Tempting the Highland Spy (Highland Hearts)

by Kingston, Tara

  It didn’t seem possible, but Lady Edythe’s mouth looked even more pinched. “Oh, Belle, you will grow to love this place,” she said. “Just as you love your man.”

  There’s no way out.

  Belle’s words echoed in Grace’s thoughts. They’d sounded like a confession, the tremulous tone of her voice reflecting what seemed true anguish.

  If she’d spoken the truth, she was already wed to Raibert.

  Alone in her room as she laid out her garments for dinner, Grace pictured Belle’s face. Had the sadness in her eyes been genuine? Or was the woman conducting a masquerade of her own, for reasons Grace could not fathom?

  Such a pity she’d never mastered the art of controlling her emotions. Grace sighed at the thought. For years, Aunt Thelma had stressed the importance of never allowing her heart to control her actions. Grace had been a woefully pitiful student where that lesson was concerned. If the heiress had intended to stir Grace’s sympathy, she’d succeeded in grand style.

  Why had Belle and Raibert concealed the speaking of their vows? The heiress had only intensified her notoriety by running off with a man everyone believed was not yet her husband. Belle had longed for a beautiful ceremony, the wedding of her dreams. That must be why she’d kept the truth a secret.

  Had her words reflected second thoughts about moving to this remote estate?

  Or had Belle seen truths about the man she’d wed…realities that now made her regret the marriage? Did she know more about Raibert than she’d let on?

  The questions raced through Grace’s mind, stirring a sense of foreboding she couldn’t quite shake. She’d bathed in hot, scented water following her return to her room, but now, a chill wafted over her, and she tightened the sash of her wrapper around her. She sat on the side of the bed, inches from where Mrs. Carmichael had found the talismans. The mere thought of it—of someone attempting to cast some sort of spell over her, protective or not—set her nerves on edge.

  Belle had turned away from the occult. Or so she’d said. Which posed another troubling question—if Belle had not placed the charms in their rooms, who had?

  The question unleashed a new jolt of apprehension that slithered along her spine. Grace hugged her arms to her chest, letting out a long, calming breath.

  Very soon, she’d inform Harrison of the new developments. Since the morning, she’d seen very little of him. He’d woven his way into what seemed like a friendship with Raibert. With any luck, he’d gather the intelligence they needed to clear Belle.

  If only she could be sure Belle wasn’t in danger. She couldn’t simply walk away knowing that the heiress was trapped in this isolated place with a man who might be up to no good.

  She wandered to the window, pulling back the curtain, flooding the room with warming sunlight. What had come over her? It wasn’t like her to allow her fears to take control. Even now, she fought the impulse and steeled herself to go on with the task ahead. If something went wrong—if her suspicion that Raibert was a dangerous man was true—Harrison would watch over her.

  He would protect her.

  She had to believe that. Or else, she’d never get through this mission—she’d never make it home to Claire.

  …

  Harrison had expected to find Grace in their chamber, but the sight of her curled on her side, lids closed in what appeared a restless slumber kindled a protectiveness that defied all logic. Dressed in her wrapper with a throw tossed carelessly over her, she sighed in her sleep. Despite his determination to steel himself against her, a rebellious ache he could neither control nor ignore stirred in his chest.

  Didn’t he know better than to care about her?

  Damnable shame he couldn’t help himself. The desire to shield her from danger was as instinctive, as elemental as drawing breath.

  He hesitated, then approached the bed. Standing over her, he drank in her beauty, even as his fingers closed around the object in his hand. The point of the bejeweled heart dug into his palm, but he paid little attention to the twinge of pain.

  Her sable lashes fanned out against her skin. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to savor the texture of her peach-soft skin against his fingertips. Instead, he opened his hand and stared down at the brooch.

  Just his bloody luck that the woman he hungered for—the woman he’d give his life to protect—was a thief.

  Seeming to sense his presence, she sighed again and stretched as her lids fluttered open.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you were here,” she murmured, still half asleep. She reached for him, curling her fingers around his hand. “I was so very tired. Don’t worry…I won’t be late for dinner. I’ll hurry and get dressed.”

  He shook his head. “There’s no need to rush. I must speak with you.”

  “I have news to tell you…something I learned from Belle.” She gave her head a little shake, rousing herself. She pressed up on one elbow. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes.”

  His blunt response seemed to jar her fully awake. “What’s happened?”

  He opened his palm. “This.”

  She blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand. How…how did you get that?”

  “I found this on the floor, beneath your trunk. You must’ve forgotten to conceal it before you fell asleep.”

  “Conceal it?” Emotion colored her question as her eyes went wide. “What in thunder are you talking about?”

  “You know damned well what I’m talking about. Do you realize how badly you might have compromised this mission?”

  “I’ve done no such thing.” She reached for the brooch, but he closed his fingers around it. “What do you think you’re doing? Give that to me.”

  “To you?” He cocked a brow. “As you are well aware, Lady Sybil’s brooch went missing this morning.”

  She swept her hair over her shoulder, the reddish-blond curls tumbling down her back. Her chin hiked in defiance. “You are accusing me? You believe I stole it?”

  The pain in her eyes was like a punch in the gut. “That is precisely what I think.”

  “You are incredible.” Anger and despair laced her tone. “You still don’t trust me.”

  “Should I, Grace?”

  Her lower lip quaked, and her throat constricted. “Evidently not.” She tossed the cover aside, came to her feet, and marched up to him. “After all, I’m nothing but a thief. Right?”

  “I did not say that.”

  Her chin went higher. “Then what are you saying?”

  “I was a fool to trust you.”

  “Were you now?” she challenged. “I’d say I was the fool. I thought you were a man of integrity.”

  “God above, Grace… I thought you would refrain from putting your talents to work long enough to complete this blasted mission.” He turned away and went to the door. “Get dressed. I’ll be back in a quarter hour to settle this.”

  She followed him. Her fingers curved over his shoulder. “Give me my brooch.”

  Slowly, he turned to meet her gaze. “Your brooch?”

  With a nod, she reached for his closed hand. Moisture glistened in her eyes. “I need that. It’s all I have left.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know how you got your hands on my mother’s brooch, but I insist that you return it.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she gulped a breath. “Now.”

  Unfolding his fingers, he examined the heart-shaped pin. Tiny gems in shades of red and blue and green adorned the gold.

  “I can prove it.” A whispered note of desperation blended with her anger. “That piece was a gift from my father. Look at the back.”

  As he turned it over, he spotted the engraved letters. ALW. An invisible fist slammed into his chest.

  Bollocks! He was a fool. A jackass of the highest magnitude.

  “Anna Lea Winters.” Contempt dripped off each softly spoken syllable. “Now, I’ll thank you to take your head out of your backside and give that back to me.”

  He placed the
brooch in her palm. “Bloody hell… I assumed…”

  She stared down at it as if he’d tarnished something quite precious.

  “It seemed a reasonable conclusion.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I am sorry, Grace.”

  “It would have been reasonable to ask me about the piece. But in your eyes, I am nothing more than a thief.”

  He moved to take her hand, but she jerked away. Her eyes blazed with hurt and anger.

  “I told you I was sorry, Grace. The assumption was logical, given the past.”

  Her chin trembled. “Not the past. My past.”

  He reached for her again. This time, she didn’t move away. Enfolding her in an embrace, he drew her near. Letting out a sigh, he threaded his fingers through the silken strands of her hair. When he held her like this, everything seemed right. Deep within, his heart pulsed with a yearning so unfamiliar, it seemed a bitter ache nothing else could ease.

  “You said it’s all you have left. Grace, what did you mean by that?”

  “Exactly what I said. That brooch is the only possession that truly means anything to me, the only thing I own that my mother ever touched. Everything else was sold to make ends meet.”

  “Will you tell me what happened?”

  She seemed to catch her breath. For a long moment, she regarded him silently. “I was young, not quite eleven. It was winter, and the pond near our house had frozen over. Some of the children were playing on the ice, and I wanted so badly to join them. But Mama forbade me to go outside. She’d already lost one child to fever, and she would not chance losing another.”

  He smoothed a tendril of her hair behind her ear. “Are you sure you wish to do this? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Her head bobbed in a tiny nod. “I’m sure you can guess what happened next. I disobeyed her. For a little while, the freedom was exhilarating. Until the ice cracked and my friend, Daisy, fell in. I tried to rescue her, but the ice gave way beneath my feet. My father heard our screams and rushed to save us. He did…both Daisy and I survived.” She closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell as she pulled in a breath. “But he did not.”

  “Oh, Grace, it wasn’t your fault. You were young.”

  “And impetuous. So very foolish,” she said, grief coloring her tone. “I’d always been an obedient child. Strong willed, Papa had called me. But I never wanted to displease them. And then, suddenly, I destroyed everything.”

  He searched for the words to comfort her, but settled for holding her to his heart. Nothing he could ever say would erase her pain. Or her sense of guilt. He’d learned that same bitter lesson the night his brother died.

  “My mother was expecting a baby. The shock of Papa’s death was too much for her to bear,” Grace went on. “Mama lost the babe. She died a week later.”

  Her anguish bubbled up. Hot tears soaked through the fabric of his waistcoat and shirt. He brushed a kiss against her temple and held her close.

  “I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmured. He’d never intended to make her relive the pain. He’d only wanted to understand.

  She brushed away a tear and lifted her gaze to his. “Did you rummage through my bag for that brooch? I need to know.”

  “No. I’d tell you if I did.”

  “You found it on the floor? Did you ask Mrs. Carmichael to go through my things?”

  “Of course not.

  “Then we have a problem, a troubling development—Who searched my belongings? And why?”

  He considered her question, settling on the most logical answer. “The reasonable assumption is that we have a thief in our midst. Someone pilfered Lady Sybil’s brooch. And today, they went after your things. It’s likely they were interrupted.”

  With a sniffle, she nodded. “That is a possibility. But I’m afraid something else might be afoot, something quite a bit more sinister.”

  He brushed away a lingering teardrop with the pad of his thumb. “Sinister? It’s more likely a light-fingered chambermaid.”

  “I don’t think so. Mr. Jones was right. These people practice casting spells, of all the ridiculous things. Lady Sybil and Lady Edythe spoke of potions at our tea. I couldn’t bring myself to drink a drop after they brought it up. Lady Edythe went so far as to insinuate that Belle Fairchild employed some sort of potion to ensure Raibert fell in love with her.”

  Harrison bit back a smile. “It appears your conversation with the ladies was far more intriguing than mine with Raibert. I’ve been in the company of statues who were more interesting.”

  “Have you spoken to Mrs. Carmichael since this morning?” she asked.

  “She spent most of the day in the library on the pretense of researching the history of the castle. She did indicate she needed to speak with me. Unfortunately, there was no opportunity for a private discussion.”

  Grace swept her fingers through his hair, grazing his scalp, triggering a physical response. He let out a breath and put a bit of distance between their bodies. He needed to focus, and he couldn’t do that while she unwittingly stirred his senses with her gentle touch.

  “Harrison, there’s something you need to know. This afternoon, Belle confided in me. It seems she and Raibert have already spoken their vows.”

  Bloody hell. “Do you believe her?”

  “I’ve no reason to think she’s lying.”

  “Blast it, that complicates matters.”

  Grace nodded softly. “There’s something else you should know. Mrs. Carmichael has made a most intriguing—and disturbing—discovery.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Behind the closed door of their room, Grace lowered her voice to a whisper. Given that someone had boldly searched her traveling trunk, uncovering the brooch she’d carefully tucked away in a velvet pouch at the bottom of the case, she was taking no chances.

  “At least three women in this house believe in witchcraft. Belle has turned away from the practice, but she remains wary of its power.”

  Harrison sat in the wing chair, his elbows on his knees, chin on his hands. She was growing accustomed to seeing him in that position. It seemed familiar. And comfortable.

  As she was with him.

  The thought touched her heart. Despite her fear, she did not regret this time they’d had together. Their relationship could not endure after the mission’s end. She couldn’t fool herself into believing in a happy-ever-after.

  But for now, she’d savor these moments. She’d cherish the small joys and brace herself for the heartache to come.

  Mrs. Carmichael joined them, standing by the connecting door, alert for any sign they’d gained an unexpected audience. She’d briefed Harrison on the circumstances leading to her discovery of the silver charms.

  Harrison’s brow furrowed. “At this point, there’s no telling who left those things behind. Or their true intent. I put no stock in that hogwash, but evidently, someone in this castle does.”

  “If I had to wager, I’d put my money on Miss Fairchild,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “Whoever placed those in our rooms did not have malice in their heart. Those tiny bits of silver are talismans meant to shield one from the forces of black magic.”

  “She told me she’s turned away from the occult, but if she’s frightened, she may feel that white witchcraft is a way of protecting us,” Grace added.

  “Is she afraid of Raibert?” Mrs. Carmichael asked.

  “She did not say that, but I suspect it is the case.”

  “Do you believe she wants to leave him?” Harrison asked.

  “I would not go that far, but she’s evidently having doubts. When we talked, she was open about her unhappiness with her marriage—surprisingly so.”

  “She could be deliberately throwing you off the trail,” he said. “If she suspects something, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

  “What cause would she have to think I’m here on false pretenses?”

  He kneaded his neck, another familiar gesture. “Perhaps because we are.” Rising, he joined her by the window. “I don’t like this…
any of it. It seems too convenient. If she’s already spoken her vows, why are guests arriving for a wedding as we speak?”

  “I believe the wedding is intended to cement their status as husband and wife in the eyes of society,” Mrs. Carmichael said.

  “Given what she told me, I suspect she longed for a wedding, for the romance of the event. It’s a dream many young girls harbor.”

  Unlike herself. Grace had never entertained fantasies of elaborate nuptials or handsome grooms. Truth be told, she’d never envisioned a wedding at all.

  Mrs. Carmichael frowned. “That does not tell us if she was involved in her father’s death.”

  “After spending time with the woman over the last few days and being taken into her confidence, I’m convinced Belle Fairchild played no part in her father’s death,” Grace said.

  “But how can you be sure?” Mrs. Carmichael asked.

  “Instinct, I suppose. I feel it in my bones.”

  Harrison studied her, questions clear in his gaze. “At this point, there’s no evidence to confirm guilt or innocence. The only thing we have to go on is the feeling in our guts.”

  “We must remain vigilant.” Mrs. Carmichael toyed with the ribbons trimming the cuffs of her blouse. “That young woman may be in grave danger.”

  “The fact that she is legally wed to Raibert does not protect her. If anything, it compounds the danger,” Harrison said. “If Raibert was behind her father’s death, he’s already killed to get to that fortune. If she does not cooperate with his schemes, he has no incentive to keep her alive.”

  “Her father established a trust,” Grace said. “She will not inherit his entire fortune. And the portion Belle is slated to receive is off-limits until she reaches her twenty-fifth birthday.”