A muffled sound made it through the door to their chamber. Was that the chambermaid in the corridor? “I suspect we’ll soon have company,” she warned.
“What better way to convince her we’re truly married than to catch us in the act?”
“You do make a convincing argument. One could reasonably say it’s for the sake of our mission.”
“Indeed—for the sake of duty.”
Claiming her mouth in a slow, sultry kiss, he drew her closer. His large, warm hands cupped her bare bottom, holding her so close, there seemed only a hair’s breadth between their bodies.
The touch of his lips was a heady pleasure. She sighed, relaxing into his caress. Ah, she could spend every morning and every night of her life in his arms and never tire of him.
Did he have any idea how much she adored him?
Pity she could not have a future with him.
But she could cherish these moments.
She would savor this time with him.
In his arms.
In his bed.
Relaxing into his embrace, she kissed him. Softly, at first. Almost tentatively.
He dipped his head, eagerly tasting the love she offered. Giving and taking. Needing her, just as she needed him. Their desire seemed a tangible thing, a bond forged through touch and tenderness, through passion and persuasion.
His erection pulsed against her softness. He was hungry for her. Just as she longed for him. The very thought of it thrilled her.
Threading her fingers through the uncombed strands of his hair, she caressed his mouth with her own. Not merely a kiss. No, she longed for him. And she would not hide this truth. This was no time for deception. No time for pride.
The only thing that mattered was the sweet temptation of his touch and the steady thrum of her pulse, each beat of her heart driving her need to a fever pitch.
They made love again, a delicious joining that seemed an exploration. The night before, they’d been mad for each other, the carnal hunger triumphing over patience and gentle yearning.
But now, in the soft light of morning, she delighted in learning the contours of his chest with its dark hair that feathered over his pectorals and tapered into a tantalizing line to accentuate the flatness of his chiseled belly, the lean-muscled power of his biceps, and the muscles of his hard backside.
She delighted in learning what brought him pleasure.
She delighted in him.
And for now, he was hers.
Hers.
What a beautiful word, she thought as she lay in his arms, drinking in the heat of his body. Sated and breathless, quite thoroughly loved, she listened to the blend of rhythms of their breaths. If paradise on earth were real, she’d found it, right here in Harrison’s arms.
Her heart throbbed with an ache that had nothing to do with pain.
She’d developed strong feelings for him. She could not deny that.
Had she fallen for him?
No, it couldn’t be.
Oh, no, she would not have made such a devastating mistake. It was only natural to feel a certain yearning while lying in the arms of the man who’d touched her so passionately, who’d kissed her so tenderly.
But love?
Absurd. She’d never even considered the possibility of such a foolish surrender.
Still, the truth pierced the shell she’d erected.
I love him.
The ache in her heart grew ever more powerful.
Oh, I’ve gone and done it now.
Harboring such feelings for Harrison—for any man—was a mistake. Loving him could serve no purpose. After years of carefully guarding her emotions, she’d opened herself to heartbreak.
After this mission was over, they’d be thousands of miles apart. He had his life.
And she had hers.
An existence that did not include a man, no matter how handsome, no matter how dashing.
She sighed, snuggling closer to him. She wouldn’t even consider such devastating thoughts. She deserved this pleasure in his arms, and she would savor it. Allowing the tension to ease from her body, she closed her eyes.
A quiet knock at the connecting door cut through their peace like a gunshot.
Mrs. Carmichael’s voice carried a note of urgency. “Please open the door. There’s something you need to know.”
…
Harrison called out a reply as he scrambled into his pajama pants and pulled on his robe. He tossed Grace her nightgown, smiling to himself as she slipped from beneath the covers and into the plain dress.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he opened the door. “I presume this is urgent.”
Mrs. Carmichael’s brow furrowed as her gaze fell on Grace. There was no mistaking the soft flush on Grace’s cheeks, nor his own finger-mussed hair. The matron’s expression made it clear she did not believe they’d been involved in a discussion of the day’s agenda.
“Of course,” she said, clearing her throat as if for effect. “The maid will be here shortly. I’ll endeavor to make this brief.”
Grace’s top teeth grazed her bottom lip in that way of hers. “Is something wrong?”
“A concern has arisen, though it may not pose a problem for us.” Mrs. Carmichael turned to Grace. “You see, Lady Sybil is in a dither. Evidently, she has misplaced a piece of jewelry, a valuable jeweled brooch. She is convinced someone took it from her room during the ball last night.”
Grace’s complexion paled, but she squared her shoulders in a show of spirit. “I assume you are not leveling an accusation…at me.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Carmichael said, the concern in her eyes contradicting her words.
“It’s a coincidence, nothing more.” Harrison spoke with conviction. Grace would not endanger the mission with a foolish stunt. Her aunt might have been a concern, but Grace would not be so reckless.
“I agree,” the matron said. “Still, I thought you both should be aware. One never knows what sort of innuendo that woman will spread.”
“In this case, there can be no innuendo,” Grace said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I thought as much,” Mrs. Carmichael said warmly. She was obviously fond of Grace, and her relief at Grace’s calm response was nearly palpable.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carmichael,” she said.
The matron moved to the door. “Breakfast will be served within the hour. The guests are gathering in the small family dining room.”
“We will be down shortly,” he said. “I’ve developed quite an appetite this morning.”
“I can see that,” Mrs. Carmichael said with a small smile. Cheeky woman.
“Thank you,” he said in a bland voice as she closed the door.
Grace turned to him. Her eyes were wide and questioning. “You don’t think I took that brooch, do you?”
He rubbed his neck, kneading away the sudden tension. “No. I don’t think you’d be so foolish.”
Her lips pulled into a seam. “Well, I suppose that is some vote of confidence.”
The muscles in his neck went taut again. He needed to change the subject, the sooner the better.
Grace accomplished that for him. “I need to prepare for breakfast. After all, I must look presentable.” She went to the wardrobe chest, selected a pale blue ensemble trimmed with black ribbon, and stepped behind the dressing screen.
Taking a seat in the tapestried chair in the corner, he yawned. He’d managed a few hours’ sleep, but it hadn’t been nearly enough.
“I would appreciate a bit of privacy,” she said pointedly. Since Mrs. Carmichael’s appearance at the door, a barrier had fallen between them far stouter than the flimsy cloth screen.
“I’d say it’s a bit late for that, Grace.”
“Nonsense.” The spirit returned to her voice. She draped her nightgown over the barrier. Her silhouetted curves moved behind the screen. “I always say, a little mystery is a good thing.”
Respecting her wishes, he turned away from the screen. “Very wel
l. Your wish is my command.”
“If only that were true,” she said lightly.
What in blazes does she mean by that?
He stretched out his legs. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the tiny blue flowers on her flannelette nightdress. “You said that’s your only nightgown. I assume you’ve got more at home, in America.”
“No. Only this one,” she said over the screen.
“You don’t have another?”
“I only needed one. It’s rather simple.”
“It’s a reasonable question, Grace. Wouldn’t a woman require more than one nightdress?”
“Why? I’ve no funds for frivolous purchases. Besides, it’s not as if anyone sees me in it…” She seemed to realize the irony of her words and corrected herself. “Well, not usually, of course.” Grace pulled in a breath. “You see, my dear Harry, you’re the only man who’s had occasion to see me dressed for bed.”
Her confession slammed into him like a pugilist’s fist. The words only confirmed what he’d suspected since the beginning, yet, hearing it from her lips was somehow quite special. She had faith in him. Her trust seemed a gift. And a responsibility.
Still, he needed to understand her. Questions played in his thoughts. A smarter man might have kept them to himself. But the events of the last several days had demonstrated he’d lost his good sense. Had her aunt squandered their ill-gotten gains? Would she return to a life of poverty if she regained her freedom to travel home?
“What happened to your money, Grace?”
“I suppose I spent it on all those teas with the Queen.” Her tone was flippant, but he detected the note of concern she could not disguise.
He plowed a hand through his hair, processing his thoughts. “The Caversham Emeralds alone would’ve fetched a considerable sum. I’d think that quite enough to provide for a new nightdress.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” Her voice had gone low, wrought with tension.
“But I do… Grace, what has your aunt done with all that money?”
She stepped out from behind the screen. An elegant yet modest dress in a blue that matched the color of the Highland sky draped her curves.
“She’s done nothing untoward with it. But I cannot see that it’s your concern, in any case.”
“It is my concern.”
Her reddish-gold curls shimmied as she shook her head. “It is not pertinent to this situation. Besides, you know full well the nature of my compensation for this mission.”
“The thing of it is, as hard as I try, I can’t stop wanting to puzzle you out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.” Emotion colored her calmly spoken words. “I am a thief, with a thief’s motives—in this case, a thief who is willing to reform in exchange for her freedom. There’s no mystery there.”
“You’re wrong. There’s more to this story than your ability to pick a lock and pilfer jewels.”
“And what would make you think that?”
“I can see it in your eyes. I know you’re protecting your aunt. But there’s something else. Or someone else. I feel it in my gut.”
Her throat constricted, and she appeared to gulp a breath. “There’s always something else. But none of that matters now.”
He reached out, drawing a fingertip over the curve of her face. “How did you end up working side by side with Thelma McTavish?”
“You already know the answer to that. She’s my aunt.”
“But why—why did you team up with her?”
“She was nearly all I had.”
“And your parents?”
“They died.”
The pain in her words seemed to cut into him as well. “When you were young?”
“Yes.” A tear escaped despite her efforts to hold it back.
His hand clasped hers. “I did not wish to upset you.”
She shrugged. “It’s nothing. After all this time, you’d think that wound would’ve healed.”
“Ah, Grace, some wounds never mend.” A lingering sense of loss twisted his gut.
“Now, who has a story to tell?” she asked softly.
“Once, a very long time ago, I made a mistake,” he admitted. “The cost was…nearly more than I could bear.”
He held his voice even. Calm and controlled. And yet, regret and pain flavored every word.
“Will you tell me about it?”
“Someday.” He caught her hands in his. “And someday, you will tell me who else you’re protecting.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Seated in a tufted wing chair that had seen far better days, Grace swallowed a sip of tepid tea as she struggled to show some degree of interest in Lady Edythe’s discussion of the proper method for cultivating herbs. Ordinarily, she might have found the topic of interest, especially given Lady Edythe’s expertise. But under ordinary circumstances, she would not have ruminated over Harrison’s words, again and again.
Who else you’re protecting.
He knew she was hiding something. That much was clear. If Harrison learned she had a sister, would he use his knowledge as leverage—just as Mr. Jones had employed her need to protect Aunt Thelma as a powerful weapon?
“Grace, dear, are you feeling well?” Lady Sybil studied her with a scientist’s focus.
The question snapped Grace’s attention back to the ladies. “Yes,” she managed, then took a sip of tea. “I’ve a bit of a headache. Nothing to be concerned with.”
“A bit too much champagne last night,” Lady Sybil said with a critical lift of one brow.
“No, nothing like that. It’s only that—well, given my recent nuptials, I find I’m not getting as much sleep as I’m accustomed to.” Grace smiled her sweetest smile.
“Goodness, is that what I have to look forward to?” Belle asked with a giggle.
“If you’re lucky, dear friend.”
Belle laughed, even as the other women scrunched their faces with disdain.
“Would you like a powder, Grace?” Lady Edythe asked. “I have just the thing.”
“No, thank you. It’s only a minor annoyance.”
Lady Edythe frowned. “Are you quite certain? It would only take me a few minutes to blend a mixture for you.”
Grace could not imagine ingesting any concoction the woman might mix. “Quite certain, thank you.”
Lady Sybil poured tea from a silver pot into a lovely cup etched with gold roses. “Actually, Belle is the one who should fix you a potion. She’s quite skilled.”
Belle shook her head, tight-lipped, but Lady Sybil only smiled and went on. “My skill with herbs is middling at best. But Belle—she has a gift.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Belle said. “I only experimented a bit.”
“Of course,” Lady Sybil said. “I do understand.”
Well, that was a good thing, since Grace was confused.
“I still think you brewed a potion to enchant my cousin. I’d never imagined Donnal would settle down with one woman—not while he was young, at least.” Lady Edythe’s voice was laced with outward good humor, even as her eyes hardened.
“I assure you, it was nothing like that.” Belle stared down at her half-filled cup.
“We’d never tell,” Lady Edythe went on. “Would we now, Grace?”
Grace shook her head. “Of course not. I don’t even understand what you’re referring to.”
Lady Edythe’s mouth curled into a semblance of a smile. “I’m referring to a love potion. Surely you’ve heard of them.”
“In fairy tales. Or something like that.”
Lady Edythe shot her aunt a glance. “I’ve said too much.” Her gaze darted to Belle. “I am sorry.”
Belle’s mouth pulled tight. “It’s nothing to worry about. We’re just having a bit of fun, that’s all.”
“Indeed,” Lady Sybil said, and the others voiced their agreement.
“Well, then, I suppose I should change the subject,” Lady Edythe said. “I take it you’ve heard the news about my aunt�
��s lovely brooch.”
“Only a wee bit of information,” Grace replied truthfully. “What happened?”
“I am heartsick,” Lady Sybil said. “That brooch has been in my family for centuries. The jewels are priceless, but the sentiment that piece embodies is what I treasure most. It’s irreplaceable.”
“Is it possible you’ve hidden it in a secret compartment or something of the sort?” Grace asked.
“I’ve looked…everywhere.” Lady Sybil tipped the cup to her lips. “If it was in my chamber, I would have located it.”
“Perhaps it was lost in the journey,” Grace said.
Lady Sybil considered her words. “That is indeed possible. Though unlikely. I’m convinced I had it yesterday. And now, it’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” Grace said, her heart sinking. If they discovered her background, they would assume she was the culprit. She’d sensed the accusation in Mrs. Carmichael’s tone this morning.
“We have other guests arriving tonight,” Belle spoke up, seeming eager to shift to a more pleasant topic. “An old friend of Donnal’s has just arrived. Mr. Thornquist recently performed on the New York stage.”
At the mention of New York, Lady Sybil appeared mildly repulsed. “Tell me, dear—how many arrivals from America are you expecting?”
“Just this one. Mr. Thornquist is a Shakespearean thespian of the highest caliber. He’s very witty. You will enjoy his company.”
With that, Lady Sybil’s mouth thinned to a razor’s edge. “Of course.”
“I understand he’s quite the handsome one,” Lady Edythe said. “I do hope he’s not married.”
Belle smiled. “I don’t believe he is.”
“I shall definitely have to dress for dinner.” Lady Edythe’s eyes gleamed at the prospect.
“Definitely,” Lady Sybil agreed. Turning her attention to Grace, her eyes narrowed. “What is it with our men? They seem to be drawn to Americans like a bee to a hive. At this rate, all of our fine Scots will be wed to American lasses before long.”
Belle gave a nervous little laugh. “I can’t say I’ve given it any thought.”
“I cannot imagine there is a shortage of rugged Highlanders,” Grace said with a little shrug. “I’ve certainly seen an abundance of good-looking men since I arrived in Scotland.”
Tempting the Highland Spy Page 20
