“Absolutely,” Grace said. “That’s her.”
As she spoke, the heiress’s attention flickered to her direction. Her eyes widened in recognition as her mouth went round with surprise. Happiness lit her expression, and she paused. Turning to her companions, she said a few words, then bustled over to Grace as the women continued on their way to a table.
“Good heavens, it’s you—Grace Winterborne,” Belle said with a broad smile.
Winterborne. Once again, she’d have to adopt the alias. At least it wasn’t too far removed from her real name.
“My, Belle, this is an unexpected pleasure.” Grace rose, clasping the heiress’s hands in her own. “I’d no idea you were in Scotland.”
Amazing, how easily the lie flowed from her lips. She was a far better actress than Aunt Thelma had credited her. She surprised even herself.
“I had to get away from New York, if only for a while. I presume you heard about Father’s death.” Belle wrung her hands together. “I still…I still cannot speak of it.”
“Oh, dear, Belle, I did see the news in the papers. I’m so very sorry,” she said with sincerity.
“Thank you, my dear friend.” A light sheen glimmered in the heiress’s eyes. “One never knows what lies around the corner.”
“It’s good that you’ve come to the Highlands. I trust you’ll immerse yourself in the beauty of the land. I can think of no better tonic.”
“So very true. I do so love it here. Donnal is so very fond of his homeland.” Belle gave a nervous little giggle. “Oh, dear, you haven’t met Donnal, have you?”
Grace lightly shook her head. “I cannot say that I have. I take it you bring news…have you married?”
“Not yet. But soon.”
Was it Grace’s imagination, or had Belle’s reply come a bit too quickly? She seemed rather ill at ease, such an unnatural state for a bride-to-be.
“Am I to understand you are engaged?” Grace gently persisted.
Joy filled Belle’s eyes. “We are to be wed in a week’s time.”
“How very wonderful,” Grace said. She turned to Harrison. “So exciting for you! My…husband, Dr. MacMasters, and I have only recently exchanged our vows.”
Drat, she should not have stumbled over the word. Husband. After all the lies she’d told in her life, why should this harmless falsehood be so difficult? Why did uttering the lie feel so very wrong?
If Belle detected her hesitation, she did not betray it as she directed a beaming smile at Harrison. “Husband?” Belle said with delight. “I do not recall making your acquaintance, Dr. MacMasters. I think I’d remember a man like you.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, slanting Grace a speaking glance.
“Oh, dear, I’ve been remiss in my introductions.” With a prim manner, Grace offered the heiress a polite introduction to her faux husband.
After the exchange of pleasantries, Belle set her attention on Grace. “So, what brings you to Scotland, my dear friend?”
“Like you, my man is a Highlander. We’ll be taking up residence at his family’s estate, not far from Loch Ness.”
“That is indeed a beautiful patch of God’s green earth.” A little frown tugged at Belle’s mouth. “Loch Ness is quite a distance from here. How long will you be in this vicinity?”
“Our honeymoon—if that’s what you could call it—was quite brief, so we’ve decided to take a wedding trip. A month touring Scotland, my adopted home.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Belle said.
“As I am for you. There’s something to be said for a true love story.”
“True love…” Belle seemed to ponder the words. “Ah, yes…I could not agree more.”
“I had to include time in Stirling. I do so adore the museum. As I recall, we share an interest in the art of Rembrandt.”
Belle clasped her hands with delight. “Have you come for the unveiling of the gallery’s latest acquisition?”
“That goes without saying, dear,” Grace said, throwing in a cheeky smile for good measure.
“How wonderful.” Belle’s tone was serene, but her expression lit with delight. “My intended and I will also be there, though I must admit, I’ve had to coax Donnal to join me. The man finds museums a bit sedate for his tastes, but he knows how much this means to me.”
Grace slanted Harrison a glance. “We look forward to making his acquaintance.”
“Indeed,” he concurred with a bored expression.
“Donnal is quite a man,” Belle went on. “It seems that wedding in Edinburgh was a lucky charm for both of us. And to think—I didn’t even catch the bouquet.”
“I cannot say that I even tried. I could not have envisioned myself as a married woman.” The words tumbled from Grace’s mouth, perhaps the most honest statement she’d made to the heiress since their conversation had begun a few minutes earlier. A married woman. The very thought of it seemed as preposterous as the notion that Grace might board a flying machine and dash off to the moon.
“Life is indeed unpredictable.” Belle slanted her companions a glance. Now seated at a corner table, the salt-and-pepper-haired woman shot her a pointed look and gave a brusque shake of her head. Belle wrung her hands together, the happiness draining from her eyes. “I do need to rejoin my companions. We’re running a bit late…as usual, they’re quick to remind me…and I’m afraid we’re all a bit famished.”
“Of course,” Grace said. “It was a pleasure seeing you again. I do hope we’ll have a chance to chat following the unveiling.”
“That would be lovely.” Once again, Belle’s glance flickered to the round table and the two women. The older of the pair continued to watch her with a focus Grace suspected had nothing to do with impatience and hunger pangs. “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Dr. MacMasters. Until tonight, Grace.”
With that, she turned on her heel and scurried off to rejoin the ladies who’d accompanied her.
Harrison waited until she was out of earshot, then leaned closer. He lowered his voice, not quite a whisper. “Is she usually that ill at ease?”
“In my observation, her nerves tend to be a bit tightly strung. But I’ve never seen her so…tense.”
As he picked up his glass and took a drink, his attention discreetly slid to the heiress and her dinner companions. “Do you know who those women are?”
“I’ve never seen them before. Neither in Scotland nor in New York.”
“I need you to find a plausible reason to continue your conversation with Miss Fairchild and make contact with those women. We need to know who we’re dealing with before the exhibition.”
“That will not be a problem.”
Opening her velveteen reticule, she fished around for her coin purse. A few moments of dedicated searching later, she produced a tiny pearl button she kept in the small silk purse for just such an occasion. With the button cupped against her palm, out of sight, she bit back a smile at Harrison’s look of confusion.
His brow furrowed. “What do you have there?”
She could not resist a little smile. “Justification for paying Miss Fairchild’s table a visit.”
“One could never accuse you of lacking resources.”
“I always believe in planning ahead. You never know when you’ll need an excuse to make the acquaintance of your mark.”
Adopting a placid expression, she rose. “If you will excuse me, I need to speak with my dear old friend Belle.”
“Don’t be long, darling,” he said for effect.
Darling. My, how lovely the word sounded on his lips. In any case, she put aside the thought and proceeded to Belle’s table.
The salt-and-pepper haired woman stared up at her. She was actually quite beautiful, but the severity of her hairstyle and her expression created an impression that reminded Grace of a bird of prey.
“Belle, I do believe you might have lost something,” Grace said brightly, even as she met the hawkish woman’s gaze.
Belle looked up from perusing the menu. “Whatever do you mean?”
Grace extended her hand, revealing the button. “I spotted this on the floor, near where you’d been standing. Is there some chance you might have dropped it?”
The heiress glanced at the button, then ran a finger over the fasteners on her high collar. “Thank you, but it isn’t mine. I do appreciate you taking the time to be sure.”
“Of course. It’s no trouble.” She allowed her attention to wander to Belle’s acquaintances.
Spotting the movement of her gaze, Belle appeared flustered. “Grace, I do apologize. I should have introduced you to my friends.”
Motioning to the older woman, Belle lowered her voice. “Miss Winterborne—oh, I’m sorry, I meant Mrs. MacMasters—I’d like you to meet my dear friends Lady Sybil Lansbury and her niece, Lady Edythe Penderant.”
Mrs. MacMasters. Grace’s first instinct was to look behind her, as if it might be possible that Harrison’s newly acquired sister-in-law, Lady Evelyn, had happened upon the restaurant in a fortunate coincidence. She stopped herself, holding herself quite still as she processed the name. Goodness, she was accustomed to answering to an alias, but this one would definitely take some getting used to. Belle might as well have addressed her as a queen, the name sounded so very foreign to her ears.
Offering wan smiles, Lady Sybil and Lady Edythe offered equally bland pleasantries. When none of the trio invited Grace to join them, she took the initiative and seated herself rather boldly at Lady Sybil’s side.
The coldness in the woman’s eyes contradicted the faint smile that still danced on her lips. For a heartbeat, Grace held Lady Sybil’s gaze, then trained her attention on the younger woman.
“So, tell me, will the two of you be at the gallery this evening?”
Lady Edythe shook her head. “Sadly, no.”
“I regret we did not allow time in our schedule,” Lady Sybil added, her manner stiff as the waiter’s starched white collar. “But it cannot be helped now.”
“Lady Sybil and Lady Edythe are dear friends, and they are like kin to my fiancé. The bond between their families goes back for generations.” Belle mirrored Lady Sybil’s uneasy posture. “We have much to accomplish, what with the restoration of the ancestral estate and such.”
“I can only imagine how daunting the challenge must seem,” Grace said.
Belle pressed her lips into a bow. “I rather enjoy the prospect of restoring that grand old house to its former majesty.” As the waiter approached, she motioned him to the table. “I look forward to seeing you this evening. Do be sure to seek me out. I’d be so disappointed if Donnal did not have an opportunity to make your acquaintance.”
“Of course.” Taking her cue, Grace rose and excused herself.
Before she could take her leave, Lady Sybil reached out unexpectedly. Through the lace of Grace’s gloves, the chill of the woman’s hand permeated her skin. Gooseflesh peppered her arms, and she swallowed hard against the urge to pull away.
“Do take care, Mrs. MacMasters.” Studying Grace’s features, she pulled her lips into a taut, crooked slash. “Perhaps we will have occasion to spend more time together. I sense it’s a most interesting story that has brought you here. I do expect that someday very soon, you will tell me all of it.”
Chapter Fourteen
His gaze drawn to Grace like iron filings to a magnet, Harrison followed her path as she wove her way through the maze of tables to Miss Fairchild. With a smile, she utilized that tiny pearl button she carried as her key to a seat at the table. Even at a distance, he could see how easily she charmed the heiress into an easy familiarity. Another meeting or two, and she’d have the trust of the industrialist’s daughter.
Precisely what they needed. If all went to plan, Grace would have little difficulty gathering the intelligence they needed to determine what, if any, role Belle Fairchild and her fiancé had played in her father’s death.
Grace was resourceful. He’d give her that. Carrying a simple prop that provided a reason to strike up or continue a conversation was ingenious. Her quick, clever mind appealed to him. Even with her back pressed to the wall by circumstance, she was determined to use her wits to rescue herself and that daft aunt she cared for quite deeply.
By hellfire, he should not be impressed by her skill at deception. She was a cheat and a swindler. He’d do well to remember she could turn her talent for manipulation against him whenever it suited her purposes. Blast it, he would not fall for her coy tricks.
Watching her, his gaze wandered over her curves. She was slender, the column of her neck long and elegant, with a heart-shaped face he could look at all day—and night—without ever tiring of the sight. Her eyes were the most striking of her features—dark as a fine chocolate, fringed with deep charcoal lashes.
The eyes of an enchantress.
Bah. He brushed away the thought. It wasn’t as if he was some lovestruck poet.
If he’d been drinking, he might’ve blamed the liquor for his wandering thoughts. But he sat here, sober as a vicar delivering a sermon on Sunday morn, watching a woman who was a known thief, battling the part of him that wished beyond reason that he could change the truth. That he could change her past. Why was it so difficult to reconcile the woman he’d known with her transgressions?
From what he’d learned of Grace’s crimes, she and her aunt had pilfered from the wealthy, helping themselves to expensive jewelry and the occasional work of art—luxuries, not items of necessity. The objects were not even missed until weeks or months after they’d been stolen. They’d chosen their targets with some thought, pocketing gems that would be considered conspicuously extravagant—never an heirloom that carried with it family history, never a beloved piece treasured by a widow. By design, they went after objects that held no value beyond the money the gems would fetch on the market. While no one could accuse Grace and her aunt of playing the part of Robin Hood, they made a point to take only from people who would find the thefts an affront, but would not suffer any impact on their station in life.
He’d never detected a hint of maliciousness in her dealings with others. To the contrary, an intrinsic kindness glimmered in Grace’s eyes. Even at the ball in Edinburgh, she’d taken time to console a tear-stricken woman. There’d been no benefit to her in comforting the distraught bridesmaid. If anything, she’d made her own position more vulnerable in the process. But that had not deterred her. Tonight, while she’d spoken with Miss Fairchild, her interest in the woman had seemed sincere. He’d noticed the expression in her eyes, the kindness that seemed all too real. Was she that skilled at deception? Or had Grace revealed a certain truth while she played a part?
Truth. The word played in his thoughts. There was so much about her he didn’t know. How had a woman as refined and intelligent as Grace come into a life of trickery and deceit?
Miss Fairchild’s companions did not appear pleased that she’d joined them. To the contrary, the older woman’s expression had been icy with displeasure she couldn’t quite hide. How had Jones’s source missed the key detail of the women’s identities? Despite his dislike of the American Arse, Harrison had no reason to question the agent’s competence. Jones was determined to accomplish his mission. It wasn’t likely he’d fail to note Miss Fairchild’s contacts in Scotland.
The older woman said something to Grace that made her complexion go as pale as the bleached napkin she’d left by her plate. But Grace had maintained her composure. Now, she walked toward him, her expression unreadable.
By the time she reached their table, some of the color had returned to her cheeks. Her delectable lips were drawn with tension, slightly pursed, and she brushed a curl that had escaped her upswept style behind her ear. By thunder, she was lovely. Did she feel the eyes of the other diners on her as she approached? Even dressed primly as she was, with her fine wool skirt, pristine white shirtwaist blouse, and unpainted features, she captured the interest of those around her.
Grace’s dark
brown eyes met his, and he rose, holding the chair for her as she settled into her place across from him. She rubbed her hands together, as if to warm herself.
She glanced down at her lace-covered palm. “My, that was peculiar.”
“In what way?”
Her top teeth grazed her lower lip in an unwittingly sensuous gesture. Harrison swallowed against the urge to reach out to her, to comfort her with a gentle touch.
She wove her fingers together into a loose knot. “I’ve seldom sensed such hostility.”
“From the older woman?”
Grace nodded. “So, you noticed it, too.”
“She wasn’t happy to see you. That much was evident.” Harrison placed one hand lightly over hers.
The faintest of smiles tugged at her mouth. “Your hand is warm.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Again, she nodded. “The older woman—Lady Sybil—she touched me, and now, I cannot quite rid myself of the chill. The warmth of your skin feels rather nice.”
He kept his expression purposefully bland. “Aside from the fact that Lady Sybil has cold hands, what did you learn about the women?”
“Not very much,” Grace began, then continued to brief him on their names and what little knowledge she’d gleaned.
“Before you left their company, you looked a bit shaken by the interaction,” he said. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
She shook her head. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. What Lady Sybil said was actually rather innocuous, but I cannot help but feel she knows more about me than she let on—I sense it’s a most interesting story that has brought you here. I do expect that someday very soon, you will tell me all of it.”
Tempting the Highland Spy (Highland Hearts) Page 12