Page 58 of The Scot Who Loved Her

And he wasn’t letting him get away this time.

Malcolm took off at a low run in the same direction, making sure to keep quiet and out of sight in case the figure turned to see if he was being followed. Oddly enough, the idiot never did look back, as though he were so confident in his journey that he believed no one would search for him.

That was alarming in itself.

Who the hell was that man? And what gave him such confidence? Even the most notorious villains he’d come up against looked behind them constantly, waiting for the knife in their back.

Malcolm followed, crouching in the thick reeds as the man marched across the dock to the boathouse at the end. It was quiet, eerie—desolate. No one else about. Even the night birds had quieted. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the loch on the shores and the click of the man’s boots on the dock boards.

The door creaked open and shut, the man disappearing inside. All Malcolm could do was grin. The bastard had no way out, either he returned the way he came or he would have to jump in a rowboat. Malcolm was going to be ready for him when he exited, making him choose his fate. A second after the door had shut, a light appeared in the window. The soft glow of a single candle. Anyone from the grand house would be able to see that. Which made no sense. Did he want to get caught?

Crouched low, Malcolm hurried over the dock, careful to avoid any boards that looked warped enough to creak. When he reached the boathouse, he could hear the low murmur of voices, but it was hard to make them out. So someone had been inside the boathouse waiting.

Still bent low, Malcolm crept up to the window and peered through the grimy glass where the candle glowed, confident that with the light, those on the inside would only see themselves reflected at them if they should look outside. The voices were louder here, but still, the words were indistinguishable. What he could decipher was that the man was with a woman. Then their bodies came into view.

The man’s back was to Malcolm, the cloak’s hood removed. The woman’s voice was low, fast as if she were in a hurry to relay a message, or irritated. Her expression was urgent, pinched. But what left him reeling was how much she looked like Olivia. For a moment, he thought itwasOlivia, and his heart thudded into his gut. Thank the saints, it only took a fraction of a second for him to come to his senses. There were subtle differences, but there was no mistaking that the lass arguing with the cloaked figure had to be related to Olivia in some way. But there had been no other women at the party besides her mother who were related.

Where had this woman come from? How long had she been in the boathouse waiting?

What the bloody hell was going on?

Their voices started to raise, and Malcolm heard snatches of words, but the ones that stuck out the most were:Girdle Ness, tomorrow, guns, meeting, gold—kill.

Kill. So that was their plan. To lure him to the shipyard, make the sale, kill him and keep everything for themselves. Malcolm shook his head. They didn’t know who they were dealing with.

Then again, maybe they did.

The more their argument continued, the more Malcolm realized that the mission they were discussing was being led by the woman, the Olivia lookalike, and not the cloaked figure. That was a stunning turn of events. Not that it was a woman in charge, but that she was so clearly a Helvellyn.

And that once more, he’d allowed his feelings to cloud his judgment. Olivia… He thought he could trust her. Did trust her. But he shouldn’t. Malcolm felt as if his insides were being shredded.

Stunned to realize he’d uncovered those involved in the scam—that they were right here in front of him, trapped in the boathouse—he wished he’d brought something, anything, that could help him detain them. But he had no weapon, and from his tussle with the cloaked figure before, he knew the man was armed then and likely now too.

And if the woman was in charge of this whole operation, she would not close herself into an empty boathouse without a weapon. As much as he believed in his fighting abilities, he also knew that this operation was too important to make any mistakes.

The woman tried to push around the caped man, reaching for the door. Shite, if they came now...

“Marian,” the man inside shouted, and Malcolm watched him yank her away from the door.

“Get off me, Angus.”

For a second, Malcolm thought she’d seen him, that she was coming out to confront him and her accomplice was dragging her back. But then the man pulled her into his arms and started to kiss her. Roughly at first, but then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him as ferociously.

As Malcolm watched, feeling both equally awkward and surprised at this sudden turn of events, something else clicked in his head.

Marian.

Oh, bloody bull’s ballocks… Marian was the name of Olivia’s sister. And Angus…something.A.A. He’d bet his fortune that Angus’s surname started with an A.

A torrent of curses flew through his mind. Just when he’d been so sure…

But there could not be another Marian who looked like Olivia. That he would not reconcile to being a coincidence. This was her sister.

No other confirmation was needed that Huntford House was involved in the traitorous scheme. Suddenly, Malcolm’s chest felt overly tight. Breathing was difficult. He’d already removed his cravat, and now he felt as though he needed to remove his whole damn shirt. He narrowed his eyes at the couple embracing inside. Everything he felt for Olivia, the way she’d made him trust her… Unless she miraculously had no idea what was happening—it was all a ruse.

And he shouldn’t feel as blindsided as he did.

The dozens and dozens of reasons why he didn’t trust women, why he knew them all to be she-devils, hit him with full force. They came in different packages, their venom in different strengths, but when it came down to it, they were all going to poison him. Just as his mother Gemma had.

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