Page 31 of His Mad Duchess
He let his grin tilt just enough to show the teeth behind the polish. “Not tonight. Unless you beg me to bolt it.”
Margaret’s eyes flicked to the hearth, to his glass half-full with whatever he’d poured to keep the thoughts at bay.
“I think you rather enjoy it,” she said, almost to herself. “The pretending to hide when you want to be found.”
That caught him. The truth of it, careless and too near the bone. He shifted his glass to the mantel, buying a breath.
“And if I did?” he asked, careless on the surface but too watchful underneath. “What would my ghostly trespasser do then?”
She tilted her chin, a flash of boldness cutting through the weariness in her shoulders. “Haunt you properly, I suppose. Smash your bottle, scatter your dusty books, keep you awake at all hours.”
He barked a soft laugh, honest and unguarded. “God help me, you’d do it, too.”
Margaret’s mouth curved. “Perhaps I would.”
Something flickered in his chest, something dangerously warm.
They stood there for a heartbeat, the silence not so sharp now. He studied her face—the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her hair curled stubbornly at her nape despite how neat she always tried to look. A woman with edges, not painted-on softness. He found he liked it.
He set the glass down, rising to meet her. “If you’re going to insist on haunting my libraries, you’ll have to earn your keep.”
Margaret raised a brow. “Haunting? First a madwoman, now a ghost. Lovely.”
Sebastian barked a laugh, a short, sharp sound that startled her. “Forgive me. A ghost with impeccable timing, then.”
She shook her head. “What exactly do you expect me to do in your precious library? Catalogue your scandalous books?”
“Oh, God, no. They’re barely worth cataloguing.” He turned, spotting the old chessboard on the side table near the window, the one he used to play when he wanted to pretend he had better things to do than brood. An idea sparked. He gestured to it, careless, playful. “Sit. Play me.”
He gave her his most roguish grin, the one that made harmless debutantes run breathless to their mamas. “Unless you’d rather discuss locked doors and rumpled dresses all night.”
Her cheeks went pink, but she didn’t flinch. “Perhaps I would.”
Sebastian laughed again. “God, you’re dangerous.”
She sniffed. “You have no idea.”
“Sit down, Duchess,” he said, dragging a chair out with his boot. “One game. To test if you’re clever enough to haunt my library.”
Sebastian caught her glance at the mantel clock, the brass hands creeping past midnight. He knew that look, the good sense telling her to leave him to his drink and this cavernous house.
But instead, Margaret tipped her head, voice low. “It’s late, Your Grace.”
He lifted one brow, mouth quirking. “You’re already here, Duchess. Might as well make your trespass worth it.”
Margaret huffed, but she moved closer. “One game.”
“One game,” he agreed.
She folded into the opposite chair, skirts spilling neatly around the legs. “And if I win?”
He settled across from her, knuckles braced on the table edge. “If you win, you can make one new rule. Any rule. I’ll honor it.”
“And if you win?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Then you admit I’m not entirely insufferable.”
She hummed, arranging her pawns. “A tragic lie.”
