Page 31 of The Tartan Trap

“Your list depressed me, and I don’t even care about marriage.”

Margaret wanted to scowl but remembered she was in a ballroom and pressed her lips together instead. “There are several pleasing gentlemen on that list⁠—”

“And far more who aren’t invited to dinner parties because they exhibit odd traits. You included Mr. Tenann, for example. The gentleman only eats beans, root vegetables, and lettuce.”

“He’s conscious of his health,” Margaret argued.

“He’s balding and spindly-boned at the age of twenty-nine. And his wind is legendary.”

Margaret exhaled a laugh. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. What matters are my sisters.”

“That may be what matters to you,” Rachel said, “but you matter to me.”

Margaret’s lips slipped into a genuine smile. “You’re a very good friend.”

“I sincerely hope that you still think as much on the morrow,” she said quickly. Without preamble, she shoved Margaret backwards.

Margaret gasped as she fell, but she was immediately caught by two strong arms.

“Pardon me, Miss,” the man said. His voice was deep, his consonants deliciously rounded.

Margaret glanced up with wide eyes. Of all the gentlemen Rachel could have pushed her into, it had to be this one.

CHAPTER 10- MARGARET

“I’m so sorry,” Margaret said, her eyes wide.

She peeled her reflexive grip from his biceps. She couldn’t help but feel the firmness of his frame; indeed, the only softness beneath her gloved fingertips was the fine fabric of his black suit.

“Not at all,” the Duke of Ettrick replied with a kind smile, setting her back on her feet.

“I’m not usually this clumsy,” she said. It was a bald-faced lie, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Anyone can tell you were undoubtedly pushed,” he said. Margaret felt her eyes go wide with panic that perhaps Ettrick had seen Rachel’s intervention and blamed it on Margaret, but then he added, “The crowd is a crush tonight.”

Thankfully, the gentleman seemed to have no idea how right his initial comment was. Rachel had conveniently evaporated into the surrounding throng.

Mr. Buckley smiled at his side. “I suppose introductions are in order. Your Grace, may I please present Miss Margaret Preston?”

She averted her eyes even as she completed the social niceties. Once the bare minimum had been achieved, she looked for the first opportunity to withdraw. Undoubtedly, the Duke thought she was another social-climbing young lady who’d endeavored to put herself in his path. Margaret was going to throttle Rachel the next time she saw her.

Margaret couldn’t help the blush that lit her features. She was well aware that each of her freckles probably stood out in stark relief beneath her flush. Add to that the fact that numerous ladies were frowning at her—some with barely concealed jealousy, as if they wished they’d thought of tripping and falling into the path of the duke first—and Margaret was exceedingly miserable, indeed.

She was vaguely aware of a polite conversation taking place in her vicinity but was so focused with the boiling need to retreat that she heard none of it, until⁠—

“Miss Preston?”

Margaret looked up to find the Duke of Ettrick staring down at her. If she’d thought he was handsome down the street or even across the ballroom, it was nothing to what he was like up close. From this distance, she could see that his eyes weren’t brown as she’d thought before, but rather, a dizzying hazel, with all the colors of autumn contained within the irises. Green fought with amber and brown, all contained within a gold rim at the very edge.

His hand came to her elbow, searing warmth through her satin glove. “Miss Preston, are you quite well?”

“Pardon me,” she managed to stammer. “I fear I haven’t quite recovered from, er— being pushed.”

His tan forehead creased with concern. “Do you need a chair, or a glass of cool punch?” His head whipped up as if searching the ballroom for a solution.

“No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I’m quite well now that I’ve caught my breath.”

She made to edge backward, but stepped squarely on what felt like another lady’s slipper. There was a nearly silent hiss of reprimand from behind her and Margaret stepped forward again.