Page 56 of The Tartan Trap

“You tease me all the time. When you call me beautiful or talk about my hair. When you say you’re courting me.”

Callum blinked at her, his mouth slightly ajar. As she stared up at him, her expression determined even though her face was a blazing pink, he slowly smiled. “Margaret, I will always tell you the truth. My honor requires it. And I have never, not once, been teasing you about any of those things. I meant it when I told you that you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I meant it when I said your hair reminded me of the sun. That’s why I call you mo ghrian—my sunshine. And I certainly wasn’t teasing when I told you that my aim is to court you.”

Margaret stood for a moment, stunned. She couldn’t have said what expression was on her face.

She was grateful Callum was strong enough to catch the dog when she thrust it into his arms and blurted, “You’d better take him after all; my sister’s allergic.”

Then she sprinted for the carriage and scrambled up inside, not even daring to so much as peek out the window before it lurched into motion to take her home.

CHAPTER 20- CALLUM

“Good heavens, what is that?” Ellis said when Callum returned to the house.

His cousin stood in the hallway in his customary ensemble—an untucked shirt billowing over loose trousers. The inelegance was completed by his shockingly bare feet. As Callum watched, Ellis tucked the last bite of a sandwich into his mouth and chewed.

“You can quite clearly see it’s a dog.” The animal in question snuffled his wee snout out from beneath Callum’s coat.

“Poor little pupper—its front leg is gone.” Ellis took the dog from Callum and ruffled his head. Then he frowned. “He’s rather greasy. Are you planning on keeping him?”

Callum shucked his coat and quickly toed off his boots in the hallway. They were caked with the special mud unique to the neighborhood of St. Alban’s. He didn’t want to track it into the house.

“He was a gift from Margaret. Of course I’m keeping him.” Callum did his best to keep the pride from his voice, but some of the sentiment might have leaked through anyway.

“She gave you this as a gift?” Ellis grinned. “I truly underestimated the depth of her disdain for you.”

Callum confessed he was a bit bewildered. Courting Margaret was far more challenging than he’d anticipated. Her moods were fickle and changing—one day she giggled inanely at everything he said; the next she only wished to speak seriously of odd encyclopedia entries.

But Callum has been raised in the tempestuous weather of Scotland, where a sunny day could be interrupted by freezing sleet in a moment. He told himself he wasn’t going to be dissuaded by something as simple as changing moods.

Callum did admit that if he hadn’t felt he already knew the young lady, he might have been put off from visiting. However, even though their progress had been odd and somewhat disjointed, there had been some progress, or so he thought. He and Margaret were getting to know each other in fits and starts, but they were heading in the right general direction.

Besides, it had only been three weeks—there was plenty of time left in the Season. At least, he hoped so.

Callum huffed and tried to sound more confident than he felt. “Progress is progress.”

“If you call that progress, I need to take you down to Cheapside and show you just how many of these dogs are roaming the streets.” Ellis held the dog out so that he might look him full in the face. Either that, or he didn’t wish for the thing to brush against him.

Callum shrugged. “This is the one she chose. That’s all that matters.”

“You’re a right push-over, aren’t you? What on earth are you going to name him?”

Callum retrieved the dog. “I think I’ll call him Albie. She found him at St. Alban’s, after all.”

“You’d better wash that thing before it scampers up to the second floor. You know how Mrs. Blake is about vermin.”

“She’s exceedingly lax, or you wouldn’t be staying here.” Callum wrinkled his nose at the dog’s smell. “Best order a pot of water, anyway.”

Ellis waggled his eyebrows. “You’d better specify the temperature, or she might think you intend her to cook that dog into stew. You are a Scot, after all.”

Bathing the dog turned out to be far more difficult than Callum had anticipated. After his first, failed attempt in the kitchens—in front of some maids who couldn’t hide their amusement, and Ellis, who’d followed to watch—Callum had carried the bedraggled dog up to his own bathing chamber.

His theory had thankfully been correct—the dog was too small to climb out of the copper tub. With a great quantity of warm water and soap, two drainings of the tub, and plenty of whining on both sides, Callum was finally confident that any vermin that had previously resided upon Albie had been permanently evicted.

Callum righted his own person with fresh clothing and carried the dog downstairs. Albie’s diminutive size and missing paw would have made the journey difficult. Besides, it was no hardship toting the fellow, now that he was clean and no longer smelled like he’d been dunked in a vat of sour milk.

“What on earth is that?” Ellis said, pointing at the dog.

“Haven’t we already been through this?” Callum sighed and stooped to set Albie on his feet.