Page 53 of Wild Wicked Scot
“Lady Mackenzie,” Fergus said simply, frowning. He poured wine into a crystal goblet.
Arran had forgotten the crystal goblets even existed. He’d brought them from Antwerp a year or so ago and had them put in the stores. Now he groaned at the sight of them. “I said I would dine alone. I donna want a fancy table in my chamber, aye? Does no one heed me?”
Fergus paused in his task and looked up. “The lady...insisted,” he said, searching for the appropriate word.
“Diah,”Arran muttered, and accepted the goblet from Fergus. “All right, then, you’ve made me king. Now go on about your business and, for the love of Scotland, leave me be, aye?”
Fergus quit the room without another word.
Arran finished his meal as he tried to look over documents that desperately needed his attention. But it was hopeless—he could not rid his mind of the meeting he’d had today, of the accusations against him.
He sighed, pushed his plate away and stood up. He deposited the papers on his chest of drawers, then rang the bellpull. A moment later, a lad came into the room.
“Take it away,” he said, gesturing to the table. “And return the table to its place.”
“Aye, milord.”
Arran paid no attention as the young man picked up the remnants of his meal. He went to his basin and washed his hands and face. He heard the lad go out, but he did not hear the sounds of the table being moved.
He turned around, prepared to resume his work...but there, in the open door, stood his wife, her hands behind her back. She was wearing a beautiful gown the color of butter, the underskirt and stomacher sea blue. Jewels glistened in her earlobes and just above the mounds of her breasts. She looked like a lone flower in this old gray castle.
Ah, but he was weak for her, had always been and,Diah, likely would always be. An attraction that could very well prove to be the death of him. “What are you doing there?”
She produced a box. “I have a chessboard and chess figures. I thought we might have a game.”
Arran couldn’t help himself—he let his gaze wander over her full bosom, down her waist, to the tips of her slippers peeking out from beneath her skirts. “Chess,” he scoffed. “I’ve no’ played games in an age.”
“Splendid. That means I will have the advantage, as I am forever playing games.” She smiled wryly at her jest and opened the box.
“I didna say I would,” he said, but he made no move to stop her as she began to set up the pieces. When she’d finished, she walked to the sideboard, poured a glass of port and held it out to him.
“What a presumptuous thing you are.”
She smiled as if she’d known all along that he would relent, and Arran sighed. He pushed his fingers through his hair, still damp from his bath. He stood before her in shirttails and with bare feet and would have liked nothing better than to crawl into his bed and sleep. He’d spent a day convincing grown men that this woman wasn’t treacherous when he himself had doubted it. The task had exhausted him, made him damnably feeble.
He looked at the glass of port she held out and said, “I prefer whisky.”
A softly triumphant smile lit her face. She put aside the port, poured whisky, then moved to where he stood to give it to him.
“I told you I did no’ want company this evening,” he said low, his gaze on her mouth.
“Did you?” she purred. “I forgot.”
Arran clasped his hand around the tot and her hand and pulled her closer. “I’ll allow your disobedience this time, Margot. But no’ again.”
“It won’t happen again,” she said, her smile like a bright flash of lightning in a stormy sky.
“Donna mistake me for one of the lovesick puppies that follow you about Norwood Park.”
Her brows dipped over a deeper smile. “I wouldnevermistake you for one of them.” She bent her head and touched her lips to the back of his hand. The softness and warmth of her touch tingled in Arran’s skin, and he was painfully reminded of her mouth on his body just last night. His groin began to kindle.
Arran stepped away before that kindling turned to fire. He went to the table and sank into a chair, his gaze on the twilight sky. Bloody hell, he was being undone by her once again.
Margot helped herself to the port and very gracefully took her seat across from him. He remembered that once she’d told him a gentleman ought to seat a lady. The implication being, of course, that he was no gentleman, for he rarely did it. Perhaps he should have endeavored more to be what she wanted. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have thought of betraying him. Buthadshe betrayed him? He couldn’t look at her sitting across from him, smiling happily at having her way, and believe that she had. Aye, but he’d never believed that she would leave him, either.
“There,” she said as she adjusted the placement of a rook.
“Are you happy now?” Arran drawled.
