Page 60 of The Tartan Trap

Callum blinked as if taken aback, and Margaret felt a twist of emotions—a small thrill of victory that was shortly overshadowed by a sickness in her stomach that she’d been right.

“Then you admit you have lied,” Margaret said in her own voice.

“No—” he started.

She interrupted, “If you hadn’t, you would have no hesitation in answering the question.”

“There’s part of me that misses speaking to Matilda,” he muttered.

“Pardon me?” she snapped.

Callum sighed. “I feel I’ve been far more honest with you than you’ve been with me.”

Margaret tried to clear her expression and stared forward. It was amazing how quickly Callum could thwart her plans—she’d intended to keep up her Matilda facade all evening with no exceptions.

“For instance,” Callum said, “I would ask why you’re so hesitant to receive my suit, when every other lady would welcome my presence gladly.”

“Of all the egotistical statements!” Margaret said. “I know of several young ladies who wouldn’t encourage your suit.”

“Yes, but for honest reasons of their own. I assume that Miss Rachel Warrington is one of the ladies of whom you speak?”

Margaret nodded, her lips pressed tightly together.

“It’s well known she doesn’t wish to be married,” he said. “It’s the talk of the gentlemen’s club, the creative measures she’s used to put off her suitors. Of course, you and I know that she isn’t the only young lady employing such methods.”

Margaret didn’t reply—she was too busy telling herself there was no need to feel ashamed of what she’d done to drive Callum away, even as a blush dusted the bridge of her nose.

He continued, “Any other lady who would reject me does so because she’s already attached. If not publicly, then at least in her heart.”

“In your mind, those are the only reasons a woman would reject you?” Margaret blinked up at him, her expression incredulous. “Because they didn’t wish to be married or were already engaged?”

Callum appeared to think about it, then lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Until they got to know me, yes.”

“It’s no wonder you’re so large,” Margaret scoffed. “Your frame has to contain that huge ego of yours.”

“I have often been complimented on my proportions,” he said lightly.

If anything, his lack of anger only served to stoke hers higher. “Of all the insufferable sentiments⁠—”

He turned and faced her fully. “I thought we had come to an understanding the other day. Why do you insist on viewing me with suspicion?”

“Oh, certainly,” she said, her voice syrupy with sarcasm. “Because a gentleman who looks like you has decided to court me.”

He scowled down at her. “What on earth do you mean by that?”

Margaret simply shook her head, her lips tight. She’d said too much already. Again. How did she always end up out of balance in their conversations? She was the one who was supposed to be making him uncomfortable, not the other way around! While she mentally gnawed at her thoughts, she was vaguely aware of Callum staring down at her, searching her expression.

His tone was even when he said, “Margaret, you must hear me. As I’ve already told you, when I say that you are more beautiful to me than all the wildflowers in Scotland, I mean it. When I say that your smile is like the sunshine breaking through the gloom of a Scotland winter, I mean it. There is nothing about me or my courtship that has been dishonest⁠—”

“Save for the secret you won’t tell me regarding why you sought me out,” she interjected, a bit triumphantly.

He sighed and shook his head. “Of course I had to choose the most difficult of all English women to court.”

“Yes, you’re right. I am very difficult. You should find someone else.” Even as she said the words, Margaret realized she didn't truly mean them—not anymore.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Margaret held her hands out to her sides in supplication, then dropped them immediately when she remembered they were in public.