Page 55 of His Mad Duchess
“You needed it,” he countered, his tone sharpening as he glared down at her.
“I need nothing from you.” The words came harsher than she intended, driven by the sting of her own vulnerability. Margaret turned her face away, tears stinging her eyes, not from gratitude but from the torment of being seen so weak. “Leave me,” she said hoarsely. “Leave me at once.”
He hesitated, the words still hanging between them, then inclined his head stiffly. “As you wish.” His voice softened, as if almost despite himself. “Forgive me, Margaret. I never meant to harm you.”
He had just reached the door when it swung open. Jenny stumbled in, balancing a tray of breakfast. “Oh!” she gasped, nearly dropping it. “Your Grace—I beg your pardon!”
Her wide eyes darted from Sebastian, disheveled and bare-chested, to Margaret, flushed and clutching the blanket high. The clatter of porcelain trembled in the air.
“I… I can return later if you are… occupied,” Jenny stammered, taking a half-step back.
Margaret’s throat worked, but no sound came. The room felt suffocating.
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “No,” he said evenly, not glancing at Margaret. “I was already leaving.”
And with that, he brushed past the maid, his broad shoulders disappearing into the corridor.
He moved past Jenny but paused on the threshold. Turning back, his voice softened. “I am sorry, Margaret. Again. I’ll be waiting in the unused ballroom this afternoon. We must rehearse—for London.”
The reminder of their bargain settled heavily between them. Margaret’s fingers curled tighter around the blanket. “Of course,” she said, her tone grave.For our first appearance.
“I shall be there,” she finished quietly.
He inclined his head once more and stepped into the corridor, his broad shoulders vanishing from sight.
Their first appearance. The words sounded oddly heavy in her mind, heavier than they ought to be. Margaret sank back against the pillows, pulse refusing to steady.
It was only the first of many small performances—the bargain they had struck, the part she must play. Soon, they would part and live separate lives, and yet in London, before so many eyes, they must appear united.
For her reputation’s sake, for the silencing of whispers. He still thought it his duty to shield her, to guard what no one could truly guard.
She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks, as though she might cool them. “Duty,” she whispered to herself. “Only duty. Nothing more. Nothing… nothing I ought to feel.”
CHAPTER 18
Margaret stood before her mirror as Jenny drew the sash snug at her waist, smoothing the pale blue muslin into place. She hardly knew why she had chosen the pale blue muslin, save that it felt less like armor than the other gowns.
The morning had begun with ritual. Jenny had slipped in with two undermaids at her heels, bearing fresh linen and stockings folded crisp from the press.
Margaret had stood while they eased away her night shift, cool air brushing her skin before new linen whispered down over her shoulders. Then came the stays—drawn closed with quick, practiced fingers, the laces biting into order what her breath longed to leave unbound.
Stockings were rolled, garters tied, and slippers set neatly beneath her feet before the muslin gown was lifted like a cloud and lowered into place.
Her hair, neatly drawn back, betrayed nothing of the restless hours since morning. Jenny smoothed the last fold with a careful hand, eyes flicking to the mirror.
“Too tight, Your Grace?” the maid asked, catching the faint rise and fall of Margaret’s breath.
“No,” Margaret said quickly, though her chest lifted in a shallow breath. “It will do very well.”
The girl stepped back, tilting her head. “It is a gentle color. Soft on the eye.”
“Yes,” Margaret murmured. “Gentle.” She caught her own gaze in the mirror and lifted her chin. Nothing about her expression betrayed the restless hours she had spent pacing the room, turning his words over and over again.
Jenny lingered a moment, fussing with a fold of fabric. “Will you be out this afternoon, Your Grace?”
“For a little while,” Margaret replied, her voice careful. “You need not wait for me.”
Jenny bobbed a curtsy. “Very good, Your Grace.”
