Page 19 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“Lady Caroline.” Lady Helvellyn introduced Olivia to the young lady who’d been standing beside the Scotsman earlier.

If the ground could only open up and swallow her whole now, she’d never speak a bitter word again. Unfortunately for her, the ground did not open nor soften even.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Olivia’s voice came out hoarse.

“Likewise.” A genuine smile brightened the young lady’s pretty face. Her gown was a soft blue, which brought out the familiar green coloring of her eyes. “Your mother has told me so much about you. I’m certain we’ll be very good friends.”

Her mother? Not the Scotsman? And good friends? Was it possible she’d just met the only person in all of London who was unaware of her reputation?

“Lady Caroline is just coming out this season and is certain to be the most eligible lady in all the ton,” Lady Helvellyn gushed.

Eligible? So the Scotsman wasn’t her fiancé. And they certainly couldn’t be related, for the lady had a perfectly poised English tongue, not a hint of a brogue whatsoever. Except for those eyes. The same glittering emerald as his.

“Oh, you do flatter me, Lady Helvellyn.” Caroline blushed prettily. “I must have you to Wyndridge House for tea this week.”

Olivia felt as if her throat were closing as she caught a flash of tartan in the crowd. “I would enjoy that,” she managed tightly.

Her mother looked at her with a frown, eyes squinting up as though she wanted to admonish Olivia but wouldn’t dare do so in front of someone else—especially someone who did not seem to know one thing about her.

The tartan drew closer, and Olivia’s stomach rebelled. “Pardon me, Lady Caroline. Mother, I feel a headache coming on.”

“Oh, dear, I do hope you feel better soon.” Caroline flicked open her fan and waved it prettily.

“Just a headache, likely from the punch.” Olivia forced a laugh.

“Oh, yes, it was quite sweet. I will send you my card.” Caroline bid them adieu before traipsing off to see another one of her friends.

Lady Helvellyn pursed her lips. “I hope you aren’t coming down with anything. I’ll have a footman fetch the carriage.”

The only thing she was in jeopardy of catching was a hulking, vindictive male. “I can go on my own if you’d like to stay.” Olivia hoped her mother would agree. She just wanted to get out of here, and the last thing she needed was to have her mother chattering her ear off during the carriage ride back to their house.

“Nonsense. How odd would that appear? Though I wish we could have stayed longer, I suppose it’s best to leave before—”

Lady Helvellyn cut herself off short before she admitted it was good to leave before Olivia tossed punch on anyone. And she would have been perfectly deserving of such ridicule. Thankfully, she’d not run into any of thenincompoopswho had taken it upon themselves to slight her sister or herself.

“Yes, thank you, Mother.”

Olivia waited impatiently while her mother made her goodbyes and thank yous to her cousin, ever watchful for the behemoth in the kilt, but he seemed to have faded into nothingness. If he wasn’t a figment of her imagination, he was very good,too goodat being inconspicuous. And why did it feel as though he were breathing down her neck? A glance over her shoulder proved she was alone, even if she sensed differently.

At last, her mother made her way to the grand foyer. By then, Olivia’s heart was beating so fast she was certain the footman could hear it. The carriage had been waiting for an age out front, and just on her heels was the Scotsman, that same piercing gaze and curve of his lips.

Stunned, her feet refused to move. Her mouth fell open. Her eyes gaped.

“Really, Olivia, you’re the one who wanted to leave,” her mother admonished.

What could he want? Revenge? There’d been plenty of opportunities for him to have it. Could have shot her in the maze. Could have called her out in front of the entire party and showed off his wound to prove it. And speaking of wounds, why did he look as though she’d not shot him at all? He looked perfectly hale and hearty. Coloring was healthy. Body robust. Quite disturbing if she were to say so.

“Olivia.” Lady Helvellyn pronounced each syllable of her name, grating on her nerves but managing to punch through the shock of seeing the Scot for certain standing not so far away.

Olivia allowed herself to be bustled into the carriage. The entire way home, her mother chattered ceaselessly. But Olivia tuned out the sound. She just heard over and over in her mind, the Scotsman calling after her.Do no’ be afeared of me, Miss Aston.

Too late, she already was.

6

Malcolm stared into the looking glass at the stranger who gazed back at him. Dressed in impossibly tight yet fashionable breeches, a crisp white shirt, tailored waistcoat and tailcoat, starched cravat and black leather shoes, he was in stark contrast to the kilt he preferred. All the shiny silver buckles and buttons reflected his image. Och, but he longed for the freedom of less confining garments. However necessary it was to fit into this wretched society, he refused to wear a wig.

They might be able to stuff him into confining fabrics, but they would not stifle him with powder.

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