Page 91 of Wild Wicked Scot
“My lord,” Margot said, sweeping toward him. “Actually, it’s Lady Mackenzie now.”
“Ah, yes... Yes, I recall,” he said uncertainly, as if he didn’t really recall at all.
She curtsied deeply. When he didn’t move to help her up—he seemed paralyzed in some way—Knox stepped forward and did it for him.
“Putnam,” Knox said. “Our sincere thanks for allowing us to intrude on you in this manner.”
“No, no,” he said. “I’m...surprised.” His gaze was still on Margot. “Come in.”
He led them into the drawing room that Margot remembered from her childhood. The last time she’d been here, it had been furnished with Aubusson carpets and crystal chandeliers. The carpets were gone, and elegant chandeliers had been replaced by wooden wheels sporting cheap tallow candles. Moreover, the room had not been cleaned—the floors were unswept, and evidence of dogs and rodents apparent along the baseboards. Papers and books were strewn across the writing desk and spilled onto the floor. And the hearth was burning peat.
“May I offer you some wine?” Putnam asked.
“Thank you. You’d not believe the journey we’ve had!” Margot said. “It was impossible for us to avoid calling on you so unexpectedly, my lord. But the road to Keswick has fallen into severe disrepair since last I was in England, and I began to feel quite ill, what with all the bouncing. Knox insisted that we must keep on, that it would be quite untoward to call on someone without invitation. But I assured him that you would welcome us for a night.”
“Yes, the roads are quite unbearable,” Putnam said, and downed the glass of wine his butler had given him, then thrust it back at him for more before the butler had even poured for Margot and Knox.
When the butler served the wine, Margot found it to be sour and unfermented. It was the sort of wine that was made in kitchens. Knox took his and wandered around the room.
Margot fixed her smile on Putnam and moved closer. “How does your father fare?”
“Oh, he...well, he’s unwell.”
“I’m so very sorry,” she said softly. “You must give him my regards and wishes for good health.”
“Of course.” Putnam was watching her warily.
Margot moved closer. “I am very happy to find you home, my lord. Do you recall that night we played Commerce? There were ten of us in all, were there not? I recall those days of our youth with great fondness.”
He scratched at his head. “I think I lost quite a lot of money that night.”
She laughed. “We were only learning the game.”
“Yes,” he said vaguely. He looked around him almost helplessly, as if he didn’t know what to do with her, or the room, or even himself. He seemed quite ill at ease and suddenly downed the wine and handed his glass to the butler for more.
Margot considered the options she and Knox had discussed. Knox had some idea of where the old dungeons were. His plan was to find the opportunity to have a look while Margot kept Putnam engaged with a game. Judging by the look of the place, she decided he would be very interested in Arran’s purse she had beneath her skirts. Margot smiled and lifted her glass in a mock toast to Putnam.
She shifted even closer as Knox moved to the far end of the room and made some remark about the ceilings, as if he were admiring them. Margot shot a sidelong look at Knox’s back and then smiled at Putnam. “Is it obvious that he’s my keeper?”
Putnam blinked. He looked at Knox, too.
“Quite honestly, I wish he were somewhere else,” she said with a sigh. “Would it not be diverting if we were to have a game?”
Putnam slanted her a look. “A game.”
She arched a brow and shrugged lightly as she lifted her glass to her lips.
“What do you want?” Putnam suddenly demanded.
“Whatever do you mean? As I said—travel to Keswick on those wretched roads has made me ill. And to think, all that trouble to call on the Daltons. You remember William Dalton, don’t you? Can you imagine a more tedious evening?” she asked, and slyly touched Putnam’s hand.
She might as well have singed him; Putnam jerked his hand back quickly.
“What are—Need I remind you that you’remarried, madam,” he hissed. “Is it not your husband that languishes in our dungeon?”
Margot’s heart seized. She’d expected it, but nonetheless, it was a miracle that she managed to keep her countenance. “Oh dear, my lord, you haven’t heard, have you? He is my husband, yes, but in name only. He’s a Highland savage and truly belongs in a cage.”
“I’ve nothing to do with it,” he said quickly. “I merely hire the space out to whomever needs it.”
