Page 95 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Hugh reached up suddenly and seized a handful of Bernard's beard.

Bernard froze.

Margaret stared at him for a moment before laughter escaped her. "Oh, Papa."

"Your son has attacked me," Bernard declared, attempting to pry Hugh's tiny fingers loose. "I have been betrayed by my own grandson."

Hugh tugged again.

"I think he likes it," Margaret said, laughing harder.

"I assure you, Margaret, this is not the sort of affection I encouraged."

Hugh laughed again, and Bernard's stern expression immediately dissolved into delight. "Very well, then. You may pull it. Only because you are my grandson."

Margaret watched them with a smile that she could not suppress. Her father had lost so much when her mother died, and for years she had wondered whether he would ever again find a source of happiness that did not remind him of what he had lost. Now Hugh sat happily in his arms, tugging his beard while Bernard laughed as though he had been given the greatest gift imaginable.

"You look very happy," Bernard said suddenly, glancing at Margaret.

She looked at him, surprised by the observation. "I am."

He smiled softly. "I am proud of you, my darling. More proud than I could ever properly say. You have entered an entirely new life, and yet you seem determined to make it a good one."

Margaret's eyes grew warm. She looked from her father to Hugh and then around the room, where flowers stood in every vase and afternoon sunlight spilled across the carpet. For one strange, wonderful moment, she could almost imagine that this was not merely a marriage of convenience. This was a family.

Her father was laughing with her husband's son. Hugh was reaching for her father as though he had known him forever. And she was standing in the middle of it all, feeling a happiness that had arrived so quietly she had barely noticed it.

Margaret swallowed and smiled.

Maybe, Ravenfield House is beginning to feel like home after all.

CHAPTER 23

Pierce knocked upon the door of Nathaniel Vernon, Earl of Brydges, and was admitted almost immediately by a servant.

Nathaniel stood in the threshold to his study with a glass already in one hand, his dark brown hair untidy and his green eyes bright with the amusement that seemed to accompany him everywhere.

At twenty-six, as the second son of the Duke of Northton, Nathaniel had perfected the art of behaving as though responsibility were a personal insult.

"Ravenfield," he greeted, stepping aside. "You look as though someone has died."

Pierce removed his gloves with deliberate calm. "No one has died."

Nathaniel studied him. "Then someone must have disappointed you. That is usually worse."

Pierce ignored the remark and followed him into the study. Papers covered Nathaniel's desk, several books had been left open upon a side table, and a ledger sat before the fire with the unmistakable appearance of something Nathaniel had been avoiding.

Nathaniel poured Pierce a brandy before taking one for himself and dropped into a chair.

"There," he said, extending the glass. "Drink. You are far too grim for this hour."

Pierce accepted it and glanced towards the desk. "What are you working on?"

Nathaniel gave a dramatic sigh and gestured towards the accounts. "The tedious business of managing money. Apparently, because I am the second son, I am expected to understand where every blasted shilling goes. My elder brother is the heir. Surely he ought to be the one suffering through this."

Pierce settled into the opposite chair. "You are still a member of the family, Nathaniel. It is your duty to understand these matters."

Nathaniel stared at him. "You have become dreadfully fond of that word since marrying. Duty."