“I’m so sorry,” Margaret muttered. “I didn’t see you there. Excuse me.”

But as she made to step around him, a hand grasped at her skirts. “Here, just a minute, miss.”

In the act of trying to free herself she stopped, surprised by his accent. “You’re Scottish.”

“Aye, but you’re safe enough—it’s not infectious.” She caught a glimmer of a crooked smile. “You’re no Sassenach either, by the sounds of it.”

He hadn’t got up. Was he drunk? He didn’t sound drunk. Knowing she ought to make her way homewards post-haste, she remained where she was, irrationally reassured by his accent. “No,” Margaret said, “my home is near Edinburgh.”

“Then what on earth are you doing here?”

A very good question. Her breathing was slowing, her panic subsiding. “I have come to London to—to visit family and friends.” An answer very far from the truth, but at least it was believable.

The man chuckled softly. “I meant what are you doing here. This is no place for young ladies, especially not bonny ones in silk gowns.”

He wasn’t sitting on the cobbles, Margaret realised, but perched on some sort of makeshift wooden trolley. Oh dear lord, and his tattered trousers were pinned just above the knee. He hadn’t got up because he had no legs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise—is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Help me?”

“Your legs, I mean . . .” She stuttered to a halt, blushing furiously. Should she have pretended not to notice? But that was preposterous.

“Lord bless you, miss, no. It might not look it to you, but I’m more than capable of looking after myself.”

“I did not mean to offend, I . . .”

“Ach, you didn’t, don’t fret. Sure, don’t us Scotsmen have a reputation for being legless six nights out of seven? I just take it a day further. That’s my wee joke, you understand. So what happened to you? Had a tiff with your beau did you, run off and got lost?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I did run off.” Dismayed, Margaret felt tears start in her eyes. “It’s a long story.”

“And you’re in a bit of a state, too. Here, why don’t you sit down before you fall down, and tell me all about it while you calm yourself. I’m not exactly in a hurry to go anywhere.”

He stretched his hand towards her. It was grimy, but she took it gladly, sinking down beside him, touched by the simple gesture.

“You are very kind. May I ask your name?”

“It’s Scott, Fraser Scott.”

“Scott! What a coincidence. That is my family name.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “I very much doubt we’re related. My kin are from a wee village called Lochgoilhead in Argyll.”

“You are very far from home, Mr. Scott.”