Page 33 of The Scot Who Loved Her

Malcolm shifted in his seat. He normally kept all of his missions close to the vest. Sometimes, his cousin or friends would hire him out to do some investigating, and they all knew how good he was at his job. This case was particularly difficult, driving him slowly mad. Perhaps there was something his cousin could do to help—though Lorne might not like it. “Actually, aye.”

“Say the word.”

“Might ye and Jaime be willing to have a soiree of sorts and invite Viscount Helvellyn and his family?”

“Ye want us to entertain people?” Lorne scowled, and Malcolm laughed.

“Aye, cousin. Ye offered to help.”

“Helvellyn. The man’s in town? With his family?”

“Unheard of, but aye, he is”

Lorne swirled the contents of his cup. “He’s a bastard. Probably will no’ agree to the invitation. But we will try.”

“Their daughter, Olivia, is missing a season in London. I think they’d jump at an invitation from a duke. Also, Miss Olivia is friends with Caroline, who would also appreciate an invitation. I may have promised her a bit of entertainment in Edinburgh.”

“Caroline?” Lorne set down his cup and sat forward, his eyes wide as if he didn’t believe it. “Your sister?”

“I’ve a lot to fill ye in on.” Malcolm smirked.

“How about we discuss everything in the ring?”

It’d been a solid month or more since Malcolm had jumped into the boxing ring for a good fight. Pugilism helped him sort out his problems, figure out difficult cases. He never passed up an opportunity. “Perfect.”

Malcolm followed Lorne out of the club, climbing into the duke’s carriage as they traveled to the Sutherland residence for a boxing match in the duke’s own house. Lorne had the gymnasium built when he’d returned from his extended stay in a war prison—courtesy of some bastards. He’d offered up the use of his gymnasium and boxing ring to all of his friends.

“Are ye ready?” Lorne said, wrapping his hands. “I’m no’ going to go easy on ye.”

Malcolm chuckled. “I was about to say the same thing.”

Nothing helped sort out a man’s brain more than a good, sweat-inducing fight.

Olivia hesitatedon the sidewalk in front of the Dunlyon residence. The house appeared much like hers, save for a enormous bronze lion knocker that looked menacing on the black-painted door.

“Well, go on then,” her mother urged, irritation in her voice.

They’d been invited to tea with Caroline today, along with several other ladies of Scottish society. When the invitation had arrived, Olivia expected her mother to burn it and send their regrets. However, the lady surprised her by accepting. And shocked her even more so when her father gave a resigned nod in approval of the acceptance, though not without grumbling.

So, here Olivia was now, not wanting to go inside. She was certain that Caroline’s older brother, the man who’d haunted her days and nights since the moment she’d first laid eyes on him, would be the one to answer the door. To usher her in. Feeling his presence looming at her back, she’d want to run, hide or drop to her knees and hold her hands up and beg him to take her away to gaol. Either way, it wasn’t going to end well.

Her mother issued a vicious poke in the back, and Olivia practically leapt toward the stairs, wishing that Lady Helvellyn had remained behind at their house. She was such a nuisance and a curmudgeon. This would be torture enough without trying to figure out if her mother had put together any of the secrets she’d been hiding—or would dole out more pokes and prods. Or maybe even decide to jump up and leave right in the middle of everything.

A butler answered the door—much to Olivia’s relief. He was rather pleasant and demure in his kilt and tailcoat, not what her mother might have predicted. Olivia wondered if her mother expected them to open the door to a full-on forest and drink from carved logs. With polite nods, the Dunlyon butler took their parasols and bonnets and ushered them into the drawing room, where several other ladies surrounded Caroline.

Caroline was by far the youngest, and she leapt from her chair at their arrival with a youthful exuberance that Olivia was coming to wonder was part of her personality. If only she could collect some of it for herself, but she felt jaded and tired after the last two miserable seasons.

“Oh, I’m so very glad you came,” Caroline said. “Welcome, Lady Helvellyn and Miss Olivia.”

Caroline turned toward her guests, who were watching with interest and curiosity.

“These are the English friends I was telling you about.” Caroline flicked her gaze from Olivia to her mother. “Allow me to introduce you to Her Grace, the Duchess of Sutherland, my cousin by marriage.”

An elegant woman with chestnut hair and intelligent brown eyes stood. She wore a blue gown with a sapphire-colored ribbon tied beneath her breasts that accented the swell of her pregnant belly.

“Oh, we do no’ need to be so formal,” the duchess said with a little wave of her hand. “Please do call me Jaime.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Olivia said with a curtsey, her mother doing the same.

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