Page 22 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“And incredibly beautiful.” He’d not meant to whisper that. A woman this dangerous should not feel this good in his arms. She’d tried to kill him, had compromised his mission, yet their bodies melded while they glided, as if they were made for each other. Clearing his throat, he continued before his words hung empty and awkward in the air. He’d rather not have to explain them to her. “I am Captain the Earl of Dunlyon, Malcolm Alexander Gordon, but I suspect ye knew that already.”

Blue eyes flicked up to him, interest in their depths as she worked to keep her expression placid. “Do not flatter yourself, my lord. I did not make it a point to...” She chewed her lip, a subtle crack in the stoic veneer.

“Find out the name of the man ye shot?”

Olivia blushed, a deep and becoming pink rising in her cheeks and down the column of her throat. “That was an accident.”

Ballocks, she was not at all what he’d expect from a cunning spy sent to kill him. Her demeanor was almost enough to make him change his mind about her.Almost.There could be no question that she was somehow linked to the traitors. And shehadshot him. Perhaps this was all part of her ruse. To knock down the defenses of anyone, lure them in. Flirtations and coy behavior, like running from him so that he’d chase after her.

Malcolm gritted his teeth. Well, she wasn’t going to gain his surrender. He would keep his armor up, his fortress defended. He, too, could play this game.

“Was it now?” he crooned, his fingers pressing just a little tighter to the small of her back, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer. The subtle move worked—on both of them, it would seem.

Her pink tongue flicked out over her lower lip, drawing his eye and making his body grow taut. This was a dangerous game of chess. Seduction was not part of his plan. Perhaps he should arrest her, drag her from the ballroom and be done with it. She’d admitted to shooting him. As an officer for the War Office, he could charge her with attempted murder. He could jail her and force her to tell him who she was working with, where the weapons and gold were.

But then she shuddered, and a flash of fear came over her face before she quickly hid it away again. “Aye, my lord. I swear it.” Her gaze pleaded with him.

Malcolm grunted. Maybe instead of arresting her just this moment and possibly missing out on who her accomplices were, it would be better to take this dangerous flirtation to the next level. The fear he’d seen now was real; he could sense it. If he were to play into her hands, maybe it would be she who dropped her guard. Besides, there was something alluring about a woman who held a weapon as well as she danced. There was no doubt that Olivia was very good at both.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Olivia Aston. My father is Viscount Helvellyn.”

Those two names, the same as the lad in the north had said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Aston.”

“Does that mean you plan to forget our previous acquaintance?” The shy smile and slight twitch of her fingers in his were endearing.

But he wasn’t going to be completely taken in. “Ye’d like that, would ye no’?”

“Very much.”

When the dance ended, Malcolm asked for another, unable to let her go for he wanted, nayneeded, to find out everything about her, to see how she was involved with his mission.

“I shouldn’t,” she said shyly, though the look of interest in her eyes said otherwise.

“One more. And then we shall be done.”

Stunned did not even beginto describe how Olivia felt coming face-to-face with the man she had shot some two weeks before.

Just as he’d been in the garden, he was impeccably dressed, though no longer in his Highland garb, and still unfairly handsome.

“One more dance,” she agreed, knowing she’d regret it and yet unable to move away. Dancing twice in a row with the same person often gave off a signal of romantic interest.

Standing tall, proud and strong, he danced as smoothly and elegantly as any man of the haute ton, making her question for the briefest of moments whether or not she’d imagined shooting him altogether. The realization only made her fear she’d step on his toes, as awkward and clumsy as he made her feel. Heat radiated from her gloved fingertips where they rested at his shoulder, and when his hand encompassed hers, she felt singed despite the barrier of fabric between them.

Gratitude had flowed through her veins when the waltz came to an end, and the music indicated a reel. She’d only have to dance with him occasionally this second time. But each time she left him to spin or tap her toes with someone else, his eyes remained on her, burning a hole straight to her soul. Why did he not shout to all in their company that she’d shot him a few weeks before? Why did he appear to be...flirting with her?

Oh, he was up to something, she was certain of it.

But the way he looked at her had her mind reeling, and any sense of competence she might have had flitted out the window with his emerald-green gaze locked intensely on hers. Was he burning her face to memory? Reading her mind? Was this all a ruse, and the authorities would storm the doors and drag her away for attempted murder? Oh, her mother would never forgive her. She’d end up in the asylum with Marian, and nothing would ever be all right again.

A slight curl to his lip had her blushing all over again as he took her hands once more for a turn. Every inch of her skin felt alive. And her mind was overly curious, her thoughts tripping over themselves as they catapulted from one end of her brain to the other.

“Would ye say ye’re a good shot, Miss Aston?”

Stunned, Olivia wasn’t certain how to answer. But she shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs and quipped, “When the target is standing still. But moving is a bit harder. I have already confessed that our previous encounter was quite an...accident.” That seemed to make him laugh, and she smiled tentatively, uncertain what a laugh like that could mean.

They shuffled to the other dancers, and for a few relieving breaths, she was out of his reach.

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