“What did you tell McKenna?” he demanded in a raspy whisper, and now both his hands were clasping Maggie’s upper arms, hurting her.

She tried to squirm free and Duncan’s grip tightened so harshly that she winced. Dear heaven, what she wouldn’t have given to have Reeve appear then, but he was nowhere in sight. “Please,” she said breathlessly.

Duncan loosened his grasp slightly, but instead of releasing Maggie, he gave her a fierce little shake. “Margaret,” he warned her.

“I—I told him I couldn’t m-marry him,” Maggie faltered, tears brimming in her eyes. “Y-you see, he doesn’t love me.”

As if he’d somehow sensed that Maggie’s tears had their root in Reeve’s honest admission that he cherished no deep feelings for her instead of in the pain he was causing her with his hands, Duncan spun her about and virtually hurled her toward the door.

The two maids were watching with wide, sympathetic eyes, their color high. But Maggie knew that they couldn’t help her, to Duncan, they were no more important than the pattern on the wallpaper. The door was open to the warm summer night and Maggie stumbled through it.

She would have lifted her skirts and run if Duncan hadn’t retained his hold on her, dragging her toward the long line of carriages waiting at the base of the broad lawn. Within minutes Maggie was flung into one of the rigs.

“Home, sir?” she heard the driver ask of Kirk, who lingered at the doorway of the carriage, his eyes strange and colorless in the moonlight that shone directly onto his face.

“No,” Duncan said crisply after what seemed to Maggie a small eternity of indecision. “The lady and I will take a ride. A long, leisurely ride.”

The driver chortled in the darkness. “Yes, sir!” he said jubilantly. Fat lot of help he’d be, Maggie thought, folding her arms and trying to melt into one shadowy corner.

Duncan climbed into the vehicle and slammed the flimsy door behind him, taking the seat facing Maggie’s and glaring at her. “You have sorely taxed my patience, Maggie,” he said finally, when the vehicle had been under way for some time.

“Miss Chamberlin to you,” Maggie said. She might have sounded saucy and flippant, but inside she was terrified. Making her own way in the world for so long had taught her that bravado was more advisable than whimpering.

Duncan reached out suddenly, clasping her wrist in one hand and wrenching her out of her seat. She bumped her head on the low roof of the carriage and landed unceremoniously on his lap.

Instantly, she began to struggle, but she could not escape those iron hands which had caught her wrists together behind her back. “I’ll scream!” Maggie threatened in a breathless whisper.

“That,” said Duncan flatly, “would amuse my driver very much. Why don’t you do it?”