Page 32 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Harrison’s other brow rose. “I take it you’re speaking from experience.”
“I do believe you know the answer to that. I’ve found it rather useful.”
Grace leaned closer. The ingenuity of the device was striking. A casual observer would not detect the modifications. Well aimed, the accessory would be a highly efficient weapon.
“I’ve brought one for you, dear,” Mrs. Carmichael said, fluttering the fan.
Harrison frowned. “I trust you will train her on its proper use.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Carmichael snapped the fan shut with a flourish. “When I’m finished with Miss Winters, she will possess the ability to bring a man to his knees.”
…
Mrs. Carmichael’s fan might be useful as a distraction, but the blasted weapon could not compare to Grace’s power to divert a man’s attention from far more productive thoughts. Forcing himself to look away from her, Harrison settled his attention on the countryside as the carriage rambled over the road.
It wasn’t as if Grace was trying to attract his attention. If anything, she’d conducted herself with a surprising reserve. Since entering the carriage, she’d said very little, keeping her thoughts and her feelings to herself. If only her face wasn’t so expressive. She was a competent actress when she set her mind to deceiving an unsuspecting target. But the way her mouth had stretched into a prim line and the distress in her eyes after leaving her larcenous aunt behind in Edinburgh were all too real.
How had she come to be embroiled in the older woman’s schemes? He’d no doubt Thelma McTavish had been the force behind the thefts. Where were the other members of Grace’s family? When he’d first met her, she’d spoken of a wealthy father. Obviously, that man was as much a fiction as the brown hue in her hair.
As they approached the Cogswald Inn, the place where they’d spend the night and he would meet his contact, his attention wandered back to her. The slightest of smiles brightened her countenance as she gazed from the window, seeming to drink in the beauty of the countryside and the crisp smell of clean, fresh air, an aroma so very different from the oppressive odors of the city.
Even with the dull dye she’d applied to her long, wavy hair, she could not disguise her natural beauty. Like the Highland countryside surrounding them, she possessed a radiance no amount of the muddy-brown color could dim. In all his days, he’d never been so drawn to a woman. When she’d been nearly tossed into his lap, the feel of her had stirred a hunger he could not afford to sate, a craving that went beyond the purely physical. Since he’d first laid eyes on Grace, she’d intrigued him. But she’d erected a shield of secrets around her. Even the night when she’d lain in his arms, she’d revealed little of her heart and mind to him. She seemed an enigma he could never hope to solve.
Was that elusiveness part of her appeal? Had she cultivated that air of mystery as a means of luring a man? Or had she tried to hide the ugly truth from him?
Even now, he wanted to understand her. But he could not follow his instincts where she was concerned. He would not succumb to his desire for her, physical or otherwise. Not again.
Studiously training her gaze away from him, Grace stretched against her seat. Beneath her flowing skirts, her fabric-covered legs brushed his. Even with the barrier of fabric between them, the simple contact rippled through him. Once, those silken limbs had intertwined with his beneath cool cotton sheets. The memory infiltrated his mind, a subtle torment.
Damn it, man. You’re better than this.
God above, it wasn’t as if they’d shared something beyond one night of passion. What the hell had come over him?
The carriage rumbled to a stop before the inn, mercifully jarring him from his thoughts.
He saw no sign of their contact, which meant little. The agent would likely leave no indication of his presence. With any luck, the operative would have the information he needed to locate the heiress. The sooner they concluded this mission, the better.
While the women prepared themselves for supper in their chamber, Harrison ventured to the dimly lit pub on the first floor of the inn. Seated at a small wooden table marred with water rings, he lifted the near-to-overflowing tankard the barmaid placed before him and took a hearty draught. To his right, Fergus stood at the bar, failing miserably at charming the proprietress, a woman young enough to be his daughter, who regarded him with flinty gray eyes and a thin half smile.
A blast of chilled air swept into the place as the door to the pub swung open and his contact entered the tavern.
By hellfire, they’d sent Gerard. Harrison schooled his features to conceal his surprise. He hadn’t expected to see his brother in this dank place. Had something happened to his regular contact?
“Where’s that lovely bride of yers?” Gerard asked, settling onto the chair across from him.
Harrison shot him a glare. “I’m in no mood for humor.”
Gerard leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “Bluidy hell, I’d damned near forgotten how blasted English ye sound.”
Since he’d been a lad scarcely reaching their father’s knee, Harrison’s speech had more closely followed their English-born mother’s pronunciation than Da’s Highland brogue. Out of all of the siblings, only he and Simon shared this trait. Over the years, they’d endured their fair share of ribbing from their brothers. To Harrison, it had always been a sore spot, an irritant he’d likely endure until he was old and gray. But tonight, he was too tired to care what his brogue-endowed brother thought.
He took a swig of his drink. “You came this far to comment on my diction?”
“Truth be told, I did not come far at all. I was in Falkirk on some business when I got word ye’d be here. It was high time I saw my brother again.”
“Too long,” Harrison agreed. “You’re looking well. Marriage agrees with you.”
“I might say the same of ye,” Gerard said with a chuckle.
