Page 58 of Wild Wicked Scot
“Of course. Shall we go inside?”
“Here will do,” she said. She preferred the bailey, where no one would overhear what she would say to him.
“By all means. Is something amiss?”
“Not at all.” She clasped her hands tightly before her. She wanted to phrase this perfectly, knowing that every word she said would be repeated to her father. “I think it is time that you and Mr. Pepper take your leave of Balhaire.”
“Oh?” His voice was as politely mannered as ever, but his eyes were instantly hard and cold. “May I ask the reason so that I might convey your feelings to your father?”
“I have no message for my father as of yet. It would seem that your presence here at Balhaire is hindering me somewhat in that regard—my husband is quite suspicious.”
“Of?”
“Of me,” she said. “Of you.”
Sir Worthing glanced over her shoulder. So did Margot. There were Mackenzies milling about. He put his handkerchief to his nose and sniffed, then slowly turned his attention back to Margot. His gaze was hard, two pieces of polished obsidian staring down at her. “I shouldn’t think you would like to be left alone here, Lady Mackenzie, with no one to protect you. This is rough company.”
Rough! Because they did not don lace and wigs and bow so far over the leg that it was a wonder they didn’t topple over? The only thing rough about the company here was the way Arran Mackenzie had made love to her last night, his body moving so persistently in hers and lifting her up to new heights. She was loath to leave that sort of roughness behind.
“I will be perfectly fine.”
“If I may...is it your desire that we take our leave? Or his? Frankly, I think it best if Mr. Pepper and I—”
“You really must go,” Margot interrupted. She paused a moment to catch her breath, still fuming from his slight of the Mackenzies.
Sir Worthing looked her over, as a father might when considering a small child’s request. And then he patronizingly agreed. “Very well, madam. If that is truly your desire.”
Margot’s heart began to race with indignation. She was a grown woman, the lady of Balhaire—did he think he could condescend to her in that way? “Whether it is truly my desire or a moment’s desire has no bearing, sir. I am the lady of Balhaire, and I have asked you to leave.”
He bowed his head in acquiescence.
“Thank you.” She shifted, intending to step around him and walk away, but Sir Worthing suddenly clamped his hand down on her arm to stop her and held it in a tight grip.
“I beg your—”
“We will go,LadyMackenzie. For now,” he said coldly. “But I must impress on you how important it is that you send some word to your father, posthaste.”
“Iknow,” she said, and tried to remove her arm from his grip.
“Do you?” he asked icily, squeezing harder. “Do you desire to see your father swinging from a gibbet?”
Margot gasped. “No!How dare you—”
“If you think this is some sort of parlor game, allow me to bequiteclear—if you fail to do what you’ve been sent here to do, the blood of your father will be onyourhands, and believe me, there will be no harbor safe enough for you. Not here. Not in England. You’ll have no place to go, madam, so you’d best do as he has bid you.”
He was not only clear, he was also terrifying her. What had her father done that would warrant his hanging? She tried again to jerk her arm free of his grip, but he held tightly. “Do you understand me?”
“Quite,”she said sharply. “And do you in turn understand that my father will hear of this?”
A cold smile turned up the corners of his mouth, and he chuckled darkly. “You are a child,” he sneered. “I knew the moment you fled your marriage that your mettle was as weak as a dandelion.”
Stunned, Margot could only gape at him.
“Take your hand from my wife, lad, or I’ll take your hand from you.”
A flood of relief swept through Margot at the sound of Arran’s deep voice. Sir Worthing let go of her arm, and she stumbled back into Arran’s chest. His hand settled possessively on her waist.
“Sir Worthing was just informing me that he and Mr. Pepper will take their leave of Balhaire,” she said breathlessly.
