Page 28 of Tempting the Highland Spy
“Thank you, Miss Winters. Please, call me Margaret. I predict we shall become the dearest of friends,” the agent said in a tone so saccharine, Grace wondered if she were teasing her.
“And you must call me Grace.”
Simon frowned impatiently. “Now that we’ve settled that matter, we can move along. Of course, it will be imperative that you maintain appearances. No one must suspect you are not actually sharing a room with yourhusband.”
“Of course.” She’d engaged in far more challenging charades.
Perhaps this would not be so bad after all.
Then again,thatis what she’d told herself when Aunt Thelma proposed their ill-fated endeavor in New York, thejobthat had led them into Jones’s snare.
This time would be different.
She had to believe that.
If only she could convince herself.
…
The next morning, Grace awoke nestled between cool, clean sheets that smelled of lemons, in a finely appointed hotel room fit for a noble’s daughter. With a sigh, she glared at the rays of first light streaming through a gap between the curtains. The dawn had not come any earlier than usual, but somehow, it seemed an intrusion, stirring her from slumber far too soon. Sleep had not come easily, but now, after she’d finally managed to escape into her dreams, the sun had roused her from rest.
Tugging the covers up to her chin, she stared at the ceiling, mentally tracing the swirls in the plaster. The bed was comfortable, exceedingly so. Pity she hadn’t been able to mute her troubled thoughts throughout the night. Worry had invaded her dreams.
The subtle dread seemed a constant presence. She had to shake off her apprehension. This wasn’t like her. She’d had years to harden herself. Years to learn how to control the doubt.
Years to turn off her emotions.
For so long, she’d worn a pleasant, smiling mask. Pretending to be something she was not. Pretending to live a life that did not really exist. She wasn’t even sure who Gracie Mae Winters truly was.
She was certain of this much—she could not let her sister suffer for the mistakes she’d made.
If only she could turn back time. How different their lives would have been if only she’d stayed away from the ice that horrid winter day—the day when everything had changed.
Rolling onto her side, she gave the pillow a sound punch. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so would push away the thoughts, the memories that tormented her day and night. There was no sense dwelling on the past. No power on earth could change the destruction one foolish, childish act of defiance had wrought.
Over the years, Aunt Thelma had tried to help. In her own way, she’d done all she could to snatch Grace away from the unforgiving clutches of a grief so profound, she’d wondered if she would ever recover. Her aunt had found a way to provide for the children she’d never expected to raise, leaving no doubt she loved them with all her heart.
Now, Grace would do whatever it took to help her. She’d get through this final task.
And then, they’d live their lives in peace.
Happily ever after.
The fairy-tale words drifted through her thoughts, but she mentally swatted them away. Such blather was the stuff of fantasy. In her own reality, she would be content simply living out her years without having to look over her shoulder, secure in the knowledge that Claire was settled and happy. A modicum of comfort would do nicely, a small house of her own with a cat curled by the hearth. If only that future didn’t seem as much a fantasy ashappily ever after.
Pulling herself from the bed, she slipped a robe over her nightdress. She’d awoken early, despite the late hour when she’d finally crawled into bed. Truth be told, it seemed a miracle she’d slept at all.
Padding over the thick carpet, she moved to the dresser and poured water in the basin. She let out a long breath as she splashed water on her face. Goodness, her nerves were on full alert. Was it any wonder? She was set to depart for Stirling within a few hours. She’d be expected to keep her fears and emotions at bay. How would she endure so much time with Harrison, knowing full well that he held her in contempt?
After he’d come to her rescue with O’Hanlon, he’d regarded her with eyes that seemed to be seeing the truth for the first time. She’d seen disillusionment so profound, it brought pain merely to think of it. On some level, she’d hurt him.
And now, he detested her for it.
A wave of anger swept over her. He had no right to look at her like that. Who was he to condemn her for deception? He certainly had secrets of his own. When she’d first made his acquaintance, he’d claimed to be a physician. Dignified. Proper. A gentleman with a soft brogue and a keen intelligence she’d found as seductive as his kiss. Only after Harrison and his brother had foiled an assassin’s murderous plot had she become aware of the cold reality—as skilled with weapons as he was a healer, Harrison MacMasters was far more than a refined man of medicine. He appeared to lead a double life, filled with danger and covert investigations.
She’d never intended her deception to wound him. It wasn’t as if she’d sought him out for some nefarious purpose. They’d been thrown together by circumstances she could not have predicted. Not once, but three times. Was this some wicked twist of destiny?
But now, she could not let her guard down.
