Page 93 of Gilded Locks

“Grace, is everything okay?”

James?His voice was gruff, like the night before, but more natural. Concern—was that what she heard? Did she really look that bad?

“I’m fine,” Grace muttered. She really didn’t want to talk to him right now. Her head and heart hurt too much to argue.

“No one will believe that,” Willa said. “I’m going to find your brother and get a chilled rag.” Grace felt the brush of Willa’s skirt against her arm as she rose. “Keep an eye on her, Garrick.”

“Garrick?” That couldn’t be right. Grace had heard that voice and instantly thought of James trying to mask his voice without the face cloth. She started to open her eyes to slits but thought better of it as the white light seared her eyes. She’d never had such a bad headache. This mess really was going to be the death of her.

Grace felt another brush of cloth against her arm, followed by soft pressure against her left side. Garrick. She liked the feel of him beside her. Her neck started to burn splotchy red.

“I’m here,” Garrick said. “You get a sunburn?” There, that smooth baritone with a hint of bass undertones. This was definitely Garrick. This traitor head of hers was messing with her perception. She was no use as a Protector like this. Or a harvester, clearly.

“It’s not a sunburn, dunderhead, it’s an ugly blush and this acorn trying to pound its way out of my skull.”

“Ahh,” he said, voice softening. “I guess soothing words of comfort are going to be useless then.”

The hair on her neck and arms stood up, electricity playing along her skin. How could his voice simultaneously soothe, thrill, and hurt?

“Mmm. I don’t know,” she said. “It’s always nice to have someone to blame.”

“You’re not alone in that sentiment.”

Grace’s heart thudded at the bitterness in his tone. She ached for him, resenting whatever tainted his happiness.

Silly, reckless heart,she thought.

Her barriers were too tiring to maintain in this state. She felt her attraction to him engulf her. The way it felt to lean against him, the comfort and strengthening effect of his tenderness. But if she let herself allow him to be more to her, she’d introduce yet another complexity into her life. Dual loyalties were destroying her already. Mystic gold and taxation, two critical concerns she couldn’t juggle. Garrick would always be a Clairmont—raised by a man she couldn’t trust. He was still pulled by his father’s will in some ways. She’d seen the sheriff’s anger dampen Garrick’s spirits at the day of forced merriment. How could she know for sure what invisible masks he wore and when they’d come off?

“You’re dangerous,” she muttered.

Instantly, the blotch of embarrassment on her neck deepened. Curse her headache, she’d not meant to say that out loud.

Her blundering was rewarded with a throaty chuckle that sent her heart reeling again. “And why is that?” He seemed to have leaned closer. She felt the air around her thicken, and with it came a spicy aroma. Nutmeg? It reminded her of crouching beneath the verdure cloak with the Rogue all those nights ago.But he can’t be the Rogue,she told her heart as it revived that illogical wish.He was with the men chasing after the rebel.

“You know why,” she said.

Garrick bumped his shoulder against hers, but she couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. “Of course I do,” he said. “The question is, do you know why?”

Grace leaned closer to Garrick. She would really like to rest her head on his shoulder. The draw was so strong, and her willpower completely consumed with keeping herself from crying in pain, that she began to lower her head. “I know why,” she said, “You’re a Clairmont.”

Instantly, Garrick pulled away from her, his absence sending a chill down her right side, and she wobbled, blinking her eyes in shock, hissing at the brightness.

“I think you need to get some rest, Grace. You’re about to fall over.”

Grace desperately wanted to see his face, to see what had happened. She blinked her eyes again, gritting her teeth against the pain, and tried to see Garrick.

The sun shone behind him, casting him in a searing silhouette. “Garrick?”

“Let’s not talk. You need to take care of yourself.”

“But what’s wrong?”

He had hardened, but in a different way than when she’d bullied him into admitting his interest. That had been a sort of shyness. This was a brick wall.

Grace filled with a rush of disappointment and sorrow. She didn’t want to push Garrick back into the distant, shy boy he’d been, nor into a jaded acquaintance. She liked the man he was. She just didn’t know if she could trust him.

Didn’t know if he could trust her.

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