Page 49 of Duke of Gold
“This may be about you, Morgan,” she began, her green eyes fixed intently on his, “but I believe it is my battle to fight. Your dignity is my dignity now. And those words were said to my face. They were meant for me. She merely used you as a shield—cowardly, at that—to deliver her insult.”
A spark of fire glinted in her eyes, and Morgan felt something unexpected swell in his chest: pride. Fierce, unyielding pride at the protective resolve that radiated from her. His wife was far from docile, and in this moment, she looked every inch the duchess she was.
He inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I trust you will keep me informed of your progress, then.”
Margaret flushed, a delightful color blooming on her cheeks at his words of encouragement. It softened her fierceness, just enough to remind him of the warmth that always seemed to linger beneath her determination.
“I intend to host my sisters and brother-in-law for dinner,” she announced after a moment, her tone lightening.
He arched a brow. “Oh, do you?”
“And we shall invite the Marquess of Broughton as well,” she added, her spirits visibly returning.
Morgan leaned back in his chair, his expression wry. “Why do I have a feeling I have little choice in this matter?”
“Oh, you have none,” she replied with a mischievous smile. Her laugh was soft and musical as she continued, “I have already made up my mind. I am simply informing you, Your Grace, so you can prepare yourself to smile and play the perfect host when the time comes.”
Despite himself, Morgan laughed—a genuine, hearty sound that startled him with its ease. He seemed to be doing quite a bit of that in her company lately, and it left him with an odd warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite ignore.
As her laughter faded, he watched her with a quiet fondness that surprised him.What is she doing to me?
His chest tightened. Margaret deserved nothing but the truth from him, and she must have many questions.
If he could bear to answer them.
CHAPTER 23
“We meet again, Lord Broughton,” Anna said, her voice as dry as the champagne they’d served earlier. Her hand was extended for him to kiss, though her tone suggested she’d rather it not be.
It was the evening of the dinner arrived, and Peggy could scarcely contain her excitement as they all gathered in the drawing room to await dinner. Time spent with her sisters was always a balm to her spirits, and tonight she felt it more keenly than ever.
“It is always a pleasure, Lady Anna,” Broughton responded smoothly, bowing over her hand. His dark eyes sparkled with unmistakable mischief.
“I wish I could say the same,” Anna returned, though the corner of her mouth quirked as she pulled her hand back.
Broughton’s smile deepened as his gaze flicked past her, searching the room as though for an escape—or perhaps a diversion. “You did not bring your thimble, Lady Anna?”
Anna’s brows drew together in confusion before realization dawned. “If you are referring to Titan again, Lord Broughton, I shall have you know he is not a thimble but a most dignified companion.”
Broughton tilted his head, his expression all but impish. “A most diminutive companion,” he corrected.
Peggy stifled a laugh, her gloved hand brushing against her lips to hide her smile. Elizabeth, standing nearby, failed to suppress her snicker entirely. Anna’s head whipped toward them, and the identical scowls she directed at her sisters were enough to set Peggy’s laugh free entirely.
Before Anna could retort, dinner was announced, and Broughton offered his arm to her with a mockingly deferential bow. “Shall we, Lady Anna?”
Anna hesitated but relented with a sigh, her movements as reluctant as if she were heading to the gallows. Yet, as the meal progressed and conversation ebbed and flowed, her irritation with Broughton seemed to melt away. The lively discussions, punctuated by the clink of fine silverware, soon turned the atmosphere convivial.
It was during one such lull that Broughton turned his attention to Peggy and Morgan. “And how do you both find the country? Surely it has offered some respite from the bustle of town?”
Peggy opened her mouth to respond, but Morgan spoke first. “It is quiet,” he said simply, his tone even but without warmth. “Perfect for solitude.”
Peggy paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “It is lively, in its way,” she said, glancing at her husband. “Though perhaps I have found it more so.”
Morgan’s gaze met hers, his dark brows furrowing ever so slightly. There was no malice in his look, only a faint surprise, as if he had not expected their answers to differ so. Peggy smiled softly, determined to smooth over the disharmony before anyone could remark upon it.
“I have met the most charming ladies,” she continued, setting down her fork. “Lady Aleshire, Mrs. Pattons, and several others have been most welcoming. And I’ve discovered a delightful little bookstore in the village—a treasure trove of novels and history, tucked into the quaintest corner. Truly, I believe there is no end to the surprises the country has to offer.”
Her sisters listened with indulgent smiles, and even Broughton appeared momentarily charmed, though his wry grin returned quickly enough. Morgan gave her an almost imperceptible nod, as though in acknowledgment of her deft handling of the moment.
