Page 37 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Chapter Eleven
Stirling, Scotland
Thirty Hours Later
“Rise and shine, dear. There’s no time to dawdle.”
Mrs. Carmichael’s oh-so-cheery voice roused Grace from the best slumber she’d enjoyed all night. After hours of restlessness, the matron had settled into a seemingly peaceful slumber, allowing Grace to burrow into pleasant dreams of a time when she wasn’t so far from home. With a groan of protest, she rolled onto her side and pulled the pillow over her head.
“Grace, you must wake up.”
The high-pitched tones might as well have been a rooster crowing. Evidently, despite the warfare she’d appeared to wage in her sleep, Mrs. Carmichael had enjoyed a far more restful night than Grace had.
“I know you can hear me,” Mrs. Carmichael persisted. “Climb out from under those covers.”
A scandalous epithet ran through Grace’s mind. If she informed the matron where she might stuff her admonitions to leave the comfort of the warm bed, would Mrs. Carmichael keel over from the shock?
In lieu of a reply, Grace tugged the blanket tighter about her.
“Don’t think the maid’s tongue won’t wag at the sight of you here. After all, you’ve got a strapping man in the adjoining chamber.” Mrs. Carmichael’s whispered words took on a sharper edge. “We cannot chance a curious housekeeper wondering whyweare sharing a bed.”
Casting the pillow aside, Grace flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “You would have to remind me of that, wouldn’t you?”
“Remind you ofwhat,dear?” Cheek infused the matron’s tone. “That you must leave this room? Or that the man next door is quite strapping and robust?”
An image of her pretend husband sauntered into Grace’s thoughts. The Harrison of her fantasy peeled off his shirt and wore only trousers and a smile that was too darned seductive for her own good. The carved planes of his upper body beckoned her touch, the sprinkling of dark hair over his chest making her fingers itch to reach out and touch him—the flesh and blood male who occupied the adjacent chamber.
“Both,” she replied a bit too truthfully.
Mrs. Carmichael gave a littlehmmph, as if Grace’s statement confounded her just a bit. “We must keep up appearances,” she went on. “The staff in a hotel such as this one, a place frequented by Society’s elites, sees everything that’s going on. Discretion is highly valued, but there’s no telling who the gossips are. Whispered innuendo will cause complications we don’t need.”
Pushing up on her elbows, Grace stifled a drowsy yawn. Her gaze wandered to the window. Not so much as a hint of natural light drifted through the gap between the curtains. “Is it my imagination, or has the sun not yet risen?”
Mrs. Carmichael shook her head. “It is not your imagination, dear. We’ve got to stay one step ahead of the chamber maids.”
“We didn’t go through this charade at the Cogswald Inn. Certainly that quaint place also employed potential gossips.”
“It wasn’t necessary. There, we were dealing with people we could trust. That is not the case here.”
“I see.” Did the Antiquities Guild have operatives throughout all of Scotland?
A deep vee formed between Mrs. Carmichael’s brows. “Might I inquire why you’ve tied your dressing gown sash around your head?”
Oh, dear.Grace snatched off the strip of fabric.
Before Grace could come up with a plausible answer that would spare the matron’s feelings, Mrs. Carmichael tilted her head, studying her. “Is that a way of keeping your curls from becoming tangled?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Grace answered brightly.
“Well, I must say, it does seem an unusual technique for wrapping your hair, but the results are smashing. Is that a method they use in America?”
“Um…yes. It’s new.” Grace gave her head a shake, allowing her curls to tumble around her shoulders. “Very new.”
“How clever—I shall have to try it myself.”
“It’s quite simple, really.” Grace’s gaze settled on the connecting door. “Could you please hand me my dressing gown?”
Mrs. Carmichael placed the robe on the bed. A wan smile pulled at her mouth. “Do try to remember that everyone must believe you are a newlywed.”
