Page 92 of The Tartan Trap

“Surely you can see that they’re too old to be unoccupied. They have nothing to do but think of trouble, and with girls in such close proximity, too.”

She stiffened. “I don’t care for your insinuations.”

“Respectfully, I don’t care that you don’t care for them,” he said lightly. “The truth is the truth, no matter whether it’s convenient or nice to consider.”

“They’re good boys,” she argued.

“I never said they weren’t.” He tilted his head and smiled.

Good heavens, he was amused at her anger. Margaret’s frown deepened. Callum grinned.

“Dear Margaret,” he said, “we can argue about the inherent sinful nature of man if you’d like. Or we could simply agree that it’s a well-known fact that there’s nothing quite as destructive as a young man with no means of supporting himself and nothing productive to do.”

Margaret expelled her irritation in a sigh so great it fluttered the ribbons on her bodice. “I suppose there’s merit in what you’re saying.”

“Thank you.” His eyes twinkled at her begrudging tone, but he changed the subject swiftly, as if he knew that was all the victory he was going to achieve. “Your brother is one of the gentlemen I approached, by the by.”

“Pardon?”

“He’s to send a group of his sailors by St. Alban’s the next time he can spare them, to give a demonstration and answer any questions the boys have. He’s pledged four cabin boy positions to start. Your brother is a remarkable fellow—he had no difficulty grasping the situation.”

“The situation?” she repeated rather stupidly. The thought of Callum speaking to her brother in private audience distracted her. It raised a swell of hope within her that she dare not name.

Callum’s voice held a nearly boyish excitement when he said, “Imagine what we could do for the orphans of London through St. Alban’s. Imagine what would happen if we saw those children—even half of them—placed in honorable, upright employment! It wouldn’t just change their lives, though of course that’s the goal. It would change this city, perhaps the world.”

Margaret stared at him, dumbstruck. She had known that Callum was a handsome man the first time she clasped eyes on him in the street all those weeks ago. At the time, she’d told herself quite firmly that he wasn’t for the likes of her, and she’d believed herself.

Up until perhaps this very moment, she’d believed herself.

But now she wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him! And not in the way all the other ladies seemed to—because he was handsome or because he had a wealthy, esteemed title. No, Margaret wanted Callum because he was a man of great generosity and vision.

Margaret thought that if she’d been able to peel her eyes from his face and follow his line of sight, she would have seen exactly what he was imagining—that his dream was a certainty far more than it was a possibility.

Of course he would change the world for the better. Of course he would! Hadn’t he done so already? For the boys at the orphanage, for dear little Albie, even for her?

Margaret wanted to be by Callum’s side as he changed the world for the better. More than she’d wanted a warm, delicious meal on all those hungry nights. More than she’d ever longed to be as beautiful as her sisters growing up. More than anything.

The want of it nearly stole her breath away. She made herself look away before he met her eyes and saw the naked truth of it there. Dear heavens, she loved him. Despite all the effort she’d expended to push him away at the outset, he’d crept ever, inexorably closer, until he’d moved into her very heart.

It occurred to her that Callum might have snuck in while she was still rejecting him. Perhaps that was why she’d been so certain he was tricking her at the beginning—her heart recognized the danger he posed from the start.

It was certainly too late now, Margaret thought.

Her eyes traced his strong jaw—always with just a hint of stubble unless he was freshly shaved—and the tan topography of his face. His eyes were perhaps her favorite amongst his features—a true feat, considering that they competed against the impressive breadth of his shoulders and his hands.

How they consumed her thoughts lately, those hands. It was ridiculous. They were only hands. But Callum’s were the most distracting she’d ever seen. They had large palms with calluses at the base of every finger, long fingers ending in squared nails. She nearly shivered every time he took her hand as of late.

Now she realized why.

“Do you think I’m foolish?” he asked.

Margaret realized that she’d been caught in her own thoughts for far too long and Callum had read the worst in her silence. “Not at all. I admire you. What you’ve done for those children—it’s more than anyone could have dreamed.”

“I was in the position to help. How could I turn away?”

Margaret shook her head in wonder once more. She loved him, desperately. How had it taken her this long to realize it?

“Thank you, Callum,” she finally said. “Thank you for being honest with me. I feel…I feel I can truly trust you.”