safety in numbers.” She cocked an eyebrow at her husband. “And if you think I am going to stand by and donothing, well…” She scoffed. “I thought you would know me better by now.”
Surprisingly, Sampson chuckled at that. Then he reached up and cupped his wife under the chin, looking at her with love and admiration. Margaret eyed the gesture, aware of the love that the two held for one another, aware also of how trepidatious their marriage was when it first began. To see that they were so happy might have made her heart swell, as she loved her family and wanted only the best for them.Sadly, I have bigger things to worry about for now.
“As you wish,” Sampson sighed before turning to look at Margaret. “But I will do the speaking. Is that understood?”
Margaret nodded her agreement, even if she doubted his orders would be followed.
“Good.” He nodded once and took a deep breath. “Follow me.”
Together, the three made their way through the manor and toward the drawing room down the main hall. The door was closed, and before opening it, Sampson made sure to turn around again and address Margaret.
“Lysander is kinder than he seems,” he told her. “There is a reason that we are friends. But he is a man of honor, the type to defend said honor no matter the cost. And if he senses that you are mocking him or bringing his reputation into dispute…” He looked at her warningly. “He is kind, but he has the potential to be as cold as ice, should he be pushed. Is that understood?”
Margaret pictured the man she had met this morning. There was a kindness there, she had seen. And he certainly wasn’t scary.Far too handsome for that. But he had been commanding and serious, and she had no doubt he was not the type who would take kindly to being made to look foolish.
“I da – I mean, it is.” She swallowed. “I will try ta behave.”
Beside her, Catherine snorted. “It would be the first time.”
With nothing else to say or do, Sampson sighed and turned to open the door. The room was dark, the curtains drawn closed, the hearth unlit, shadows clinging to the walls and stretching across the floor. But through it all, Margaret saw the man whom they had come to see. Or rather, who had come to see her.
He was dressed in a suit, his thick hair was combed, his expression was steeled and composed at the same time. There was none of the confusion or panic she had seen in him earlier. His dark eyes drank them in, a quick glance at her, a look of regret… or was that anger? But he did not bark or rise to immediate temper, choosing calmness over fury.At least for now.
“Lysander,” Sampson crossed the room and extended his arm. “I wish I could say it was good to see you.”
“As do I.” I took Sampson’s arm and shook it once. “Just as I wish I could say that this was a friendly visit.” He glanced over Sampson’s shoulder. “Catherine, you look well.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a warm smile. “As do you.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” he chuckled bitterly, which matched his expression as he turned his gaze onto Margaret. “And how could I forget, Miss Lennox. I wish I could say it was lovely to see you again, but lies do not become us.”
“I…” Margaret swallowed nervously. “Your Grace.”
She wasn’t as panicked as she had been the last time she saw him. In her panic, Margaret had spoken with freedom, caring little for what the duke looked like because she’d been so flustered and confused. Now that she had more control of herself, she tried to meet the duke’s eyes, to assert herself because she did not want to come across as meek. Frustratingly, that’s exactly what happened.
There was a presence to him that she had not noticed before. A power that he radiated, as if the world might move at his command. This was not the first time she had met a duke, as she knew Sampson well. But there was a difference between the two men, and it had everything to do with how they made her feel.
She found herself looking away, unable to meet his eyes without blushing.
Sampson began. “What happened earlier –”
“Needs not to be spoken of,” the duke cut him off. “What is done is done, and to relive it will make no difference. What must be decided is what we are going to do about it. Or rather…” She could feel the duke watching her. “What I am going to do about it.”
“I take it you have already given this some thought?” Sampson prompted.