Page 42 of The Scot Who Loved Her

Olivia snapped her attention back to her mother, knowing exactly how to get her mother to leave her alone. “I should like to visit Marian today. She is at the asylum in the city, is she not?”

“Oh, Olivia, how could you bruise my heart so?” And with that, her mother swept from the room as if it had been Olivia who made all the offensive comments.

But no matter, Olivia was in a perfectly good mood the rest of the day.

’Edinburgh’selite class was packed into the opera house like coals in a brazier. Inside Malcolm’s private box—that he wasn’t even aware he owned until Caroline mentioned that their mother had insisted on having one before she left Scotland, and their father had obliged, paying for it in perpetuity—he had Olivia by his side, and Caroline on his other side, and damned Paisley on the other side of her.

Malcolm didn’t like the bounder. Didn’t like the way his too-perfect hair curled over his forehead, giving him a look of innocence that was anything but accurate. The man was after something—more than just Caroline’s hand.

Of course, that only made Malcolm more suspicious, considering his current mission. He was watching Paisley like a hawk. As he was paying so much attention to his sister, he was doing a poor job of paying attention to Olivia, which wasn’t really why he’d brought her. He’d wanted to see if she recognized Paisley. If they were in on the scheme together. But they both seemed too genuine in their initial meeting, so he wasn’t sure they ever had met before.

Ballocks!

“My lady,” Paisley said at the intermission to Caroline. “Shall we take a walk and get refreshment?”

“Nay,” Malcolm practically barked, and Caroline and Paisley looked at him, quite stunned.

“My apologies,” Paisley said tightly. “I was no’ aware that perhaps ye might like to assist for your sister.” The man was even trying to offer him an out.

Olivia elbowed him in the ribs. “I am also thirsty, my lord,” she said to him. “Perhaps we can all go.”

And with that, the four of them exited the box. Malcolm stayed a few feet back from his sister and her beau, watching and observing how they chattered, and that Paisley put his head a little too close to hers to hear better.

“My goodness, are you going to be all right?” Olivia’s tone was filled with humor. “I suppose a better question is if Paisley is going to survive. Your glower might set fire to the back of his coat.”

Malcolm groaned.

“He’s not going to toss her over his shoulder and run away with her if you were worried about that.” Olivia gave his forearm a gentle squeeze.

He rolled his head to the side, giving her an almost apologetic look. “Am I that obvious?”

Olivia nodded with a slight mocking grimace. “More than. I have a feeling you did not invite me out tonight as a companion but rather as an assistant chaperone—or perhaps an accomplice to some crime I’m yet aware of?” She gasped and pointed at him. “Oh, you want me to shoot him.”

Malcolm chuckled. “Do ye think we’d get away with it?”

“Not likely. There are plenty of witnesses to your murderous glower.”

“Then perhaps my asking ye to come out tonight was because I wanted to keep an eye on ye too?”

Her smile was toying, and it made him like her even more. “Worried I might sneak up behind you in the box and shoot you again?”

“No’ until this moment.”

Olivia laughed, the sound drawing the two would-be lovers to look behind them. Her laugh was sweet and throaty and contagious, and he found himself working hard to hold back.

“Truth is, I do no’ trust that blockhead. I’m worried my sister will end up trapped in a marriage she does no’ want and that she’ll be unhappy forever.” He almost added, like our mother. “I’m uncertain of the man’s intentions.”

“I’m not familiar with Paisley,” Olivia hedged, chewing on her lip and studying the couple in front of them. “But I have overhead that he is…making the rounds.”

“Making the rounds?”

“Quite a few heiresses on his arm.”

“The bastard.” Malcolm nearly leapt forward to snatch the man by his collar, but Olivia tightened her hold on his arm as if she could sense it.

“But aren’t all young men seeking a wife?” she asked.

“Nay.” He was speaking from experience. Mostly.

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