Page 96 of The Tartan Trap

“I…I don’t know.” She felt her anger slipping from her shoulders like an ill-fitting cloak. But if it fell completely, she’d be without cover—exposed and vulnerable. It simply wouldn’t do. “None of this matters, Callum. You may not have lied to me directly, but you certainly didn’t tell me the whole of the truth.”

“I’m telling you the whole of it now.”

“When the Season is nearly over! You came to me under false pretenses and you thought you already knew me. You began courting me with an unfair advantage—you had personal information about me.” Margaret hardly knew what she was saying. She felt cornered, bare, desperate…

“Yes, I had personal information about you. Perhaps that makes me a cheat. But make no mistake, Margaret—even without the journal, I would have noticed you. I would have singled you out. We would have ended up in the same position—with me loving you and wanting to marry you. You are kind, honorable, charitable. Your wit is playful, your mind keen. And if that weren’t more than enough—which it most definitely is—you’re also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop saying that! Stop saying that when it simply isn’t true.” Margaret felt the sting of unwanted tears in her eyes.

Callum studied her for several moments, a grim set to his mouth. The corners of his jaw ticked. “This isn’t about the journal at all. It’s about how you insist upon seeing yourself.” He leaned forward. “Margaret, if I could make myself shorter and less desirable to other ladies, if that’s what it would take for you to believe that I truly want you for you, then I would do it. But short of chopping off my legs or giving up my title—both of which would make it more difficult to help those who are under my protection—I cannot do it. It’s not me who needs to change, it’s you.”

Her fingers were shaking; she tightened them around her journal to stop them. “What a strange way to apologize for invading my privacy.”

“The journal wasn’t private at the time, Margaret. It was lying out in public where anyone might have read it. I think that if you give yourself time to reflect, you’ll be grateful⁠—”

“Grateful? That you read all about me before I even knew your name? That you invaded my—my private thoughts?”

With patience that made her want to tear his hair from the roots, Callum lowered his voice and said, “If you give yourself time to reflect, I think you’ll be grateful that it was I who found it, instead of someone like Lord Gavin Nelson, who would have used it to his own ends⁠—”

“Didn’t you?” she snapped. “Use it to your own ends, I mean?”

“If by my own ends you mean falling in love with you, then yes, I did.”

“Stop saying that.” Margaret was afraid of what she might do or say if Callum told her he loved her again. His words had done nothing to calm her—indeed, they had only stirred up more agitation.

“I won’t stop telling you until you believe it.”

“It’s making me very uncomfortable. You have made me very uncomfortable. I…I think you should leave, and I don’t think you should visit me anymore.”

Callum sighed and looked down. Long moments stretched between them. Finally he murmured, “Is that truly what you want, Margaret?”

“Yes, it is.” She wasn’t lying. She could recognize the signs—the storm of her tears would land shortly, and she didn’t wish to cry in front of him.

“Very well.” Callum stood and gave a tight nod. “Good day, Margaret.”

Margaret didn’t look up as Callum left. She didn’t think she could bear to see his stiff-backed exit without hiccuping an embarrassing sob. After he left, she sat for a full minute staring out across the pond. Then she stood and walked a quick distance away, giving Chloe room to hurriedly bundle the blanket and the remainder of the stroopwafels into the picnic basket.

Then Margaret strode back toward her house, nearly blind with her tears and avoiding Chloe’s concerned gaze.

CHAPTER 34- MARGARET

Margaret had thought she knew what the depths of melancholy felt like. After all, one didn’t live through the debacle of having an older brother ruin the family and the younger seemingly ignore his sisters’ plight without experiencing pain. But Margaret realized now, that although times had sometimes been blisteringly difficult in the past, she’d never before experienced her heart cracking in two within her own chest.

To make matters worse, upon arriving back at the house, Margaret successfully avoided her sisters on the main floor, only to run directly into her brother on the staircase. She was so blinded by her sobs by that point that she bounced off him and likely would have fallen down the stairs if William hadn’t caught her roughly by the elbows.

“Margaret?” William demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“No—nothing,” she gasped, quite unconvincingly, just as another round of sobbing nearly doubled her.

William frowned down at her for a moment, then wrapped his arm around her midsection and began to assist her up the stairs.

“Do I need to call for the physician?” he asked once they reached the landing.

“No,” she sniffed. “It isn’t anything like that.”

“Do I need to send inquiries after a gentleman, then?” The way William said “inquiries” sounded like a whetstone-sharpened threat.

Margaret huffed a watery sort of laugh and shook her head. “No. I’ll be fine. No one’s injured me. It’s just…” Here she shook her head again, for there was no possible way to define how she felt—hardly to herself, and certainly not to William.