Arran grunted his satisfaction with that answer. He kissed her again as he eased out of her body and rolled onto his back. Margot sighed happily and nestled against him with her head on his chest, her arm draped across him.

He casually stroked her arm. “You’ll tell me the truth now, aye, Margot? Why have you come back?”

She sighed, her breath warm on his skin. “This again?”

“Aye, this again, until I have whatever it is you’re hiding.”

“Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because it seems verra convenient, your sudden appearance like a waif in the night.”

“It wasn’t convenient at all, really. Very inconvenient, if you must know, what with all the packing, and the journey is really quite long and difficult. And did you see my companions?”

“Aye. English fops, the both of them.”

Margot lifted her head and smiled at him.

Diah, that smile.

“Weren’t you even a tiny bit happy to see me?” she asked as she traced his initials on his bare chest.

“No,” he said. A lie. “And if you willna tell me the truth, you may go back to your rooms. Shall I put you in your gown?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to walk through Balhaire in only this?” he asked, slipping his finger under her chemise.

“I intend to stay here, with you. I’m not keeping separate rooms.”

“Aye, you are—”

“You always wanted me with you before. You never liked for me to have separate chambers.”

“It’s different now,” he said, panicking a little at the thought of having her in his bed every night.

“Yes, because I’m different now. I want to please you. And besides, you need someone here. This chamber is in utter disarray.”

“Mrs. Abernathy’s sister is ailing and she’s away. I donna trust anyone else to tend my rooms.”

“There, you see? All the more reason you need me,” she said, and kissed him on the lips.

She was winning this battle. Arran roughly took her face in his hand. “Have you no’ heard me? I donna need you, Margot. Donna convince yourself that I do,” he said coldly.

“Whatever you say,” she murmured sweetly, and pushed his hand from her face, then floated down, nestling against him, in the crook of his arm and shoulder, just like she used to do after they made love.

It felt maddeningly right. God damn this, Arran thought. The woman knew very well what she was doing—she was playing him like a bloody fiddle, wooing him to her, countering him at every turn. She might as well run a sword through him. She had rendered him that useless.

And for what—to see him hanged? Not if he could help it.

Unfortunately, judging by his patent inability to dismiss her, he could not help it. He was doomed.

* * *