The very notion of being embraced by him was repellent. Fortunately, in the month since their match had been arranged, he had made no attempt to do any such thing, allowing Margaret to ignore her own physical revulsion and persuade herself that she would be able to reconcile herself to marrying him. He had never tried to kiss her. If he touched her, it was merely to usher her here or there, and his hands never lingered on her. Was all that about to change? She shuddered inwardly. Was this model of propriety simply a gentleman patiently waiting until his matrimonial rights were formally endorsed? Dear heavens, even trying to imagine his lips on hers made her want to scrub her mouth with her handkerchief.

Once the formal announcement was made, there would be no going back. She would be engaged to be married to a man she loathed and who, she was utterly convinced, didn’t give a damn about her. No, worse than that. The more time she spent in Killin’s company, the more certain Margaret became that he actively disliked her. She had tried to believe otherwise, but she was increasingly aware of his carefully disguised disapproval of everything about her, from her manner to her weight.

The fact that he managed to keep his feelings so well hidden from everyone else was another source of irritation. Although feelings, Margaret reminded herself, were quite irrelevant when it came to matchmaking. Killin was set on marrying her for his own ends, and her parents were even more determined that she marry him. She had resolved to make them all happy by doing her duty, which was undoubtedly the correct course of action, so why were her wretched instincts choosing this highly inconvenient moment to rebel? Was she really going to marry this man? It seemed suddenly, terrifyingly, impossible.

“Lady Margaret! We really must join the duke and duchess. Their patience, like mine, must be wearing thin.”

To speak up now, after weeks of biting her tongue, was unthinkable. And futile. Defeated and dejected, her only option was to brace herself for the inevitable. “I need a moment alone to collect my thoughts. Please, I beg of you,” Margaret added, seeing his resistance forming. “I wish to compose myself, my lord. All eyes will be upon us, and I don’t want to let you down.”

More importantly, she didn’t want to let Mama down. Or Papa. She didn’t want to let anyone down. Not that she was planning to, but she desperately needed a moment of solitude. She had spent the entire evening being assailed by well-wishers.

To her immense relief, Killin conceded. “Very well then, if you must. But don’t be long.”