Page 3 of Tempting the Highland Spy
There was no logical reason for their paths to cross. What interest could he possibly have in the wedding of a Cleveland tycoon’s daughter?
Somewhere, in a realm beyond her perception, her weary guardian angel had poured herself a glass of sherry. Grace had a feeling they’d both need one by the time this evening was over.
In truth, what did it matter that Harrison was here? Even if he spotted her, she owed him nothing. Not a word to explain her darkened hair. Nor for her abrupt departure after their one night together.
They’d enjoyed a delicious, passion-laced seduction.
There’d been no promises. No whispers of a shared future.
Truth be told, there’d been few words at all. They’d been swept away with the pleasure of the forbidden.
She’d made sure to be gone before he awoke the next morning.
No, she needed no explanation for her presence here tonight. The ballroom was filled with society types decked out in their finery, eager to see and be seen while hobnobbing with the happy couple. She was simply one more guest of the blushing bride.
After all, he had no reason to suspect she had an ulterior motive.
He would never suspect the truth.
From across the room, her aunt threw her a speaking glance. With one swish of her fan, she instructed Grace to get on with her task.
Swallowing against a sudden lump in her throat, Grace nodded softly. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she uttered a silent prayer and let out a low breath. It wasn’t as if this was her first time. After all these years, she did not question her ability. What was it that plagued her now? Certainly not her conscience. After all, stealing from another thief hardly qualified as a sin.
Well, she’d no time to waste contemplating her misgivings. She had to get on with it.
Careful to blend into the crowd, she made her way to the edge of the ballroom. A few more steps, and she’d be away from the genial chaos of dozens of people who’d imbibed just a bit too much champagne
As she approached the archway that led from the ballroom, a beautifully dressed blonde whose perfect features she couldn’t quite place crossed her path. The bridesmaid’s voluminous white gown brushed against the peridot silk of Grace’s dress as recognition lit her gaze.
“Grace…Grace Winterborne.” Uncertainty colored the young woman’s soft brogue as her gaze wandered to Grace’s newly dark tresses. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. What a wonderful surprise.”
Winterborne.After years traveling through Europe under the alias, it should not sound foreign to her ears. But still, the name did not feel natural to Grace. Like her ever-changing hair color, the name was simply one more mask she wore to hide the truth.
“Indeed,” she said with a smile as she struggled to recall the bridesmaid’s name. “It feels like ages since—”
“That was a grand wedding, wasn’t it? There’s something so beautiful about a Highland wedding.”
Ah, now she remembered. The blonde was a relation of the groom at the Highland wedding where she’d first encountered Harrison MacMasters. Still, the young Scotswoman’s name escaped her.
“The ceremony was lovely.” Grace managed a tepid smile. Impatience coursed through her. She had no time to exchange pleasantries with anyone, much less a woman whose name she didn’t remember.
“Lovely,” the young woman repeated. A little hiccup escaped her. “Someday, I’ll have a wedding…someday…I won’t be scrambling to catch a half-wilted bouquet.” Tears filled her eyes. “Then again, perhaps not. Not after what my Jack did to me…I loved him so.” The bridesmaid hiccupped again, followed by a whimper that escalated into a full-blown wail of misery. “How…how could he do that to me?”
Good heavens. She’d no idea what sin the cad named Jack had committed—or even who the blackguard was, for that matter—but the young woman’s heartache cut through the cool detachment Grace wore like a shield. Reason whispered in her ear. There was no time to comfort this woman who’d let a man get the better of her. She had a job to do, after all, and she suspected her aunt was discreetly tracking her every movement.
Pity her heart didn’t listen to reason.
Reaching out, she draped her arms lightly around the weeping woman. Without words, she offered a listening ear, gentle reassurance that the bridesmaid was not alone in this supposedly joyous crowd.
“I’m sorry,” the bridesmaid whispered. “I’ve wept on your dress. I’m such a goose.”
“A few tears won’t matter,” Grace said, meeting the woman’s misty-eyed gaze as she gave her hand a soft squeeze.
“You’re so kind. I thought…I thought I could make it through this occasion without dissolving into a puddle of tears. For Cecily’s sake. You’re only a bride once, and now I’m ruining it for her…making a scene.”
“Don’t worry. You’ve been very discreet,” Grace comforted. “Cecily is on the dance floor now—she couldn’t possibly see you.”
A whiff of Aunt Thelma’s rose-scented perfume drifted to Grace. Her aunt had certainly been generous with the powerfully sweet fragrance. Seemingly oblivious to the pointed looks she received, the matron cut a swift path through the dancers. Her perfectly rouged mouth stretching tight with disapproval, she interrupted the tearful bridesmaid.
