Page 53 of The Scot Who Loved Her

Where would she be then?

The idea of the house party had been exciting at first. But now, her nerves were firing inside her at a faster pace than she could dodge them.

14

Everyone was a suspect.

Or at least that was how Malcolm saw it. What he knew for certain was that the guilty man would be at this house party or in the vicinity of it—and so were Viscount Helvellyn and Paisley, his two primary suspects.

Wellington was nearby at an inn, along with a contingent of men. One word from Jeremiah—who’d agreed to come along for a year’s worth of egg-stuffed rolls—and the troops would storm the party and take in the men responsible. The more he thought about it, the more Malcolm was confident more than one man was responsible.

After setting up the meeting with the dockhands and their supplier, an envoy had been sent in the “rich bastard’s” stead, negotiating the sale of the weapons at Girdle Ness in Aberdeen. Convenient, considering every one of his suspects was going to be there.

Malcolm didn’t believe in convenient explanations any more than he did coincidences.

He had just come back from a morning ride out to speak to the shipmaster at Girdle Ness, spotting a familiar ship now in port. The very one—theBluebell. The shipmaster agreed to remain quiet and cooperative and also to keep on his guard in case anything went south before the meeting.

A low hum buzzed through Malcolm’s veins. They were so close to shutting down this operation.

The dining room was filling with guests having breakfast as he made his way in, greeting the ladies politely, the gentlemen the same way. He despised that his friends and sister and Olivia were in the middle of this, that they didn’t know anything about what was happening. The danger that not only his mission put them in, but the people they were keeping company with. Not that Olivia could choose who her parents were.

He had to at least warn his friends and cousin, who were all skilled soldiers. Out of respect for them and their wives, they needed to be on alert and prepared for when disaster struck, though he prayed it wouldn’t. With the final operation happening at a safe enough distance away and the house party in full swing, no one should be caught in the crossfire.

With a nod to Lorne, he said, “A word after breakfast? I’ve been meaning to ask ye about the shipment of wool ye just placed.”

Without missing a beat, even though he had no bloody idea what Malcolm was talking about, Lorne replied, “Ah, aye. I meant to share it with ye yesterday.” No one would be the wiser to such a conversation, given Lorne ran one of the largest wool operations in Scotland.

And then they went back to breakfast. Malcolm piled his plate with eggs, bacon and beans and watched as Olivia delicately buttered her toast. Her slim fingers held the knife, sliding the butter back and forth. A little too much, almost as if she were afraid to stop the task and be forced into conversation.

She looked more nervous today than he’d ever seen her, stealing glances at him and then quickly glancing away before he could make eye contact. Her mother and father seemed more subdued than was usual. Something was going on with all of them. He would hazard a bet it had to do with his mission.

“Good morning.” Malcolm recognized Thirlestane from the boxing ring and other various social events, taking the empty seat beside Olivia.

She smiled apprehensively and muttered good morning, to which her mother gave her hand a little stab with her fork. Olivia perked up but didn’t say anything more.

What the bloody hell was going on? He’d also noticed Thirlestane seemed keen on Olivia—which he found infinitely irritating. Previously, he’d considered eliminating the man in favor of other more promising suspects, but there had been ties to him and Marian in the rag magazine. Perhaps he shouldn’t completely discount him yet.

Lord Thirlestane eyed Malcolm across the table. “I do not believe we have been formally introduced, I am Thirlestane and you are of course Lord Dunlyon, brother to the charming Lady Caroline.”

Malcolm studied him for a fraction of a second. Interesting that they’d never spoken; he never had had the interest. Though he couldn’t help but wonder, had Thirlestane been avoiding him on purpose?

“Lady Caroline, a pleasure to see you again,” Thirlestane said to Malcolm’s sister, who greeted him with a smile and a good morning.

“Thirlestane.” This came from Paisley—along with a dose of disdain—who’d sat on Caroline’s other side. Funny that he would act as though he wasn’t friends with Thirlestane when Malcolm had seen them together at the underground pugilist ring.

If that wasn’t suspicious, Malcolm didn’t know what was.

The table’s dynamic had Malcolm sitting back to watch as though he were at an arena and the gladiators had taken the stage. Perhaps his pool had just gotten wider. Sometimes he really did love his job.

“Lord Thirlestane,” Malcolm said. “Do ye hunt?”

“Indeed, I do.” Lord Thirlestane nodded in Viscount Helvellyn’s direction. “Been to Hel’s place in Jedburgh a few times. Great stock there.”

“Oh, is that so?” Malcolm asked, pretending to be intrigued. “Stag? Grouse?”

“Both.”

“And boar,” Helvellyn added around a mouth full of eggs.

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