Page 46 of The Scot Who Loved Her

Lady Helvellyn bolted upright, nearly upsetting the lemonade in the process. “How dare you speak to me that way?”

“I meant it with affection,” Olivia said, smiling sweetly at her mother through the looking glass. “You’re liable to make yourself sick with how fragile your nerves are.”

“All done, miss,” Elaine said, the corner of her mouth twitching as she tried to hold in a laugh. And good timing, too, as her mother forgot what she was arguing about to inspect her hair.

“Thank you, Elaine.” Olivia stood up, assessing herself one last time. The light pink gown with the darker pink sash and the frills and flowers that her mother was making her wear today was the epitome of childish innocence, and she found it to be almost vulgar in its loudness.

Olivia’s style of dress was calmer, subtler. Called out the good parts of herself she wanted people to notice. Told every man that looked at her that she was a woman, but not a woman he could use or abuse. This dress said the opposite and wasn’t even very flattering.

Oh, how the marriage mart games disgusted her. Olivia turned to her mother, who gave an approving nod, of course.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Olivia said.

Lady Helvellyn stood and marched to the door. “It would do you well to be more grateful for what I’ve done, Olivia. No one respects a spinster.”

Olivia disagreed wholeheartedly. And it wasn’t that she wanted to be a spinster—she didn’t want to marry these men. But she wasn’t going to admit that to her mother.

As the bevy of callers trampled through the drawing room, Olivia waited to see Malcolm come through the door. Alas, with each new visitor, the one she wanted was missing. Scotsmen, most of them. And all annoying. One gentleman in particular with a Scottish title had a very English accent and had her mother fairly fainting she was fanning herself so hard and nodding approvingly. No wonder her mother was thrilled. The less he sounded like his bloodline, the better. Olivia practically expected Lady Helvellyn to shove her into his lap.

Her face hurt from smiling. Her brain hurt from having to be clever. It was always so much easier with Malcolm. And she had no idea why. It should be the opposite. After all, she’d shot him, and he wanted her to pay for that. But she wasn’t sure with what. The game seemed to have changed, especially when he kissed her.

Not one of the gentleman callers held up to Malcolm.

No one was tall enough, broad enough, wicked enough. None of them were funny or intense. Or daring. None of them made her skin prickle or her belly flip. And none of them made her want to kiss them, to lose herself utterly in their embrace.

Malcolm was forbidden to her on so many levels. Maybe that was why she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Didn’t stop him from kissing her. Wanted him to kiss her again. It would be like her to find a man irresistible because she was supposed to resist him. She’d always been a bit of a rebel, at least in her small ways—and lately more vocally. And if she was going to be forced to marry, she wanted to do it with a man who made her feel alive.

“Miss Olivia, might I be so bold as to offer an escort to this afternoon’s musicale?” The English-sounding Scot’s blue eyes twinkled at her, though she could tell he was less than genuine. All for show.

The dreaded musicale that she was going to play in. She and Caroline had practiced the day before. Caroline was a gifted singer and had thought Olivia was a gifted pianoforte player. She wasn’t. But she managed to pluck the right keys in the right succession with the right tempo, and Caroline was gracious in her compliments. Even still, Olivia was fairly certain the musicale would be a disaster.

Olivia’s stomach twisted as she gazed up at the man standing before her. He’d been introduced to her a few minutes ago, and she couldn’t remember his name. Viscount Thirsty? Thursday? No, those weren’t it, but it was something close to that. Olivia opened her mouth to say she already had an escort, hoping Malcolm would still walk through the doors and offer it since she was going with his sister.

However, Lady Helvellyn beat her to it. “She would be delighted.”

Olivia was going to be anything but delighted. She tried not to frown or grimace as she faked a smile in Viscount Thirsty’s direction. He was handsome; she’d give him that. Any other young lady would be delighted he’d asked.

She wasn’t the other young ladies, and she never would be.

Though she’d begged and promised God to be her very best self if he didn’t arrive, Lord Thursday still showed up in his carriage, a bright smile on his too handsome face. Her mother accompanied them in the carriage, thank goodness because she kept up a steady line of chatter which meant Olivia was off the hook. It took all of her energy to mutter her responses—there was no way she could form a fully charming sentence.

When they arrived, most of the guests were already there, milling about and snacking on toast with caviar and other such things. Lord Thirsty took plenty of the refreshments and talked too close, his breath overwhelming her with its mix of fish and spirits. Disgusting.

He wouldn’t leave her side, and because he was rich and handsome, the sniveling ladies surrounded them as well, each of them as surprised as she was that he would be stuck like tree sap to Olivia. She’d not given him encouragement or even a hint that she was even interested in him. She could barely hold a conversation with the man. Why was he even bothering? The whole bloody thing was so tiresome.

At last, Caroline’s bubbly voice reached her, and rather than looking for her friend, she searched for Caroline’s brother, the man who’d taken up residence in her brain and refused to vacate the premises.

At the precise moment she caught sight of him, his intense gaze met hers, and then she heard it. Just a snatch of conversation, a whisper of Marian’s name. Olivia snapped her gaze to the left, eyeing two ladies staring her down as if they could dig a hole and toss her into it by glaring.

Olivia’s first instinct was to toss her punch on them, but she had no doubt she’d be sent away. This would leave her no chance to eventually see Marian or puzzle out what was happening between herself and Malcolm.

Caroline appeared before her, bouncing into view in the nick of time.

“You are the most gorgeous creature in the room,” Caroline gushed. “Your curls are divine and the envy of all.” Her gaze slid toward the women who had been talking behind their hands a moment ago.

The haughty ladies lifted their noses in the air and walked away.

“No one likes them anyway,” Caroline whispered.

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