Page 30 of Utterly Dauntless

She called Shug first, believing the man would be eager to see Grey and her get back together, but he simply said, "I cannae say where he might be. Is there anythin' else I can do fer ye?"

Duncan Houser claimed the same inability, as did Wallace, Tristan, and McHenish.

She didn't intend on making 78 phone calls, primarily because she only had so many Highlanders on her new phone, and also, because they'd probably been given the same instructions. But she hoped her last call would pan out.

When she ended the call, Gran passed her some tea in one of the new floral cups Grey had given her. "Who was that?"

"Wyndham. He was my last hope."

"I cannae believe Wyndham wouldn't want to help."

"Oh, I think they all want to, but they've been sworn to secrecy."

"But Wyndham. Of all people."

"Right? But if it makes you feel any better, he was a lot more squirrely about it. He's a horrible liar."

"Men are just silly about vows and such. What you need is a fairy godmother." Gran's eyes crinkled above the rim of her cup. "Or two."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Ligurian coast stretched out before Grey in sunny splendor, just as it had that day two years ago when he'd found his wife here. The Grand Hotel Alassio rose behind him, its pale-yellow facade reminding him of The Grand in Brighton. Maybe that's why she'd chosen the latter, to trigger his memory of this place.

The private beach had emptied as dinner approached, leaving Grey alone with his thoughts and the waves that kept on coming whether he was happy or not.

He'd booked the same room they'd had, ordered the same wine, and watched two ghosts dance and laugh and walk the same stretch of beach, just as oblivious as the waves were to his current existence. They had no clue what would soon follow. Or at leasthehadn't. Aries might have been planning to leave him from the moment she was caught. While she looked out at the boats on the water, had she wished she could jump on one and leave straight away?

He'd systematically pulled every ghost from its hiding place and stared it down until it faded. Some took longer than others. The memory of her sleeping form in the morning light had been particularly stubborn.

He'd been a fool to come. He'd been asking for torture and gotten just what he'd asked for.

The tide was turning now, leaving a wet shine on the sand that reflected the painfully bright sky. Damn, but he missed Scotland.

He stooped to pick up another shell, tested its weight. The action reminded him of skipping stones with her on that first afternoon, when she'd finally allowed him to catch her and carry her into the water. When she'd claimed she was tired of being alone.

Lies. All of it lies.

He hurled the shell as hard as he could, nearly wrenching his shoulder. The wee thing hadn't been substantial enough to make a splash. And neither had he...

"Ye're a damned fool," he muttered.

He'd known exactly what he was doing when he told Shug he intended to put old ghosts to bed. Where else would he have ghosts waiting for him? He'd dropped that breadcrumb deliberately, hoping she might follow. Hoping she would want what she was finally denied.

But he'd been wrong. His little experiment had failed utterly.

At least she wasn't running anymore. Shug's daily texts confirmed she was still in Inverness, settling in, finding her feet. Maybe he'd done the right thing after all. Maybe letting her go had been exactly what she'd needed.

And if that were true, the best thing he could do now was stay away. Let her build whatever life she wanted without his shadow falling across it.

It was time. Time to check out of this beautiful prison of memories. Time to stop imagining her walking toward him, barefoot, down the beach...as he was doing now.

He blinked hard, but the mirage didn't fade. He'd seen her ghost a hundred times this week, but never painted her in a cable knit sweater with green pant legs rolled up. His imagination wasn't that keen.

The mirage neared enough so he could see her grin. Then she broke into a run, stumbled, and fell in a spectacular disaster—a high-pitched squeal and a spray of hair and sand.

His imagination definitely couldn't have conjured that.

Aries pushedherself up to a seated position, laughing at her epic failure to take Grey by surprise. Sand clung to her sweater and dripped from her hair. She unrolled her pant legs to free the damp mess that got caught there. She'd imagined this moment a hundred times on the flight from Scotland to Genoa, but none of those scenarios had involved a faceplant on the beach.

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