Page 37 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“Take me away.”

He was too stunned by her action to absorb her words fully. The very image of the woman who’d been on his mind, running in his veins, kneeling before him… Well, he’d not have been a true man if it didn’t have his brain going to certain places it shouldn’t.

At that moment, he also noticed that Olivia was not wearing a dress but a nightgown and a wrapper—so easy for him to see the outline of her body, the curve of her breasts. His mouth started to water.

Malcolm cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders. “I’m no’ going to take ye away. Please, take a seat.”

She stared up at him, and he couldn’t look away. She was searching his eyes for the truth, and he wanted her to see it, but damn did heneededto look somewhere else. She was too enticing.

“Please.” He patted the bench. “Ye’ll…hurt your knees like that.”

Olivia gave a slow nod and then perched beside him.

Malcolm decided to change the topic, though in hindsight, talking about how little she was wearing wasn’t exactly a good idea either. “Do ye realize how dangerous it is for ye to be out of the house without clothes?”

“I do have on clothes.”

“No’ proper clothes.”

“Since when do you care about propriety? You planned to break into my house.”

“That’s fair.” My God, though, only a few flimsy layers of silk separated him from her skin. Malcolm was all too aware of the alluring woman beside him and how her nearness and scent kicked his blood up a notch. He knew it shouldn’t be that way, but he was a man down to the marrow of his bones, and even if she were wearing a grain sack covered in mud, he’d be as moved by her. Realizing this, and knowing it was why he dallied so long, why he wasn’t tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her to the gaol to interrogate her, made him edge an inch away. Any more, and he’d fall off the bench, he reasoned, ignoring the part of him that said he could stand up and walk off the property. That was too easy.

To put himself back into a more official mindset, he said, “There was someone following ye last week.”

Olivia jerked beside him, startled. “What? In London?” The alarmed expression on her beautiful face was enough to give him pause.

Why did she have to be so striking in the moonlight? It made the blue of her eyes softer and sharper all at the same time.

Besides that, somehow, the dimness of the back garden lent her an innocent air. The woman was good. Very good. From the way she’d been acting since he’d come across her in London and now here in Scotland, he would think she was completely blameless. Except he knew she wasn’t. Who had trained her? Malcolm almost asked her this, stopping short of the first word rolling off his tongue.

Olivia glanced away, but only for a second, her teeth worrying her lower lip, drawing his attention there. Silently, Malcolm cursed and forced himself to watch her eyes instead.

“Who would be following ye, Olivia? Let me help ye.” He hoped that by supporting her, she’d open up.

“I honestly don’t know.” She swept a lock of hair away from her face.

“I think they were following me before I left for Jedburgh, our house in the Scottish countryside.” She glanced over at him. “Before I…shot you.”

Malcolm sat up straighter, paying more attention. Olivia guessed someone had been following her, andbeforehe’d ever met her? That was odd.

“Why do ye think that?” he asked.

“I thought I saw someone outside our house in London, just watching. But when I tried to get a closer look, they disappeared. And then another time, when walking in the gardens, I could have sworn someone was following me. You know that feeling you get on the back of your neck?” She reached up and touched her neck, and he wanted to reach up and touch her too. “That’s the feeling I got, as if the hairs on my neck were standing on end. But there was no one there every time I turned around. And I thought maybe I was…going mad until the gate clicked closed. And I know I heard that, I know I did.” She waved her hand in the air with a laugh. “Oh my, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. You’re certain to think I’m as mad as my sis—” But she cut herself short.

Malcolm had heard the rumors from Caroline that Olivia’s sister had been put into an asylum a couple of seasons ago. It was all the talk of London, the beautiful noble lady gone mad. While Olivia was clever, even devious, for shooting him and stealing his things, he thought her far from mad.

“I don’t want to be made a spectacle of,” she said abruptly as if he would ever plan to do such a thing. “You will not have been the first to take a shot at my family and me. My sister is ill and does not deserve the scorn lobbed at her daily. And for your information, she is getting better.”

“Your choice of words, Miss Olivia, is amusing. For it is ye who took a shot at me.” Again, Malcolm had that niggling fear that he had the wrong of it. That this entire time he’d been chasing the wrong person. But how could he be wrong? For one thing, he was never wrong. And two, shehadshot him. Her servant had taken his horse. She had returned it to him with a taunting message. “Help me understand why.”

Olivia groaned, dropping her head into her hands once more. “I told you, it was a bloody accident.” Her gaze came sharply up to meet his. “Why are you so stubborn and insistent that it’s not? Why are you taunting me? If you’re going to haul me off to the Old Tolbooth please do it now.” She leapt to her feet and held out her hands to him again. “I can’t take this anymore.”

Conflicting thoughts warred inside Malcolm’s head. The powerful protector side wanted to shield her, to figure out this puzzle and find her innocent, but the secret agent in him warned that this could all be part of her ruse. He needed to find out more before he could make a decision. Best to stick to his original plan, not letting the way his blood stirred in her presence change his course. So, Malcolm did the first thing that came to mind when remaining true to his plan to seduce her into telling him the truth.

He reached for her hand and kissed it. Good God, she smelled divine, and the skin of her hand was smooth, silky. Of course, having just seen her kneeling before him, his blood was already hot. Perhaps kissing her bare flesh was a mistake. A big one. But he worked hard to clear those thoughts from his head. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Olivia, for any offense I might have caused. I do hope your sister can recover enough to be sent home to ye, and I wish I’d been there when anyone dared place scorn on ye for her illness. They’d have regretted saying such in my presence.”

Olivia’s hands flew to her chest—drawing attention to the round swells that jutted against the thin fabric—and she stared at him, apparently speechless. Then finally, she said, “Thank you, my lord.”

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