Page 26 of The Scot Who Loved Her

Malcolm rubbed Kelpie’s muzzle. “Is he well?”

“Checked him out myself, and he’s healthy as…well…a horse.”

Malcolm chuckled. “Of course, ye are, old lad.” He opened the stable door and inspected his mount himself, rubbing him down and checking his hooves. He did indeed appear to be in great shape. And quite pleased to be reunited. Kelpie nuzzled his shoulder, and Malcolm rubbed his neck, undone by relief and gratitude.

But the sense of relief and gratitude quickly mixed in his gut with another sentiment—anger.

The woman was taunting him.

She’d shot him, stolen his horse, stolen the ship’s manifesto, and now after he’d found her, she was digging in the knife.

“Who returned her, do ye know?”

“A groom from Viscount Helvellyn’s,” Malcolm’s groom said, confirming his suspicions.

“Thank ye. See that he’s spoiled tomorrow.”

“I will, my lord.”

Malcolm bid his horse and the groom goodnight and returned to his bedroom. As he stripped out of his clothes, he thought about this strange turn of events. Perhaps the man he’d seen lurking outside the Helvellyn residence wasn’t a foe of the viscount’s but an informant. There were several scenarios he could think of, and not one of them was of an innocent nature.

It was dumb luck that Malcolm just happened to have caught the man as he approached the house. A minute later, and he’d have already hopped the fence, and done what he’d gone there to do, no one the wiser, including Malcolm.

But… The wheels inside Malcolm’s head continued to turn, even as he lay in bed. The interloper had hopped that fence as though it were a well-practiced act—something he’d done often. When the back door had opened, scaring him away, there’d been no call from the footman or whoever opened it. That was odd.

Perhaps Malcolm had falsely assumed the door opening was someone from inside coming to check out the noise, when in fact, Malcolm could have been the one interrupting a private meeting himself.Damn… It wasn’t an intruder he’d caught at all—he was certain.

That made more sense. The man had run off, not wanting Malcolm to believe that was what he’d come across.

But now Malcolm had another clue—A.A.Whoever it was, those were his initials. Informant, partner, whatever he might be, he wasn’t going to get far.

If Olivia had been in possession of Malcolm’s horse, there was no doubt left in his mind that she also had the ship’s manifesto. And though his spy organization already knew the contents written on that prized piece of vellum, it was the traitor they were really after. Because they were the ones who’d stolen the ship full of goods in order to sell them illegally to France. Without a doubt, he’d have this closed out by the end of the day tomorrow.

Malcolm went to sleep that night with a grin, for tomorrow, he was going to have the devious wench and her father—possibly her mother, too—in custody.

The morningafter the most embarrassing night of her life—and she truly did see it that way, as tossing punch was nothing compared to her mother removing her from the supper room and leaving before the ball ended—Olivia woke early to evade her parents at all costs.

But as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the clink of teacups and utensils on plates from the breakfast room filtered out into the rest of the house. Clearly, Lord and Lady Helvellyn were making a new habit of waking up in time to catch her before she could avoid them.

Her mother had feigned feeling ill to leave the ball last night, but Olivia was fairly certain that was a falsehood, considering the entire carriage ride back to their house her mother had gone on and on about the dreaded Scot, ignoring Olivia when she mentioned his sister was Caroline. That didn’t matter, because Caroline was raised in civilization—London—and he was not.

There had been no pause or break for Olivia to get in a word edgeways about how ridiculous her mother was being and that if that had been her purpose in leaving, she might have done more damage than letting them finish out the meal. Perhaps now she was going to get her chance to speak her mind.

Squaring her shoulders, Olivia swept into the dining room, but the fake smile she’d plastered on her face fell as she saw that her father was looking at her with a mixture of disappointment and something else. Something that looked an awful lot like trepidation.

“Have a seat, Olivia,” he said, then he waved the footmen out.

Olivia sat, her mouth feeling parched and her teacup empty, wishing she could call back the footmen, so her father couldn’t say whatever he planned to.

“Your mother informed me of what happened last night.”

“That she wasn’t feeling well?” Olivia decided to play dumb and glanced at her mother, who was conveniently avoiding eye contact.

“No. The Scot. The maze. The two dances. Having him sit beside you at supper.”

Olivia’s stomach dropped.The maze? She’d told him about that?

“Your mother was kind and generous enough, even going as far as to give up a prized possession, to see you back into society, and this is how you’ve repaid her? Sneaking off with a Scotsman? Dancing twice with him at a ball, and a waltz of all things, and allowing him to cut off a proper suitor?” Viscount Helvellyn shook his head. “And to top it off, it was reported to me this morning that you had one of our horses sent to him.”

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