Page 23 of The Scot Who Loved Her

When they returned together, again he spoke, his deep Scottish brogue a sensual and wicked stroke to her insides. “Will ye open fire on me again, now that I’ve found ye?”

Oh, heavens. When was this song going to end? “Found me?” The heat in her face only grew, and she was certain if the dance didn’t finish soon, she’d be flat on the floor, quite unable to breathe. “You were looking for me?” And why wouldn’t he be? She’d shot the man.

“Most fervently,” he answered, the dance blessedly coming to the finale.

His attention rocked Olivia all the way to her toes.

“And will you...I...um...” Tongue twisted, and brain just as badly affected, she couldn’t seem to form the words to the most important question.

“Thank you for the pleasure of allowing me this dance, Miss Aston. It has been an evening I will remember, I’m sure.” He bowed low to her, ignoring her inquiry though she was positive he had to know what she was going to ask because who wouldn’t ask if the man they’d shot was going to tattle?

Shouldn’t he be demanding retribution? Why did he seem to find her shooting him so amusing?

“My lord.” She curtsied, annoyed at the trembling in her hands as she gripped her skirts.

Never before had she been flirted with so shamelessly. No man had taken an interest in her except to mock her. Or pity her. But Lord Dunlyon, Scottish rogue that he was, appeared to enjoy the flirtation, even if he was toying with her. Humorously and rather inappropriately, Olivia wondered if maybe she should have shot a few of the men she’d had a fancy for in the past. Though the list was small...

Was he a rogue of the worst sort, who would flirt shamelessly with anyone? Or was this a tactic for drawing her in before he pounced? When she’d arrived at the ball, she’d spotted him right away, and though she’d tried to back up and run, her mother had given her quite a pinch to the arm. He’d not been flirting or dancing then but seemed to be holding up the wall and watching the members of the ton with an eagle-eyed gaze that was unnerving. There was such an intensity about Dunlyon. As though he picked up on every nuance.

“Miss Aston, if I may—”

Before he could finish his sentence and she had the chance to question him on his motives, her mother intervened, advancing on them with a warning look. “Dear, they are about to ring the bell for supper.”

Olivia tilted her head, confused. Her mother had never before come to collect her for supper.

“My lady,” Dunlyon said, reaching for her mother’s hand, which had yet to be extended.

Olivia feared for a moment her mother would sniff at the Highlander, but etiquette appeared to precede Lady Helvellyn’s dislike for the Scots, and she thrust it forward begrudgingly. “And you are? I do not believe we’ve seen you before.”

Olivia could barely breathe. Was this where he would tell her mother just what she’d been up to in the forests of Scotland?

“My apologies for not presenting myself. Captain the Earl of Dunlyon, Malcolm Alexander Gordon.” He bowed low over her mother’s hand.

To Olivia’s surprise, she watched her mother blush and fluster, and then she snatched her hand back. “My lord, I do apologize, but if you will excuse us, we must find our escorts for supper.”

“A pleasure meeting the both of ye.”

When her mother turned away, he winked at Olivia, and she nearly leapt out of her slippers. Olivia drew in a much-needed gulp of air, inexplicably grateful her mother had decided to take that moment to usher her away.

But once they were out of earshot, her mother turned to her with such a glower that Olivia blanched.

“My dear, I know I have taught you better. To dance with that...” She appeared to be searching for words through her indignation. “That Scot, oh, what will your father think? And twice in a row! You might as well have announced your engagement. Not to mention, I saw the two of you in the maze earlier today. This will not do at all. We will talk about that later, mark my words.”

“I do not understand why dancing states an intention,” Olivia muttered, ignoring the last part of what her mother said as she tried to process it. She’d wanted to introduce her to Caroline who was his sister. The only thing she could think of that her mother didn’t approve of was how “Scots” Dunlyon was, where his sister seemed very English.

“Well, it does. I’m just glad to have rescued you before he asked for a third.”

“I would have declined.” But would she have? The way her mind turned into yesterday’s porridge whenever he’d spoken to her, she might very well have signed away her whole life.

“Good. Good. Now, I have arranged for Lord Clayton to take you in to supper. The young lord was quite perturbed at having been given the cut by that...that man.”

Olivia smiled though she truly felt like groaning. Lord Clayton had asked her to dance and seemed oblivious to her reputation in society, but he was also a terrible bore. She’d be lucky if she didn’t fall asleep during the repast. That wouldn’t happen if she were near the mysterious Scot. Oh, but she just hoped that Lord Dunlyon was not sitting close to her at supper. Everyone would be sure to figure out they’d had some contact before this evening as she was certain it would show on her face. And her mother was sure to be watching extra carefully now.

Alas, there was no such luck for her. The moment she sat down beside Lord Clayton, the rogue Highlander took up the seat on her other side.

7

Malcolm had a plan. Yet, as he was the top spy in W’s network, it wasn’t exactly the most stellar plan he’d ever had. But all the same—he had one. And that had to count for something, didn’t it?

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