Page 45 of The Tartan Trap

Callum leaned slightly closer. It was perhaps but a few inches, but it brought him within murmuring distance. “You are so beautiful, and yet no other man approached you. I had arrived, prepared to battle all the other gentlemen for your hand, and yet the other gentlemen didn’t ask you to dance.”

“You hardly need remind me,” Margaret snapped, accidentally in English.

Color rose in her cheeks. She couldn’t tell if her flustered state was from umbrage at his words or flattery because he’d called her beautiful.

“I asked about you and I found nothing that would keep me from courting you. Nothing except for your refusal of me.” He chuckled as if he found it vastly amusing. “What a funny thing, that the one lady I wish to court is the one who’s most suspicious of me.”

It wasn’t so much his words that affected her, but the sheer longing in them that had her meeting his eyes.

“I wish I could believe you,” Margaret finally said.

And to her surprise, it was the truth.

CHAPTER 16- MARGARET

Margaret was exceedingly grateful that there were no stairs to navigate at the ball that particular evening. Even still, she felt some invisible change in the room when she stepped beneath the flowers swathed above the entrance. It was a shift in the atmosphere, as if the social barometer had suddenly risen several degrees at once.

“Well, it’s official,” Rachel said, appearing at Margaret’s side with two glasses of punch. “The duke hasn’t visited anyone else.”

“That explains the stares and whispers.” Margaret gratefully accepted the punch as she internally bemoaned its vivid magenta color. It would stand out dreadfully against her pale blue silk if she spilled even a single drop.

“It’s been an entire week.” Rachel looked delighted.

“You hardly need remind me,” Margaret grumbled. “I’ve been there for every moment.”

“An entire week and Ettrick hasn’t so much as darkened another lady’s doorway.” Rachel repeated. She took a sip and gave a smack of satisfaction.

“You needn’t look so smug,” Margaret said. “It isn’t what you suspect.”

“Is it not? For it certainly appears as if he’s courting you.”

“What concerns me is why. Have you heard any rumors of his financial state?” Margaret murmured, her eyes flicking to ensure no one was close enough to overhear.

“That would be a question better posed to your brother than to me. He would be able to find out the truth of the matter with little difficulty. But by all accounts, Ettrick is exceedingly wealthy. Everyone says so.”

“That’s what concerns me.” Margaret tugged her friend’s elbow and drew her further away from the burgeoning crowd. “Perhaps his grand fortune is nothing but a ruse to lull unsuspecting ladies into matrimony.”

“But there are no ladies.” Rachel grinned anew. “There’s only lady, singular. You.”

“Which is why I think the gentleman must be desperate, indeed.”

Rachel frowned. “Why do you think there’s any desperation involved at all?”

“What are we whispering about?” Beatrice appeared suddenly, thrusting her face between theirs.

“Nothing at all,” Margaret said, just as Rachel said, “The Duke of Ettrick, of course.”

“I’ve noticed our esteemed visitor,” Beatrice said. “He seems nothing if not determined. He must be, if he returns on the daily with so little encouragement.”

“It’s perverse,” Margaret agreed with a sharp nod. “And I’ve seen him at several of my favorite haunts. He always just happens to be there. In the background. Looming. Watching.”

Beatrice fanned her face with her hand. “That man could loom and watch me any day. I wouldn’t mind in the least.”

“And then he approaches me and asks about my day,” Margaret huffed.

Rachel’s eyes twinkled. “You cannot complain about both activities. You must choose. Which bothers you more—the moments before he walks over when he’s looking at you, or the exceedingly polite conversation afterward?”

Margaret pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She wouldn’t be divested of her protective cloak of negative thoughts about the man by simple logic.