Tempting the Highland Spy

by Tara Kingston

Grace gave a little shrug. “My aunt has always possessed a rather colorful way with the English language.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Harrison said. As he spoke, his gaze darted to the balcony. Grace trailed his line of sight.

  A pair of men stood in the very spot on the balcony they’d occupied not long before. Each wore an elegant evening coat and dark trousers, and each stared into the crowd, as if searching for someone. One of the men slid a hand inside his jacket. Light flashed against metal. Was he reaching for a weapon?

  Harrison sent her a speaking glance. She nodded her understanding. If a sudden problem developed, she knew what to do.

  “Raibert, I do not wish to alarm the ladies,” Harrison said evenly. “It appears you have uninvited guests.”

  Their host glanced to the balcony. “I presume you’re referring to them.”

  “That would be correct. I suspect at least one of those gents is armed.”

  “Those are my bodyguards.” Belle’s reply was matter-of-fact.

  “Good heavens. Is there something you haven’t told me?” Lowering her voice, Grace moved closer. “Have you been threatened?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Belle replied. “There are certain members of the press who are, shall we say, very determined. They’ve followed me from America. All that nonsense about the Notorious Heiress. It’s quite maddening.”

  “They might work on blending in,” Harrison commented. “One in particular is blatantly obvious.”

  “Isn’t that the idea?” Raibert said with a sly smile. “Say, MacMasters, I’ve had my fill of these blasted waltzes. For what we’re paying, you’d think these musicians would know how to play something that makes the blood pump a bit. Join me for a scotch? I’ve stocked the finest in the Highlands.”

  “I trust the two of you won’t miss us,” Harrison said, his fingers glancing over the skin on her forearm.

  Grace smiled. “Actually, darling, I would relish the opportunity to indulge in some mischief with Belle. We’ve scarcely had a moment to talk since I arrived.”

  “I agree,” the heiress spoke up. “I’m so weary of all this chatter. It’s all rather…aimless. When I speak with you, Grace, I feel I’ve gained a true friend.”

  A true friend.

  On one level, the words were rather ironic. But on another, there was an honesty, a kinship Grace couldn’t hope to explain.

  Harrison and Raibert took their leave, and Belle motioned to an immaculately attired server bearing a silver tray.

  “You really must try the champagne,” she said. “I’d never even tasted the stuff while I was in Buffalo. Father forbade me to drink, despite his own fondness for the bottle.”

  “Of course,” Grace said, taking a crystal flute from the tray. She inhaled the light, pleasant aroma of a fine vintage, then took a sip. And another.

  “I am so happy you were able to change your plans…especially with such late notice…and become a part of the wedding festivities.” Belle took a drink, a bit more than a sip, and smiled.

  “We’re delighted the timing worked out. I would have been devastated to miss it.”

  “I know you must think this odd, given we’ve known each other such a very short time, but I’m thankful to have you here. I do love it in the Highlands. But I miss…home…so terribly.”

  “I do understand,” Grace said, allowing honesty to flavor her words. “I’m awaiting the day when I’m home again.”

  “But your husband… He is a Highlander, is he not?”

  Husband. There was that word again. Grace pushed past it. “He is every bit the Highlander.”

  “And he does not intend to live in the land of his ancestors?”

  The question caught her off guard. “He will make his home here. But I need to see my home as well. We’re still working out the details.”

  “It is such a challenge, blending two lives…even a life as ordinary as mine.”

  “Your life is far from ordinary,” Grace said gently, sensing the pain in Belle’s voice.

  “Everyone tells me what they think I want to hear, simply because they know I have money. You…you’re different, Grace. You laugh, and you lead me in shenanigans. I adore that about you.”

  “We do enjoy our fair share of mischief when we’re together, don’t we?” Grace took another sip of champagne. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the two women from the restaurant. An enormous flower pinned to Lady Edythe’s bodice bobbed up and down as she dodged guests in her path. A matching bloom on her head threatened to topple from her curls. She gave a little wave as she hurried toward them. Drat the luck! Grace had hoped to have at least a short time to speak with Belle far from the ears of the controlling duo.

  “Mrs. MacMasters,” Lady Edythe said with a plastered-on grin. “I do so adore that gown. Is it a Worth?”

  She shook her head. “It’s from the House of Margaret.”

  Wearing a gown of deep blue silk that gave her pale skin a peculiar cast, Lady Sybil sidled up to Belle. “The House of Margaret?” the older woman repeated with a frown. “I’ve never heard of that.”

  Of course Lady Sybil had no knowledge of the establishment, Grace thought with a smile. After all, she’d just made it up. It seemed only fair to credit Mrs. Carmichael after she’d moved heaven and earth to find a lovely gown that fit Grace to perfection on little more than a moment’s notice. The seamstress had managed to alter the dress that had been originally made for another, somewhat larger, woman with a few brilliantly placed darts and seams.

  “The designer is quite new. But so very talented.” Grace caught a fistful of emerald silk skirt in her hand and gave it a little swish. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed. That shade complements your coloring,” Belle said as Lady Edythe nodded her agreement.

  “We arrived this afternoon,” Lady Edythe said. “I believe we are occupying a room one floor above yours.”

  Grace absently twirled a tendril that had escaped her upswept coiffure. “Well, that is a stroke of luck, isn’t it?”

  Lady Edythe’s brow furrowed. “Luck? I had not given it any thought.”

  “It’s only that…I’m not sure how to say this without being…indelicate. But I will try. It is fortunate you and your niece are staying in a room above us, and not in the reverse. After all, I’d hardly wish to disturb you at night when my husband becomes a bit…enthusiastic.”

  “Oh my, Grace, you are a pip,” Belle said with a little wink.

  Evidently, Lady Sybil and Lady Edythe did not share Belle’s appreciation. Each pressed her lips together so tightly, it seemed they were in a contest to see who might form the most impenetrable seam.

  “Grace and her husband are newlyweds, you see,” Belle added, as if that eased the tension.

  “Uh-hem.” Lady Sybil cleared her throat. “I do remember those days when I was a young bride. Rather fondly, actually.”

  Lady Edythe’s eyes looked as if they might pop from her head. “Goodness, Aunt Sybil. What’s come over you?”

  “Nothing that a little champagne won’t cure,” the older woman said. She flashed a small, surprising smile in Grace’s direction. “You won’t regret marrying a Highland man. You have my word on that.”

  At that unexpected dose of wisdom, heat crept over Grace’s cheeks as Belle and Lady Edythe blushed.

  Around them, music swelled into a crescendo, the harmonies lush and powerful. Lady Sybil cast her gaze around the ballroom. Her gray eyes brightened. “Ah, there is that dashing fiancé of yours.”

  Raibert and Harrison made their way through the crowd. Raibert introduced Harrison as he greeted the women.

  Lady Sybil beamed at the sight of him. “I was hoping you might indulge me in a dance. Or two. It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed a waltz.”

  “My favorite dance,” Raibert said, sketching a courtly bow. Catching the slight hike of Grace’s brows at the irony given his previous comment, he threw her a wink.

  “I suppose I
will have to await my turn,” Belle said pleasantly.

  Raibert led Lady Sybil to the dance floor. Harrison moved closer to Grace, near enough to touch her sleeve, to warm her with the heat of his body. She watched the dancers move to the strains of the waltz, their bodies swaying gracefully to the rise and fall of the music.

  She turned to Harrison, catching a glimpse of his expression before he had a chance to conceal its nuances. To a casual onlooker, he appeared to be lost in thought, but she noticed the slight tension that marked the set of his chin. She’d seen that look before, every morning when he tried to pretend he was unaffected by her presence in the bedchamber.

  She wanted to dance. There’d be no harm in pressing the matter, just a wee bit. After all, their appearance on the ballroom floor would make their ruse all the more convincing.

  Boldly, she asked Harrison, “Shall we join them, dear husband?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Harrison’s expression changed so abruptly, Grace wondered if she’d trod on his toes. No, that wasn’t it. She certainly would have felt his heavy leather shoes beneath the kidskin soles of her slippers.

  His mouth flattened, slightly tense. A heartbeat later, amusement flickered in his eyes. “You’re about to learn one of my darkest secrets.”

  “Oh, how very scandalous,” Belle said cheerfully.

  “I’m afraid it’s not anything so exciting as a scandal,” Harrison said. He raked a hand through his hair. “The truth of the matter is, I’m a hopeless clod on the dance floor. The skill is one I do not possess.”

  “Don’t be silly, darling. There’s nothing to it,” Grace said. “You simply move to the music.”

  His brows drew together. “When it comes to dancing, I possess the abilities of an inebriated mule.”

  “Surely you exaggerate,” Grace said lightly. The man was athletic and agile. Certainly, he could master a simple dance step. After all, she’d learned the waltz in Aunt Thelma’s parlor, tutored by an arthritic old gent she suspected had fancied her aunt. Aunt Thelma had regarded the skill as a necessity for their line of work. After all, what woman worth her silk stockings did not know how to waltz?

  One-two-three. One-two-three. The memory of her clunky lessons played in her head. Surely Harrison could not be less skilled than the creaky-kneed man who’d been her teacher.

  “Sadly, I am not distorting the truth.” He offered a solemn shake of his head. “My sister, Maggie, tried to teach me. One lesson, and she limped off in frustration.”

  As if she’d sensed Harrison was in need of a distraction, Mrs. Carmichael popped through the crush and headed straight their way. The woman had an uncanny sense of timing.

  For once, Harrison smiled at the sight of her. “You’re looking well, Mrs. Carmichael.”

  Indeed, she did look lovely that evening. She’d selected a gown of cobalt-blue velvet trimmed with hints of black lace and white chiffon that flattered her statuesque figure. Unlike the blue of Lady Sybil’s gown, this hue complemented the tones of Mrs. Carmichael’s complexion, bringing out an inner radiance. A single strand of pearls graced her throat. She was elegance personified.

  “Thank you, Dr. MacMasters,” she said with a hint of a blush. Her gaze flickered to Grace. “The two of you make a striking couple, if I may be so bold.”

  Sincerity infused her words. Either the woman was an excellent actress, or she meant what she’d said. Was it possible she was actually fond of Harrison?

  Harrison took the opportunity to introduce Mrs. Carmichael as Grace’s social secretary. A little vee formed between Lady Edythe’s highly arched brows.

  “A social secretary? What a charming concept,” she said as she studied the matron. “I simply must find one of my own.”

  Mrs. Carmichael hiked her chin. The coolness in her eyes contradicted the thin smile on her lips. “I do not believe you’ll find hiring a secretary to be an overly challenging task, Lady Edythe. It’s not as if we’re a rare species.”

  “Quite so.” Lady Edythe clipped the words between her teeth. Her attention shifted from the matron to a strikingly handsome violinist. She flashed Belle a knowing glance. “I really do need to mingle a bit. Aunt Sybil is having far too grand a time, and I cannot allow that crone to outdo me, now, can I?”

  “Oh, no, you wouldn’t want that,” Belle agreed lightly.

  “My aunt and I would enjoy a bit of time to discuss last minute preparations for the wedding. Might we sit down for tea tomorrow afternoon?”

  Belle nibbled her lip, but when she spoke, her voice showed no trace of apprehension. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

  “Marvelous.” Lady Edythe’s gaze darted to Grace. “I assume you will join us. As I understand it, you will be serving as a bridesmaid.”

  “I look forward to it,” Grace replied.

  “I do hope so. I eagerly anticipate learning your story, dear. After all, it’s not every day that an American heiress leaves behind everything she knows to marry a Highlander.”

  With that, Lady Edythe took her leave, weaving her way around the dance floor with determined, graceful strides.

  “Edythe takes a little getting used to.” Belle said. “She’s a bit prickly on the surface, but deep down, she’s a dear.”

  Deep down? Grace could not imagine warmth beneath Lady Edythe’s imperious manner. She’d little choice but to abide the woman. But she’d reveal as little as possible to the lady and her aunt.

  She slid Mrs. Carmichael a speaking glance. The matron’s mouth curved, an understanding smile.

  “I do look forward to getting to know both Lady Edythe and Lady Sybil. If they are friends of yours, I am positive I will grow to cherish them.” Grace indulged in another sip of champagne, as if to wash down the words she’d spoken. “How did you become acquainted?”

  Belle tipped up her glass, drinking the swallow of champagne within it. “Lady Sybil is an old family friend of the Raiberts. I’m told Donnal’s mother was as close to her as a sister before she died.”

  “We were just discussing family. I did not realize his mother had passed on,” Harrison said. “How long has it been?”

  “Oh, I’m not quite sure. The accident occurred years ago, before Donnal set off for America.”

  Grace studied her face. A twinge of pain flashed across Belle’s features. Was she feeling the effects of her own loss? “An accident—how terrible,” she said gently.

  “When Father died, Donnal understood the pain. It’s so very awful. I have no words for it.”

  The sadness in Belle’s eyes cut into Grace’s own heart. The truth of Belle’s words yanked the scab off the partially healed wound of her parents’ deaths. A wave of dull misery washed over her. She swallowed against the pain and fought to keep her composure. It wouldn’t do to reveal too much to Belle. Or to Harrison.

  “Oh, my dear, I can only imagine your distress,” Mrs. Carmichael said, meeting Grace’s eyes before focusing her attention on the heiress. She caught the young woman’s hands in hers. “When I lost my husband—so young, so vigorous—to a wicked twist of fate, I fought the pain for a very long time. I thought I’d never feel happiness again. But in time, I found a way. And so will you.”

  Harrison stilled, keeping silent as he observed the older woman with what seemed genuine respect. Had the revelation taken him by surprise?

  “Thank you,” Belle said. A single tear streaked down her cheek, and she made no effort to wipe it away. “Your kindness means so much to me.”

  “’Tis nothing, dear. Only an older—hopefully a wee bit wiser—woman passing on some hard-won life experience.”

  Belle dabbed the tear from her cheek. “Well, then, I’ve gone and made this grand celebration rather glum, haven’t I? What do you say we have another sip of champagne and restore our spirits?”

  “A grand idea, indeed,” Grace said as Belle summoned the server once again.

  Sipping champagne from a crystal flute, Grace glanced at a gleaming clock on the wall. It wasn’t even c
lose to midnight. Dressed the part of an elegant heiress wed to a dashing Scot, no one might have guessed she’d once stolen a loaf of bread simply to put food in her sister’s belly and her own. For once, she had nowhere to be—no room to pillage, no jewelry to pilfer. She’d enjoy this one night. Everything might change by morning. But she’d take that risk.

  …

  At thirty-one years of age, Harrison was no longer a green young man vulnerable to a pretty face or a well-turned ankle. He prided himself on his logic. On his common sense. On his discretion.

  So what in blazes was it about Grace that shredded his self-control and tossed it atop the rubbish heap?

  He’d theorized she’d be lovely in a burlap sack. He still didn’t doubt that. But bloody hell, he was not prepared for the sight of her in rich green silk, as vibrant as the Highlands in spring. The gown Mrs. Carmichael had procured was elegant, its draped neckline all the more appealing because of its subtle reveal of Grace’s shoulders and the slender column of her throat. The lustrous fabric clung subtly to her bosom and hugged her slender waist and hips. Her curvaceous body tempted a man to the edge of his limits.

  Grace was perfection.

  Sheer, blasted perfection.

  Fate certainly did possess a twisted sense of humor—placing him within near-constant proximity of a woman he shouldn’t want.

  Couldn’t want.

  And yet, making her damned near irresistible.

  As if that wasn’t enough, the compassion in Grace’s eyes while Miss Fairchild spoke of her father’s death had been so unpracticed, so uncontrived, it would have touched a heart carved from granite.

  He’d seen pain in Grace’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d detected that glimmer of sadness she couldn’t entirely hide. It had been all he could do not to take her in his arms and hold her, if only to offer comfort.

  Earlier, she’d wanted to dance with him. Bugger it, he couldn’t even offer her that. He had not lied about his lack of prowess on the dance floor. Poor Maggie—his cheerful, always-looking-on-the-bright-side sister—had declared him hopeless and hobbled away, one crunch of his boots away from a broken toe.