“But your duty?” Harrison questioned, side by side with his father.
“Well, Harry, I’ll let you answer that—have I managed to honor my duty to the Guild?”
“Of course.”
“And yet, I found the lass I wanted to live my life with, and I wouldnae give her up. Not for anything on this earth.”
“At this point, I doubt Grace would have me if I was the prince of England.”
“Bah, she has no need of a blasted prince. What lass of sound mind wouldn’t rather have a Scot?” Da slowed his long strides. “Harry, ye’ve always had a good mind. And a good soul. But there are times when a man has to listen to his gut…to his heart. If ye give up now, ye’ll never know what could’ve been. If ye love the lass, go after her.”
Chapter Thirty
New York City
Six Weeks Later
“Grace, I am so happy you agreed to come here with me. We will have a grand time.”
Belle’s excitement was contagious. Since her return to America, the Notorious Heiress had stepped out in grand style, embracing her notoriety and transforming herself into America’s most talked about celebrity. The ladies’ pages of the New York papers eagerly described her gowns and her parties, even going so far as to set up a session with a photographer to capture images of the heiress in her Worth gowns and couture from Paris.
Now, standing at the edge of the dance floor in the ballroom of the Rockwell Grand Hotel with Grace at her side, Belle peeped over the top of one of Mrs. Royce’s self-defense devices. The black-lace fan with ebony ribs, sparkling sequins, and equally shiny bits of metal designed to add precisely enough weight to make an effective weapon perfectly accented her formfitting violet satin gown. She flashed a smile as a handsome gent strolled by and tipped his top hat.
“I haven’t had such fun in ages. Thank you for inviting us to New York.” Grace reached over to her sister and gave her hand a reassuring little squeeze. Newly turned seventeen, Claire was absolutely radiant in a modest gown of flowing pastel pink silk. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she surveyed the crowd of people who’d come to see the famous and those who’d come to be seen.
“Thank you so much,” Claire said. “This is a marvelous experience. I’ve never seen such a lovely place. Words cannot adequately express my appreciation.”
“I’m delighted you’re having a good time,” Belle said with a grin. “The musicians are marvelous. You’ll be happy to know I convinced Madame Devery, the soprano, to serenade the guests later in the evening. I wanted this ball to be an elegant affair. After all, it is my birthday. I’ve got great cause to celebrate.”
“You’ve given your guests a wonderful present,” Claire said.
“Thank you, dear. That was the idea.” Belle turned to Grace. “You may recall that I mentioned my father had set aside much of his fortune for charity.”
“His trusts have funded many worthy causes,” Grace said.
Belle moved closer and lowered her voice. “The thing of it is, the portion I received is enough to keep me in style until I’m old enough to be confused for a mummy. I’m going to have a grand time of it.”
Seeing the happiness in Belle’s eyes, Grace smiled. “Enjoy it. You deserve happiness.”
“As we all do.” Belle peered across the heads of the dancers, appearing to spot someone she recognized in the throng. “If you will excuse me for a few minutes, I must welcome one of the new arrivals.”
“Grace, this is wonderful,” her sister said as Belle navigated through the crush. “The musicians are so very talented. And handsome.”
Oh, dear. The prospect of handsome musicians catching her sister’s eye was the last thing Grace wanted to think about.
“Remember, you’ve plenty of time. I predict you’ll soon have more suitors than you can count.”
Claire flashed a sly little grin at the thought. “I do hope so…but for tonight, I’m going to enjoy the way it feels to wear a gown like this. It’s so beautiful. Now I understand how Cinderella must have felt.” Suddenly, her sister grabbed Grace’s hand again, giving it a little shake. “I believe that man is looking at you.”
Grace’s sigh couldn’t be heard above the strains of the waltz. After worries about handsome musicians catching Claire’s fancy, the last thing she needed was a handsome man looking at her so directly that her sister took notice.
“He is, Gracie,” Claire said, more insistent. “In fact, he’s coming this way. Look.”
Grace spotted him then. Harrison MacMasters maneuvered through the crowd with long, sure strides.
Her heartbeat sped up to a gallop, even as her stomach did a little somersault.
Surely he is not here. In America. An ocean away from his home.
He came closer, his movements infused with the confidence of a man used to getting what he wanted. Dressed in an immaculately tailored ebony tailcoat and trousers, Harrison cut a striking figure. His waistcoat of sage-green silk brought out the forest hues of his eyes, while his necktie in a rich shade of green was perfectly tied. In the gaslight, the burnished wheat tones of his hair seemed more defined, and it was all she could do to restrain herself from reaching out and running her fingers through the precisely clipped strands.
“Hullo, Miss Winters,” he said, sketching a bow so formal, it seemed almost mocking.
“Hello, Dr. MacMasters.” Grace said, then she introduced him to her sister, who seemed utterly delighted to make his acquaintance.
They exchanged a few polite statements, nothing beyond the conversation one might have with a casual acquaintance or someone who’d reached for the same book in the library. His gaze swept over her, and suddenly, she regretted wearing the emerald silk gown that brought to mind so many memories of passion and desire.
“You look beautiful tonight.” His low, husky voice seemed a physical touch.
Her heart stuttered as butterflies flittered about in her stomach. “Thank you,” she said, itching to put some distance between them.
Belle returned, almost on cue. She’d already greeted him. That much was clear from her conversation. Leaning closer to Claire, she suggested the two of them seek out a cup of punch. Claire’s brow furrowed in slight puzzlement, but Belle pointed out the dark-haired young musician standing by the punch bowl, and no further convincing was necessary.
“You wore that gown in Scotland,” he observed.
And you nearly stripped it off my body while the others waltzed.
“I’m rather fond of it.”
A devilish smile lit his eyes. “As am I.”
“If you’ve come to set your sense of responsibility at ease, I am most definitely not with child.” She planted her hands on her waist, emphasizing her words.
“That isn’t why I’m here. Though if you were with child, I’d be delighted.” He regarded her silently as her heart thundered against her ribs. “Grace, I’ve missed you.”
She studied his face, drinking him in. “Have you now?”
“More than I ever thought possible.”
She heard the words with their slight undercurrent of pain. How desperately she wanted to believe him.
But she’d no intention of surrendering her heart.
“Is that why you’ve come?” she asked finally.
His expression grew solemn. “I’ve come to ask you a question.”
“A question?” Her heart seemed to skip a beat.
He smiled. “Gracie Mae Winters, may I have this dance?”
“This dance?” she parroted, rather certain she’d misunderstood him.
“As I recall, you wanted to dance the waltz. And now, so do I. So, what do you say, Grace? Will you dance with me?”
Of all the things he might have asked her, that was perhaps the least expected.
So, of course, she said, “Yes.”
Taking her hand, he escorted her onto the dance floor. His features were unreadable, his mouth set in a sly half smile that was endearing even as it intrigued her. What was the man up to
? Had he come to coax her into plying her skills to benefit some mission he’d undertaken?
Smoothly, he led her in the steps of the waltz. There was no need for a clunky one-two-three, one-two-three. He moved with a skill she had not expected he possessed. Not a natural talent. His movements were still slightly mechanical, and he seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid her toes, but each step was precise and in perfect time with the music. Somehow, his lack of natural ability made it all the more endearing. Had he actually studied and learned the dance—for her?
No, not for her. For a mission, perhaps. But she could not deceive herself that he’d crossed an ocean—and learned to waltz, no less—for her.
“I must say, you haven’t trod on my toes. Not even once,” she said, meeting his warm gaze.
“An improvement over the last time we attempted this.”
“Most definitely.” She wanted to smile, a full-bodied smile that betrayed the way her heart was soaring, but she held back. It wouldn’t do to show her joy to all the world—or at least the dancers in this ballroom. The return to a reality without Harrison would be all the more painful if she put her hope on full display.
“I must say, it’s much more enjoyable when I’m not causing you to yelp in pain.”
“Indeed,” she said. “Have you been practicing?”
“I took lessons,” he said almost sheepishly. “My sister deserves a commendation for enduring my clumsiness. I wonder if her toes will ever be the same.”
The image of Harrison—courageous, clever, dignified Harrison—enlisting his sister to tutor him charmed her, and a little flame kindled deep within the vicinity of her heart.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she said truthfully, hoping her voice did not convey too much emotion. “Are you in New York on a mission?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“How long will you be in the city?”
He smiled that half smile. “That depends.”
“On the mission?”
“Yes.”
“Are you at liberty to discuss your task—or is it a matter you must keep in strict confidence?”
“I believe I can trust you with my reasons for being here.” The arm at her waist tensed. “You see, you are the mission.”
She blinked, as if that would clear away her sudden confusion. “Whatever do you mean? Surely you don’t think to recruit me for some job or another. I assure you those days are over.”
“It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what…what is it?”
“I had to come here…to America. I came here for you, Grace.”
Her knees went weak. She leaned into him, just a bit. “Perhaps it’s the champagne, but I’m suddenly lightheaded. I don’t quite understand.”
“You will,” he said, emotion flashing in his eyes. “It’s quite simple, really. I am a man who loves a woman. Where else would I be?”
“Love…” Happiness welled within her, ready to overflow the banks of her self-control, but she held it at bay. “You crossed the Atlantic…for me?”
A small smile played on his mouth. “Why else would I be here?”
She gulped a breath, then another. “What about your duty? As I recall, that resides in the Highlands.”
“When I’m on my death bed, I will not regret passing up another mission. I will not regret allowing some other man to chase after some treasure that will end up locked away in a vault. But I will regret not spending every minute of the last few months with you.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Joy flooded over her. “This is all so very sudden.”
“I can’t recapture that lost time, but I will do everything in my power to spend the rest of my life with you.” His voice was a husky rasp. “I love you, Grace.”
“You really mean it, don’t you?”
She held his intent gaze, etching every detail in her memory. When she was an old woman cradling her great-grandchildren, she prayed she’d remember the look in Harrison’s eyes.
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything—I want to marry you, Grace. If you’ll have me.”
“Oh my stars,” she whispered.
He brushed his lips over hers, tender and sweet. “Will you marry me, Gracie Mae Winters?”
“Yes.” The word popped out of her mouth, perhaps the most joyous word she’d ever uttered. “Harrison, I will marry you. Now, you’ve got to do one more thing to seal the deal.”
He crooked a brow. “And what, my darling Gracie, might that be?”
“Kiss me.”
And so he did. Right there, in the middle of the dance floor.
When the music stopped, they didn’t even notice. Until Belle’s delighted proclamation to her guests tore them from what seemed a delicious trance of longing.
“I’ve been waiting to introduce my guests of honor, Grace and Harrison,” she said from the small stage that had been erected for the vocalist she’d hired for the occasion. Belle directed her gaze at Harrison. “I suppose this means she said, ‘Yes.’”
“She did,” he said with a grin.
“Here’s to my dear friends.” Belle lifted a glass of champagne in their honor. Standing at her side, Aunt Thelma and Claire beamed with their happiness. “Now, to plan a wedding!”
Epilogue
Maryland
Fifteen Months Later
As Grace placed ornaments on the fresh-cut Christmas tree that stood as the showpiece of their parlor, light snow fell on the pavement outside the quaint brick house she and Harrison had purchased soon after their wedding. As a girl, she’d always loved Christmas. Now, with Harrison by her side, the holiday took on an even greater joy.
A year earlier, they’d spoken their vows on Christmas Eve at Harrison’s ancestral home in the Highlands, a magnificent castle his family had dubbed Dunnhaven. The snow had been falling that day as well, providing a magnificent backdrop for the joyous day. Claire had been at Grace’s side, a radiant young bridesmaid, while Aunt Thelma and Belle had taken turns competing to see who could sniffle the loudest.
The MacMasters family had offered them a warm welcome. Harrison’s English mother and thoroughly Scottish father were a study in contrasts—and in enduring love. Grace did not doubt that many years from now, their children would look at them in the same manner, as examples of the triumph of love over any obstacle—even an ocean between them.
At the thought, one hand went to her middle, resting lightly against the soft swelling. Soon, their babe would begin to flutter. How exciting it would be to feel the first kicks, to feel their child stretch and move within her.
It wouldn’t be long before Claire arrived on the train. She’d begun her university studies a few months earlier, and Grace looked forward to seeing her again. Belle would arrive soon afterward, a cherished friend who’d grown as close to her as a second sister.
The door opened, letting in a whoosh of cold air. Harrison closed it behind him. He’d established a medical practice in town while continuing to indulge his thirst for investigation with the occasional consultation with Mr. Jones on matters of interest to the Secret Service.
“The tree looks beautiful,” he said, draping his overcoat on the walnut rack. “But not as beautiful as the woman decorating it.”
“Thank you. You’re in an excellent mood, if I do say so.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m coming home to the woman I love—and the mother of my child.”
With that, he enfolded her in his arms. His mouth found hers, kissing her with tenderness and passion. How she loved him!
When she was thoroughly breathless, he released her and crossed the room to the gramophone.
“I’ve brought us a little present.”
He placed the recording on the device. The tinny strains of a waltz surrounded them.
His mouth tipped up at the corners. Amazing, how even now, her heart raced with delicious anticipation.
His smile broadened to a grin. “My love, may I have this dance?”<
br />
Once, she’d longed for him.
Not only for a moment.
Not only for a night.
And now, he was hers. To love. To cherish. To grow old with.
Forever.
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Acknowledgments
As always, much love and appreciation to my husband… I’m so blessed to love a man who encourages me to chase my dreams!
I truly appreciate my wonderful critique partner, Kathleen Bittner Roth. Your honesty, encouragement, and your friendship mean the world to me.
Much gratitude to my editor, Erin Molta. I appreciate your terrific instincts that help a story shine. Thank you!
Many thanks to my copy editor, Michelle Alerte, for your keen eye and skill.
Thank you to Liz Pelletier, the Entangled staff, and the wonderful authors in the Entangled community—thank you so much for your enthusiasm for the romance genre!
Special thanks to my friends and family who’ve encouraged me to write through the years. You all mean the world to me.
I’ve been very fortunate to make many friendships within the romance community that have helped me grow as a writer. Sincere thanks and hugs to the many authors who have offered friendship and encouragement over the years. Sending an extra hug to Barbara Bettis, Tracey Devlyn, Eliza Knight, Lane McFarland, Renee Ann Miller, Averil Reisman, and Tess St. John. Your enduring friendship means so much to me!
Last, but not least, much gratitude to my readers. I hope you will stay in touch on Facebook, Twitter, or through my website at www.tarakingston.com.
About the Author
Award-winning author Tara Kingston writes historical romance laced with intrigue and adventures of the heart. A Southern-belle-out-of-water in a quaint Pennsylvania town, she lives her own happily-ever-after with her real-life hero and a pair of deceptively innocent-looking cats. The mother of two sons, Tara’s a former librarian who first fell in love with historical romances when she discovered her mother’s old-school paperbacks. When she’s not writing, reading, or burning dinner, Tara enjoys movie nights, traveling, cycling, hiking, DIY projects, quality time with her family, and cheering on her favorite football team.
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