Chapter Five
Malcolm couldn’t helpbut laugh. He found Miss Barclay most comical. Aye, they were confined to this carriage, but truly, she could only blame herself for any situation she found herself in.
He gathered his wits and put on a serious face. Her scowl told him she didn’t appreciate his reaction in any way whatsoever. “Might I remind ye that any situation ye now find yourself in is by your own doing?”
Her gaze slid to her maid before landing back on him. “Nay. Ye dinna.” She raised an arched brow as she answered. “Ye have made it abundantly clear what ye think of me.”
“I dinna think I have.”
“Surely, ye jest, Sir. Ye have done naught but look upon me with suspicion.”
He chuckled. “’Twas no’ me that was caught elbow deep in the viscountess’s chest of jewels. I was no’ the one stealing that which doesna belong to me.”
She sat forward, her hands clenched into tiny fists. “Those things do belong to me!” She held up the necklace and shook it in the air. “This belongs to me. I dinna ken how many times I need to tell ye. They are my grandmama’s. Well, were, but that’s beside the point. They belong to my family. They’re mine to keep.”
The lass was so defiant in her argument, it was hard to believe that she wasn’t telling the truth. But he couldn’t wrap hishead around the story that she wove. The viscountess being the thief? That made no sense. Why would a woman of wealth risk so much for something she didn’t need?
Now, Miss Barclay? Who kenned if Tolton Hall even existed? She could be leading him on a wild goose chase into the Highlands. What her end game could be, he hadn’t the slightest idea.
But say she was telling the truth, what did that mean for the viscountess? Had she been given the jewelry? How else could she explain how she came into possession of jewelry that was stolen from the Barclay home?
It was a wicked web being weaved. Malcolm wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of it. And as frustrating as Miss Barclay was, he still found her entertaining in her defiance.
“Say they are yours. Why were they at the Wilsons’?”
She blew out an exasperated breath, throwing her hands up in the air. “I dinna ken how many times I need to explain the same thing to ye,” she said, her voice low in irritation. “She stole them from my family.”
He shook his head. “I dinna believe it. What would be her reasoning?”
Miss Barclay shrugged her shoulders. “I dinna ken. Mayhap she thought they were pretty.” She held up the necklace and looked at it admiringly. “Ye have to agree ’tis a beautiful piece.”
His throat was suddenly dry. The look of pure adoration on her face had Malcolm once again questioning his reconnaissance skills. He’d uncovered spies and traitors for the crown for Christ’s sake. Could this woman sitting across from him demanding her innocence be pulling the wool over his eyes?
Mayhap he was blinded by her beauty, which was most definitely impossible to ignore. Her honeysuckle perfume filled the interior of the carriage and tickled his nose. A pleasant scent that fit her well. With each breath she took, her chest heaved,causing her breasts to lift and he found himself having to continuously avert his gaze, lest he find himself, scooting to his knees in front of her and burying his face in her soft curves.
He shook his head trying to clear the erotic images prancing about like they were the only thing he needed to think about. He’d be damned if he let this woman bring him to his knees. He’d never let anyone else have such a hold on him, he sure as hell wouldn’t let this one.
“Tell me, my lord. Are ye married?”
“Pardon?” That was indeed a quick shift into an entirely different topic of conversation. Right away, he knew she was trying to draw his attention away from her thievery. He’d allow it for now, but he wasn’t so sure this was the best conversation to be had considering his thoughts.
“A wife? Is there a Lady Kennedy waiting for ye at home? I would hate to ken what she is thinking about ye traveling with a maiden. Alone, I might add.”
It was his turn to scowl at her implication. “We arena alone.” He dipped his head in Mary’s direction. “Your maid is here. Alas, I havena a wife.” Nor did he want one. He was perfectly happy single. Free to bed who he wanted, when he wanted. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t had a lass or two try to trick him into marriage. He had. Obviously, they had been unsuccessful, and he had no interest in being saddled to a woman.
Even a beauty such as Miss Barclay. Although a quick romp wasn’t something he would reject if it were offered. He belonged to no one and planned to keep it that way.
“Surely someone as braw as ye has had many marriage prospects, nay?”
He schooled his features, uncomfortable with her line of inquiries. “And what of ye? Are ye no’ of marrying age. Certainly by now ye have been introduced into Society. Why have yeno’ married? Or do ye have a husband waiting for ye back in Stonehaven?”
“I most certainly do no’,” she snapped. “There isna anyone who has asked me.”
He chortled. “I bet. Your countenance would scare off any man looking for a wife.”
She gasped. “Ye, sir, are verra rude.” She straightened in her seat, pressing her lips so tightly together they turned white as she avoided his eyes. “My parents are in no hurry for me to marry,” she finally added.
“Or,” he drawled, “they’ve been unsuccessful in finding a match that will put up with your smart tongue.”
