Page 25 of Tempting the Highland Spy
“I disagree,” Simon replied coldly, “and that settles the matter.”
“That’s not good enough.” She gave her head a brisk shake that set her long hair cascading over her shoulder. “Your dictates carry no weight with me.”
“You are in no position to be setting terms,” he said.
“You think not?” Grace challenged him. “Mr. Jones, I believed this bargain was between me and the United States government. If I’d known there would be interference from individuals who have no business telling me how to do my job, I would have refused your offer.”
“There are good reasons for this change to our plan,” Jones said.
Her delicate brows arched. “Such as?”
“To begin with, the agent who will be responsible for your security must be able to protect you at all hours of the day and night. Only a man believed to be your husband can achieve this level of contact without arousing undue suspicion.”
“A brother might…or another male family member.” Was that a twinge of desperation in her tone?
“We considered that option. It won’t work.” Simon regarded her silently. “You are not unknown in the Highlands, Miss Winters. You have forged social connections, the very links to Miss Fairchild that are of great value to this mission.”
She nibbled her lower lip. “That won’t matter. I never discussed family connections, or the lack of them.”
Simon kneaded the back of his neck. “There’s another aspect to consider. You may encounter persons who were guests at the Houghton Manor wedding last year. Or perhaps, they were present at the wedding where you helped yourself to Lady Caversham’s jewels. In both cases, you and Harrison spent a good bit of time…” He paused to clear his throat. “Socializing. No one of sound mind would have confused the two of you as siblings, or kin of any kind, for that matter—especially if they observed your demeanor on the dance floor.
Grace’s features fell. “Damn.” Her softly spoken word rippled through the room like a crack of lightning.
“I second the sentiment,” Harrison said. “Would it help if I vowed to be a gentleman?”
“No,” she said, with a curt shake of her head.
“Upon my mother’s grave?”
Her mouth thinned to a razor’s edge. “As I recall, your mother is very much alive and was delighted that she would soon be a grandmother. Has tragedy befallen your family?”
“Bloody hell, Harrison, it’s not good form to make such jests,” Simon muttered.
“My ever-so-serious brother is correct. That was out of line.” Harrison smiled despite his best intentions. “Our mother was delighted when my brother’s wife gave birth to a bonny wee babe. A pretty little lass, if I do say so.”
She shot him a glare. “Evidently, your promise holds no true value.”
“You wound me, Grace. I am a man of my word. You should know that.”
“I cannot attest to any such thing.”
A faint rapping rattled the door. Three taps. A pause. Two taps. A longer pause, then a quartet of staccato knocks.
With a nod to Jones, Simon moved to the door. After confirming the new arrival’s identity, he escorted her to join them.
Harrison gazed into the eyes of the person who’d once been the bane of his existence.
Good God!Simon had summoned Mrs. Carmichael.
When she’d been a much younger woman, Mrs. Carmichael—she’d been Miss Fielding in those days—had been an ever-demanding governess. When Harrison was a lad, she’d seldom, if ever, missed an opportunity to address and correct her charges’ conduct. A staunch believer that the devil made work for idle hands, the teacher his brother Gerard had dubbed theUntamed Shrewexpected discipline at all times.
Ironically, Gerard had possessed an impressive ability to charm the woman into turning a blind eye to at least some of his youthful indiscretions. Simon and his sister Serena had impressed their governess with keen academic ability, while Connor had won her over with his irreverent good nature and easy mastery of the self-defense tactics she taught with the same precision she demanded in their Latin studies. But Harrison’s penchant for scientific experimentation and the occasional—well, perhapsfrequentwas the more accurate word—incidents that followed his endeavors never failed to rile her. Not that the governess’s dismay had hindered his endeavors. Even as a lad, not quite tall enough to look Mrs. Carmichael in the eye, he’d engaged her in what seemed a perpetual clash of wills.
His younger brothers and sister had been spared her exacting demands. By the time they came of age for a tutor, Mrs. Carmichael had spoken her vows with another agent in the Guild. She’d left the MacMasters’ family home, Dunnhaven, on a summer’s day in a carriage with her groom. Harrison had waved farewell with perhaps more enthusiasm than seemed proper, wisely deciding against literally dancing a jig as the coach rattled off into the distance.
Widowed after a decade of marriage, Mrs. Carmichael was considered one of the Guild’s most accomplished agents.
And now, she was here.
