Page 18 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Chapter Five
By hellfire, sothatwas what Jones was up to in England. Harrison rubbed at the sudden tension in his neck. The American agent had trailed theNotorious Heiress—as the New York press had dubbed her—across the Atlantic. And now, the arrogant arse expected Grace to exploit her acquaintance with Belle Fairchild to his advantage.
“Belle—a killer? Surely you are not serious,” Grace protested. Evidently, she was not familiar with the full facts of the case. Unfortunately for the American’s harebrained plot, Harrison was. He’d see that Jones’s scheme never came to fruition.
It was bad enough that the reckless fool had thought to put Grace into danger. But like a dolt, Simon had gone along with his plan. What in the name of Robert the Bruce was his brother thinking? How could he consider putting a woman—a conniving thief who possessed no knowledge of defensive tactics—within a murderer’s reach?
The heiress might well be a killer. And her fiancé, an actor by the name of Raibert, was known to be a volatile man who’d left a trail of violence in his wake. During his most recent return to his family home in the Highlands, he’d engaged in a loud dispute with a shopkeeper in Glasgow, a curiosities dealer rumored to dabble in the arcane arts. Days later, the unfortunate merchant had been pummeled within an inch of her life by a masked assailant. Nothing had been taken from the shop, save for a valuable antiquity. The silver pendant containing a peculiar, iridescent stone had been ripped from the shopkeeper’s throat. Questioned by the local authorities, Raibert had produced a convenient alibi and promptly sailed back to the States.
“Simon, have you lost all sense of reason?” Harrison spoke up. “I won’t allow you to drag a woman into whatever it is you’ve got planned.”
“As it stands, there’s not much choice. Miss Winters is the best chance we’ve got of reaching Belle Fairchild and getting to the truth.”
“Belle is not a murderess,” Grace scoffed. “I’ve seldom heard a more ridiculous accusation. Why, the woman would not hurt a fly.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jones said, his expression grim.
“The New York papers said her father died in an accidental fall,” she replied. “Rumor has it he liked to imbibe. Evidently, he’d had too much to drink one night and took a tumble down the stairs.”
Jones slowly shook his head. “That explanation only partly fits the evidence. There were certain details withheld from the press—circumstances that suggest murder, rather than an unlucky twist of fate. Are you aware that Miss Fairchild was accompanied by Donnal Raibert when she left New York?”
“The actor?” Grace’s tone betrayed her surprise.
“Miss Fairchild confided her intentions to an old friend—she plans to marry Raibert and use her fortune to restore his family home,” Simon explained.
“Are you certain? It seems an odd match. Belle is not at all the type to enjoy Raibert’s flamboyant lifestyle.”
Simon nodded. “Her father believed Raibert to be nothing more than a treasure hunter seeking a wealthy bride. Witnesses overheard him threaten to cut off his only child’s inheritance if she did not call off the engagement.”
“Rather conveniently, Herbert Fairchild died a week later,” Jones added. “Belle and her fiancé left for Scotland the day after the funeral. Her solicitors are currently administering her inheritance. She’s said to be financing a restoration of a Highland castle that once belonged to Raibert’s ancestors.”
Harrison paced the floor, expending a fraction of the raw energy coursing through his body. Nothing about this night made sense. Jones’s interest in an American heiress who may or may not have killed her father to speed up her inheritance could be justified. But why in blazes had Simon involved the Antiquities Guild? Belle Fairchild was known to be an avid art collector, but she preferred works by the old masters, not Scottish antiquities.
He turned to his brother. “This is all quite interesting, but I fail to see why we would be involved in this matter. Miss Fairchild’s guilt or innocence is not a concern for our organization.”
Simon frowned, an all-too-familiar look of dismissal that arose whenever one of his brothers challenged him. “There are elements of this case I am not at liberty to divulge. Rest assured I will brief you privately.”
The muscles in Grace’s throat visibly tensed. “I deserve to be informed of the facts. If Belle Fairchild is indeed guilty, I will be the one standing face-to-face with a murderess.”
Jones flashed Simon a look. “Tell her. She’s right—she needs to know.”
Simon walked to the window and peered into the night, seeming to stall the inevitable. Finally, he turned to them.
“Miss Fairchild’s interest in the supernatural was not limited to telling fortunes. She’s known to interact with individuals who embrace unholy rituals…the occult. We suspect a connection exists between O’Hanlon, Raibert, and the heiress.”
Anger coursed through Harrison’s veins. “Yousent a woman to tangle with that blackguard, O’Hanlon—what in bloody hell were you thinking?”
“Miss Winters was well-suited to the task,” Simon explained with an infuriating lack of emotion. “With you on her trail, we were confident she would be protected.”
“I don’t understand,” Grace said. “I’ve gotten you what you wanted—the evidence you need is in that book, and you have O’Hanlon in custody. What more do you want from me?”
Simon let out a low breath. “Belle Fairchildmaybe the villain in this piece. Or she may be an innocent woman who is being set up as prey. Once she takes her vows with Raibert, he will be the sole heir to her fortune—at which point, she may well become the next victim. We are counting on you to use your acquaintance with Miss Fairchild to our advantage. Her wedding is in ten days. And who better to infiltrate the wedding party than you, the professional bridesmaid?”
…
Unholy rituals. The occult. Pondering Simon’s words, Grace bit her lower lip. How was it possible that these intelligent, seemingly level-headed men were standing before her, spouting nonsense about the supernatural?
In any case, she’d had quite enough. She’d done what Mr. Jones had required. She’d no intention of becoming bogged down in this nonsense. Stiffening her spine, she summoned her courage. “I am well aware you view me as a thief and little more. But I am not a fool. I’ve no intention of playing along with this farfetched tale. My aunt and I will be on that ship in the morning. I’ve had quite enough.”
