“You,” he said, his voice a verbal sneer, his expression one of pure contempt, “have crossed an indelible line, madam.” He looked for a moment as if he would strike her, but then suddenly jerked about and, with his arm, swiped glasses off a sideboard so roughly that even Griselda jumped when they crashed on the floor. “You have jeopardized everything I have worked so bloody hard to build here! And you have crushed all trust between us,” he said, thrusting his hand out and curling his fingers tightly over his palm. “And now? Do you think I am a goddamn traitor now?”

“No,” she said, her voice shaking quietly. “I have never thought so.”

Arran pivoted on his heel and stalked away from her. “Get her out of my sight, Jock. Take her ere I do something I will regret all my days, what few I may have left.”

Jock moved forward, his massive body shielding her from Arran. But once again, he didn’t do as Arran bid him. “Do you know, then, milady, who has suggested this lie to Norwood?” he asked calmly. “Who came from London to say it?”

Margot wanted desperately to answer, but it was impossible to drag air into her lungs at the moment. She tried to see around Jock’s body to Arran, but Jock wouldn’t allow it.

“Speak, then, lass. Tell me how I might help the laird,” he urged her.

Yes, help him! Margot latched onto that notion. She stared up at Jock’s fleshy face. “I don’t know who has said it. I know only that men have come from London. Lord Whitcomb. Sir Worthing and Captain Laurel. Oh, and Thomas Dunn.”

Jock’s brows dipped. “Are you certain?”

Margot nodded.

Jock turned to Arran. Griselda was suddenly alert, too, staring at Margot, then at Arran.

“Tom Dunn,” Arran repeated. He pushed past Jock to reach Margot again. “What do you know of Tom Dunn?”

“Are you acquainted?” she asked, surprised.

He didn’t answer her question. “What do you know of him?”

“Very little!” She struggled to think of Thomas Dunn, a tall, wiry gentleman with a soft brogue, a pointed chin and dark, wide-set eyes. He’d never said more to her than a proper greeting. “He arrived at Norwood Park in June,” she said, thinking back. “I don’t recall much about him, quite honestly—he kept the company of my father, and I saw him only occasionally.”

“Did you no’ take a meal with him?” Jock asked. “Did you no’ see him at any gatherings?”