Page 15 of The Scot Who Loved Her

Malcolm tugged at his cravat, feeling as though it were a noose. “Pardon?”

“My letter. You must have received it.” Pretty blue eyes pinned him in place.

“I did not,” Malcolm slowly spoke as he tried to work out exactly what she meant.

“Oh.” There was that fleeting look of concern again.

Better to get to the heart of the matter. “Why did ye send me a letter?”

But before she could answer, the door opened, and his mother, the grand Lady Dunlyon, swept into the room. Her purple silk frilly gown matched the walls so well, she could have melted into the surface. Despite the poor taste of her gown, she was as beautiful as he remembered and smelled as florally sweet. There were but a few wrinkles about her eyes and her golden locks were without a hint of silver.

Because Malcolm did have manners—and he refused to let her get the better of him—he rose and bowed, taking her hand and kissing the air above it, ignoring the wrinkle of disgust on her nose. There were no boar’s guts on him this time, though therehadbeen just a few hours before. And how he wanted to tell her that.

“Countess,” he said, refusing to call her “Mother,” and working hard to keep his brogue from breaking through too much. “Ye look well.”

She cocked her head to the side. “When I heard Caroline had sent you a letter, I never expected you to arrive. After all, you’ve neglected your duties as a son and lord for all this time.”

Malcolm was spared having to answer as the servants bustled in and set out their tea. He took his seat again so he wouldn’t attempt to escape and worked through the tightness growing in his chest. His injury throbbed, and what he wouldn’t give to search out something a wee bit stronger than tea. And why the bloody hell had his sister sent him a message?

Caroline was busy glancing between the two of them, no doubt discerning the sudden iciness that had descended upon the drawing room. “Well, he has come, Mother, and now there is no need for me to go with you.”

Gemma’s face pinched. “Malcolm is hardly suited to act as your guardian, my dear.” She waved her hand as if dismissing Malcolm or perceiving him as a fly. “He’s a ruffian. A soldier. Not a man about court.”

“Lord Dunlyon will do fine, my lady,” Malcolm said, correcting his mother on the use of his name. He couldn’t stand the thought of the woman who’d run out on him as a lad calling him Malcolm. “And I assure ye, I’m not a boorish yahoo.”

His mother pointed the daggers of her eyes on him but inclined her head all the same.

“Lord Dunlyon,” Caroline pleaded. “Please, tell Mother that you are more than capable of seeing me into society.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth and nearly choked on his tongue. “Why would your mother not be doing so herself? Is it not her job to see ye suitably betrothed?”

“Honestly,Dunlyon, did you read Caroline’s letter at all?” Och, but there was that disparaging tone of his mother’s he remembered well.

Rather than give his mother any satisfaction, he kept his gaze on the lass.

Caroline didn’t seem to need any prodding in following up with his question. “Mother is leaving for her honeymoon.”

“Ye’ve remarried?” Malcolm kept his voice calm and barely glanced his mother’s way. Sweat was starting to bead on his spine from the pain in his shoulder—and now his brain.

His mother grimaced, no doubt at the strength of his brogue, which had returned. “You were sent an invitation to the wedding.”

He was pretty certain he had not been. But that was beside the point. More importantly why was she still living in his house?

“At any rate”—Gemma sat on the edge of the chaise beside her daughter— “Caroline needs a guardian, and you are it. She will put quite a damper on my new happiness, should she follow us to Greece.”

Some things never changed. Gemma was always only out for herself.

Malcolm was not in the least thrilled about the prospect of being his sister’s guardian, but if anything, doing so would help him significantly in infiltrating the ton. Mission first.

“Bon voyage, my lady.” He grinned, silently thanking his mother for making his duty to the crown even easier.

5

Olivia had not wanted to return to London.

She still had no idea what had happened to the Scotsman she’d shot and who had subsequently attacked poor Daniel.

No sooner had Olivia taken off her gloves in the grand foyer than Lady Helvellyn was flying toward her waving a stack of cards. “Darling, I’ve done it.”

---