“An empty hunting lodge?”
He smirked at her uneasy state. “Don’t worry, Margaret, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. As you so rightly pointed out, being in my company is enough to ruin you in the eyes of others. I don’t need to carry you unwilling to my bed.”
There was a bitterness in his voice that stopped her from answering in the forceful manner she was about to. Had she hurt his feelings? she asked herself. But then didn’t he deserve to be hurt after what he had done to her this day?
I am ruined.
She repeated the words to herself, savouring them, wondering why they didn’t strike the sort of terror into her heart that she knew they should. How many times had she heard whispers in the village about girls who had done things they oughtn’t and the consequences they faced? Her father had castigated a couple only last month for an act of fornication outside the sanctity of marriage.
Margaret remembered feeling sorry for them, the poor young things. The girl with her tear-streaked face and the boy trembling with terror as they stood before the vicar. They were married as soon as could be, but according to her father the stain would remain.
Margaret looked out of the window and saw that the light was fading. Soon it would be night, and by morning she would be damaged goods. She could expect to be shunned and whispered about and treated with contempt for the rest of her days. If Lady Strangeways heard the news she would be sure to spread it far and wide, until there was nowhere Margaret could go where it was not known. No man would want her.
She closed her eyes and let both facts soak in.
She was ruined.
She was free.
And she didn’t know how she felt about either.
14
Dominic helped her down from the coach. When she swayed he held her hand, steadying her, while in front of them the door to the lodge opened and a small woman peered out at them.
“Are you Sir Peter’s guests?” she asked.
“Yes. My wife is very tired. Are our rooms prepared?”
Margaret glanced up at him in surprise but said nothing. She had said nothing for the final part of their journey, and although he must have wondered what she was thinking he’d let her be. She supposed there would be time enough to discuss her fate over the next five days. What else would they do? Margaret had already told him she intended to resist his charms and he certainly showed no intention of forcing himself upon her. It occurred to her that a man like Dominic, a wealthy and powerful earl, could do whatever he chose with her and be immune from censure or punishment. That he chose not to said much about what sort of man he was. All the same, with neither one of them choosing to make a move, they were at a stalemate.
“Yes, sir. Your rooms are ready. This way, sir. Madam.”
The hunting lodge was small, but it had everything needed for their comfort. There was a row of stag heads on the wall, staring glassily down upon them. The servant, Mrs MacLeod, informed them she was the housekeeper and lived in a cottage at the back.
“I haven’t opened up all of the rooms,” she said. “Only the ones required for your stay. Your coach driver and servants can lodge in the quarters above the stables until you need them.”
Dominic exchanged a few words with her but Margaret wasn’t listening. She had never been in a hunting lodge before. She knew it was the sort of place that wealthy gentlemen owned or visited with others of their kind, to shoot and hunt, and no doubt drink and carouse.
“Your bed chambers are here.” Mrs MacLeod led them up the stairs, pointing out two rooms opposite each other across the landing. “I hope you are comfortable. Supper will be ready in the small parlour in half an hour. Goodnight to ye, sir. Madam.”
A moment later, Margaret was alone inside her room.
&n
bsp; She noticed there were items of clothing on the bed, as well as other personal objects she would need, because of course she hadn’t been able to pack. Dominic had thought of everything, and—as was often the case with him—she didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. The idea of being without a change of clothing or a hair brush had been worrying her on the final part of their journey.
There was warm water in a jug, and knowing she only had half an hour until supper, she washed her face and brushed out her hair. There was no time to properly change, so she smoothed her crumpled blue gown in front of the mirror which was fastened above the elegant dressing table.
She didn’t look any different, she told herself, and if there was a new sparkle in her tired eyes then she refused to acknowledge it.
A moment later, she left her room and found Dominic waiting for her on the landing.
“The housekeeper said we were guests of Sir Peter. Who is Sir Peter?” Margaret asked him as they descended the stairs.
He smiled. “Sir Peter Grey, of course.”
Her eyes widened at this mention of the important gentleman her father was always trying to impress. “You know him?”