Page 25 of The Scot Who Loved Her

The man grunted as he struggled to free himself, refusing to answer. The more he scrambled, the tighter Malcolm held him. He even tried to punch Malcolm in the ribs, but a quick shift of his weight enabled him to deflect most of the blow. Then a flash of something that glinted in the moonlight—a knife. Malcolm dodged, rolling hard to the left, which kept him from being sliced but gave the bastard a second to get on his feet, yanking his hood back in place.

“Who are ye?” Malcolm demanded again.

The man laughed. A door creaked open from somewhere around the back of the house; no doubt one of the footmen on duty had heard the fracas. It was all the push the maggot-brained fellow needed run away, disappearing into the shadows.

Malcolm took off after him, but the only evidence of the stranger was a piece of fabric torn on the fence. He snatched it, shoved it in his pocket, and then gave chase, hoping to catch wind of the man, but he’d made certain to disappear quickly.

Malcolm let out a curse. Another lead gone.

This was the most frustration he’d had on a mission since he started. He’d gone to the house just to observe and see if he might catch someone in the act of a secret meeting. It appeared he’d stumbled on just that.

He snuck easily back into Wyndridge House and went to what used to be his grandfather’s study. He’d yet to visit the room himself, and half expected it to still be covered in dust, the old tomes his grandfather prized filling the shelves.

The books were still there, but the room had been re-decorated just like the rest of the house—frilly and lacy and purple.Gemma.This was not a man’s study. Even the elegantly carved chair before the feminine writing desk looked too weak to hold him. It was as if his mother wanted to erase all things male from her life, which made it all the more surprising she’d up and married again.

“What the bloody hell?” he muttered.

Well, his mother had made her point—he and his father had not been welcome here. Too bad. He closed the door to the study, unable to stomach it, and made his way up to his bedroom. The starkest room in the house. Plain wood, plain curtains and a bed with a plain black coverlet. Perfect.

Several candles were lit, and as soon as he opened the door, his valet appeared from the dressing room, looking as exhausted as Malcolm felt.

“My lord.”

“Ye did no’ have to wait up for me,” Malcolm said.

“I am honored to serve you, my lord.”

“Next time, do no’ wait up for me,” Malcolm said more clearly. “I can undress myself, and I’m sure ye wish to get your sleep.”

The valet looked confused but nodded and then took a step forward and back again. “Should you require me now, my lord?”

Malcolm shook his head but said in what he hoped was a grateful tone, “No’ tonight. Thank ye.”

The valet nodded, bowed and left the chamber.

Alone, Malcolm pulled the fabric from his pocket and studied it—starched white and frayed around the ragged edges from where it had hooked onto the fence post. Looked to be part of a sleeve. There were two initials embroidered on it—A.A.

Who the hell could that be?

A rapid knock yanked Malcolm from his thoughts.

“Enter,” he called.

His valet popped his head around the crack in the door. “My apologies, my lord, but I forgot that this note came for you while you were out.”

Malcolm accepted the folded piece of paper. The wax that held it closed was not marked with a seal. He dismissed his valet and then cracked the wax to open it.

I believe this magnificent horse belongs to you.

~Miss O

Not for the first time this evening, Malcolm’s eyes felt as though they’d bulge right out of his head. With haste, he left his bedroom, took the stairs at a run, hurried through the house and out the back until he reached the mews. At his approach, there was a familiar neigh from inside.

He burst into the building, startling the groom, who had been deep asleep. The man stood so fast he nearly fell backward again. Malcolm helped to right the man, then whirled to find his mount.

“Kelpie?” Malcolm exclaimed at the sight of his horse, hale and hearty, in a stall.

“Ah, yes, my lord,” the groom said, shuffling on his feet and trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “The horse arrived while you were out.”

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