She exhaled, feeling irritation flaring. “Name it, then.”
His gaze flicked toward the approaching figures, then back to her. “Anything?”
The word lodged unpleasantly in her chest. She hesitated and it was enough.
“Anything within reason,” she amended.
He smiled then, properly this time, and the expression unsettled her more than his severity had. “We will discuss it later.”
Before she could protest, voices rounded the corner. They were close now.
“Come,” he said quietly, taking her hand.
She stiffened at the contact, but he did not give her time to object. His grip was firm, unyielding, and he drew her forward into the flow of bodies moving toward the main hall. Margaret forced her steps to match his, schooling her expression into calm as torchlight brightened and the murmur of the Masquerade swelled around them.
As they crossed the threshold into the great room, she leaned closer. “Ye are playing a dangerous game.”
“So are ye,” he replied, releasing her hand at last. “The difference is that I ken it.”
The music swelled around them, with violins cutting clean through the murmur of voices. Margaret felt suddenly exposed, as though the light itself might betray her. She turned to go.
“Wait,” he said.
She paused despite herself.
“Who are ye?” he asked, falling into step beside her as though they were merely acquaintances drifting through the crowd. “And dinnae insult me by pretending the question is idle.”
Margaret kept her gaze fixed ahead. “Ye ken the rules of this evening,” she reminded him. “Names arenae spoken.”
“I didnae ask fer yer name,” he countered. “I asked who ye are.”
She glanced at him then, one eyebrow lifting beneath the mask.
“Persistent,” she observed. “Is that a habit, or am I a special case?”
His mouth twitched. “Both.”
“I willnae answer, me laird,” she said. “It would be against the rules.”
“Very well. Then answer this instead.” He slowed, forcing her to slow with him. “Are ye a laird’s daughter or a maid helping a noble girl escape?”
The question landed with surgical precision.
Margaret smiled sweetly. “If I were the latter, would ye turn me in?”
“And if ye were the former?”
“Would ye bow?”
He eyed her, then gave a quiet laugh. “Ye evade like a seasoned courtier.”
“I had excellent teachers,” she replied. “Most of them men who believed they were cleverer than I was.”
The music shifted into an invitation and the floor opened as couples formed with practiced ease. She was surprised to see he offered her his hand as well.
Margaret looked at it as though it were a challenge laid bare. “Ye presume much.”
“I have a proposition,” he divulged. “And for that, I require proximity.”
