Page 24 of The Scot Who Loved Her

The strategy he planned to deploy to crack this case and put the traitorous gang out of commission and the rest involved making Olivia swoon until she confessed everything. Though it seemed a dirty trick—and not his most clever idea—he was running out of time. Olivia’s guard appeared to drop every time he complimented her, smiled. The typical flirtatious actions he utilized weakened her defenses. Her limitation was clichéd at best, but at least he’d found it quickly.

Malcolm had no sooner sat down beside Olivia to implement his new plan than her mother stood from the table, abruptly enough that her cup of wine nearly unsettled. The disturbance drew the attention of most of those present. He cocked his head, studying the woman, trying to decipher what she hoped to gain from behavior he deemed completely out of her character.

Lady Helvellyn’s sharp gaze narrowed in on her daughter as she pressed her napkin so hard into the table that it appeared she wanted it to go through the wood. “Olivia, my dear,” was all the woman said before bustling out of the supper room.

Interesting.

Him sitting beside Olivia had been the catalyst for this awkward situation. Malcolm swiveled his head toward his mark to see her reaction. A faint pink appeared on Olivia’s cheeks as she, too, stood, placing her napkin onto the chair she’d vacated. Quietly and apologetically, she excused herself from the room. Her look of confusion had mixed with mortification. She’d not expected that from her mother at all.

Malcolm chatted with those around him, taking on a friendly air while keeping part of his attention on the supper room doors. What could Olivia’s mother have to say to her that she so clearly couldn’t say within earshot of everyone. A majorfaux pas.He was certain it had something to do with him.

A few minutes later, several footmen swept away their plates, cutlery and cups while the butler whispered to their host, who nodded politely before resuming conversation. They’d left?

He stared at their host, hoping an announcement would be made, but likely, they wished to brush this situation under the rug.

Not a peep was uttered about the two women who’d disappeared from the supper room with haste. Malcolm’s skin prickled. He should follow them, but if he did so, it would be extremely obvious, which must have been their tactic. Clever. He’d not expected it. One point for Olivia.

Lady Helvellyn seemed to be in on the traitorous underground scheme, and as soon as he’d sat beside Olivia, she had decided to pull the proverbial rug out from under him, knowing he couldn’t abandon his sister in the supper room to follow them. But he still considered himself to have the upper hand. They knew who he was, but they didn’t know he knew about them.

Damn. They were good.Too good.

The rest of the meal went by in a slow slog that left Malcolm wishing the butter knife were sharper. He tired of talking about hunting in Wales as his male dining companion to the left was seemingly obsessed with, and the lady on his other side wanted to talk about all the latest styles of hats, which he cared even less for. Caroline at least appeared to be having a good time. And since he’d not been able to spend any time with her in her youth, he was glad he could be there for this.

When they’d completed the meal, and people were starting to trickle back into the ballroom, Malcolm drew the line. It was time to go. Already too much time had passed since his marks had disappeared. And he had work to do.

“Caroline,” he said, taking his sister’s elbow as they crossed the grand foyer. “We’re leaving now.”

Caroline swiveled, disappointment wrinkling her brow. “What, why? All of the fun happensafterdinner.” Her pouting face reminded him a little of their mother, and he tried to wipe that thought away. She was a young girl out for a night of fun, and he was spoiling it. He didn’t expect her to understand his reasons, especially since he wasn’t going to tell her what they were.

“Trust me, sister, there is no more fun after dinner than beforehand.”

Caroline tugged her arm from his grasp, and for a second, he thought she was going to march ahead and he’d have to cause a scene of their own. “And how would you know? You never attend such things.”

Malcolm frowned, figuring his mother had filled his sister’s head with that notion. And it wasn’t true. Though he preferred to avoid the social scenes, in his line of work and in the line of duty to friends, he’d been to more balls and dinners and soirees than he cared to count. “I have attended plenty, my dear.”

Pursing her lips skeptically, Caroline looked ready to argue. He didn’t wait to hear it, instead requesting a footman get her wrap and their carriage. With a huff and the tiniest stomp of her foot, she narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t argue. She didn’t speak to him the entire ride home either, which was fine by him. He didn’t have much to say anyway, too busy trying to formulate a Plan B in his mind.

Once inside Wyndridge House, he saw his sister to her chamber door, and then he snuck back downstairs, careful to avoid any of the servants. He exited the house, deciding to walk to the Helvellyn residence, a few blocks away.

London was quiet in the dead of night, only the sounds an occasional gust of wind, the hiss of the streetlamps and the rare clomp of bootheels or horses’ hooves broke the silence. Despite the lack of witnesses to his escape, Malcolm took care to make sure he wasn’t seen. The last thing he needed was to be intercepted or see a cartoon of himself skulking about in one of the scandal sheets.

The same couldn’t be said for the shrouded figure who leaned against the opposite building, staring at the Helvellyn place. He wore a long black cape with a hood over his head. Malcolm dipped into the shadows, as yet unseen by the figure. The interloper was very obvious to anyone who might be watching. Almost wanting to be noticed.

What the devil?

A second later, the fellow trotted across the empty street to the house, hopping over the short, wrought iron fence and running around the back.

Bloody hell.

Malcolm took off silently in the scoundrel’s footsteps, hopped the fence and hugged the walls of the house as he crept down the alleyway. Just before the mews around the back of the house, he pounced on the man.

Got ye.

“What—” the man started but then silenced himself, realizing that Malcolm was not one of the household’s footmen but another, bigger stranger.

Though he was smaller than Malcolm, the man was spirited and spry, fighting hard. They scuffled back and forth, Malcolm letting it go on perhaps a fraction longer than he should have because he enjoyed a good fight. He yanked on the hood, but the stranger wore a black mask, hiding his features. In the dark, it was difficult to make out the minute details that showed through the mask.

Alas, there was a time to end the fun, wasn’t there? Malcolm pinned the intruder to the ground, his elbow on the fellow’s throat. “Who are ye?” he growled low so as not to alert anyone in the house or the stable. “What are ye doing here?”

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