Chapter Fifteen
Malcolm watched Lizziehurry out the door, and it took all of his strength not to chase after her and crush her in his arms. He wanted to whisper in her ear that everything would be all right.
She looked crushed when her father told her to leave the room, and it hit Malcolm like a punch in the gut.
He noticed Mrs. Barclay assessing his gaze as he tracked Lizzie. Her brows lifted in curiosity when their eyes met, but he said naught.
“So, Lord Kennedy,” Sir Barclay stated, oblivious to what his wife had just observed. “I would like to ken how ye came to be acquainted with our daughter?”
His voice was stern, and Malcolm couldn’t blame him for his countenance. If an unknown man arrived on his doorstep escorting his unmarried daughter, he would also be upset.
Malcolm cleared his throat. His nerves did a wee jump. He almost laughed. Of all the situations he had found himself in previously, this was by far the least dangerous, and the most innocent, but yet he found himself more nervous than ever.
A niggling thought entered his mind.
Ye ken what this means. Ye like the lass.
If he didn’t have Lizzie’s parents looking at him and waiting for him to answer the question, he might have laughed at the absurdity.
She was just a job.
And he was just a fool if he actually believed that.
“My lord?” Sir Barclay pushed.
“Ah, yes. Apologies.”
Mrs. Barclay gave him a small smile but remained silent.
“We, Miss Lizzie and I, met at the Wilsons’ party at which we were both in attendance.”
“Do ye ken the viscount well?”
Malcolm shrugged. “We have kenned each other for quite some time. He hired my services to ensure the safety of their jewels from the Phantom Prowler—if he happened to show up.”
“Did he?” Sir Barclay asked.
Malcolm chuckled. “No’ in the verra least. As a matter of fact, I was making one last round of the Wilson estate afore taking my leave for the night. I happened to hear noise coming from the viscountess’s bedchamber and, kenning she was downstairs, there should have been no-one in the room.” He paused before continuing on. “When I investigated—”
“Investigated? Are ye a detective, Lord Kennedy?” Mrs. Barclay asked.
“Nay.” He shook his head. “I’ve just done this line of work for quite some time, so Wilson called me in. As I was saying, whilst investigating the source of the noise, I came upon Miss Lizzie. In the viscountess’s chamber, her hands deep in the lady’s jewel chest.”
Mrs. Barclay gasped, her hand moving to fidget once again with the pendant hanging at her neck. “Ye think our Lizzie is the Phantom Prowler? She has ne’er done aught as this. She is a good girl.”
“Och, I have nay doubt—”
Mrs. Barclay sucked in a breath.
“—that Miss Lizzie is no’ the Phantom Prowler.”
The baroness let out a long breath of relief, but then turned serious. “But ye caught her stealing?”
Malcolm smiled sheepishly. “Aye, I did. And straightaway, Miss Lizzie tried to explain away her actions. She mentioned her grandmama, and how the jewelry belonged to her and she was only reclaiming it.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief.”
“Ye didna turn her into the viscount?” Sir Barclay asked.
