Page 38 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“Malcolm, please. If we’re to meet in your garden, and ye dressed in only your nightclothes, I think it fair ye call me by my name.” He didn’t even let his mother call him Malcolm, and here he was offering it up to this pretty assassin.

“I will remind you, Malcolm, that we are not ‘meeting’ here. You snuck in while I sought a private moment.”

He grinned, hesitating for only the briefest moment before saying what came first to his mind. “I’d like to sneak up on ye during every private moment.”

Olivia gasped as he’d expected.

He stood up, his body too close to hers. His fingers itched to reach for her. To kiss her right then under the light of the moon and fully scandalize her. He stepped closer, and she didn’t move. Malcolm touched the smoothness of her cheek, feeling the warmth beneath the pad of his thumb. He was still unsure whether he should go through with it. To kiss or not to kiss?

But he stopped himself, intuitively knowing that if he kissed her, it would alter something in them both and jeopardize his mission.

“Good night, Olivia,” he said.

“Good night, Malcolm.” Her words were whispered, strained, and she whirled on her heel, heading for the safety of her house.

Thank God because if she’d hesitated even a second longer, he’d have lost his will and pulled her into his arms. She might have shot him but damn if he didn’t want to feel the press of her curves against him, the heat of her mouth on his.

Olivia burst into her bedroom,closed the door and rested back against it, half expecting to see the Earl of Dunlyon leaning casually against the opposite wall like she’d seen him at the few social functions where she’d seen him.

But she was blessedly alone. Or was it cursedly?

Her heart was in her throat, the blood pumping wildly in her veins. She’d thought he was going to kiss her. Daringly hoped he would. She’d never been kissed before, and the urge to throw herself into the arms of the dangerous man in her garden had been overwhelming. The man who could change her future for good or bad. The way he’d stroked her cheek. Olivia touched the spot, closing her eyes and trying to draw in a cleansing breath.

It didn’t work.

Olivia pushed away from her door, blew out her candle and flopped onto her bed.

“What were you thinking?” she said to herself. Not just about walking in the garden in her nightclothes or about letting Malcolm sit beside her, talk to her. She told herself she’d been chilled at the time, and his nearness was a comfort as he’d warmed her up, but then she’d kept speaking to him. Even after both of them had pointed out it wasn’t a good idea.

She couldn’t force herself leave.

And then he’d kissed her hand. Almost kissed her lips.

She touched her mouth, wishing she’d had the nerve to lean forward and make it happen. Malcolm was everything she’d never thought she wanted in a man. Of course, he was handsome, and she did appreciate that in a man. But he was handsome in a way that was also heart-stopping. There was an edge to his handsomeness that promised danger. As if he were always a breath away from taking a risk. That was alluring to her, having grown up so incredibly sheltered and even more so after her sister’s decline. To go on an adventure was what she longed for.

Of course, that had also been what got her into this disastrous situation to begin with. Sneaking out at their manor house in Jedburgh to go on the hunt and then shooting the very rugged and handsome Highlander who had crossed paths with the boar. But if she hadn’t shot him, the boar might have killed him. So really, hadn’t she saved his life? Instead of focusing on the fact that she shot him, maybe Malcolm should be focusing on the fact that she’d saved him. Perhaps she should remind him of that the next time they met.

Olivia groaned and rolled over in bed, yanking the covers over her hip. She couldn’t believe the things she’d said to him—she’d surprised herself by telling him about her sister, about the mockery. Why did he make her feel comfortable enough to do so? She shot the man; he should hate her for that—even if she tried to convince herself otherwise. Instead, he appeared to be courting her in earnest. Which was bloody insane, wasn’t it? Wasn’t he worried she’d shoot him again?

Her shock at seeing him in her garden had made her weak in the knees, so it was a good thing she’d already been sitting down. And she couldn’t deny the spark of excitement she’d felt at seeing him there. It was thoughts of him that had forced her outside to begin with. The man consumed her thoughts day and night, and she needed to escape him somehow.

And yet, she didn’t want to.

She quite enjoyed that he was allegedly courting her. Wasn’t that what he was doing? Sneaking into her garden? Nearly kissing her? Teasing her with his scandalous words and the nearness of his large, muscular body. Flashes of his chest went through her mind. Of course, in her imaginings, she blocked out the bloody wound she’d caused and focused on the coiled muscles. The dips and ridges of his abdomen. The strange tattoo.

Olivia wouldn’t mind him courting her, especially because it would irritate her parents, and what daughter didn’t want to do that sometimes, particularly to parents as overbearing as hers? But on the other hand, she didn’t want to lead Malcolm on. While she had intentions of enjoying his flirtation, she didn’t want to marry until her sister was better, or at the very least, until she had a better understanding of whether or not she herself was going to go mad. That was a true fear of hers. One in which part of her had been relieved tonight to hear the man she’d thought was following her wasn’t a part of her imagination. That was a relief. But still, if she were to follow in her sister’s footsteps, she refused to burden a husband and children for them just to end up in the same circumstances as her sister.

Which was why she needed to resist Malcolm’s temptations. Or, at the very least, let him know she was not in the market for marriage yet. But the thought of doing so made her laugh with exasperation. What made her think Malcolm even wanted to marry her? If he wanted to marry her, he’d be knocking on the front door, asking her parents for permission to call on her, not sneaking into her back garden with the intent of creeping into her house…into her bedroom.

She needed to focus on discovering who had been following her. Somehow, she knew that finding out who that was would solve not only her curiosity and the matter of her safety but also answer the questions Malcolm kept posing to her. What exactly—or rather she should say, who exactly—was Malcolm Gordon, Earl of Dunlyon?

The following morning, when she arrived in the breakfast room, her parents were there, and she feared this would be the moment they informed her that they were planning on returning to London. That a servant had observed her in the garden with Malcolm. That they were going to lock her away.

Instead, they barely acknowledged her until she was finished with her eggs and her mother said, “Lady Caroline and her cousin, the Duchess of Sutherland, have requested you go shopping with them today.”

“Are you going to come with us?” Olivia asked, though she kept her eyes downcast, so her mother couldn’t see how much she didn’t want her company.

“No, my dear. I’ve another obligation. Do take your parasol. Just because we’re north of London doesn’t mean you can allow the sun to bring out any blemishes.”

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