Page 48 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Chapter Fourteen
His gaze drawn to Grace like iron filings to a magnet, Harrison followed her path as she wove her way through the maze of tables to Miss Fairchild. With a smile, she utilized that tiny pearl button she carried as her key to a seat at the table. Even at a distance, he could see how easily she charmed the heiress into an easy familiarity. Another meeting or two, and she’d have the trust of the industrialist’s daughter.
Precisely what they needed. If all went to plan, Grace would have little difficulty gathering the intelligence they needed to determine what, if any, role Belle Fairchild and her fiancé had played in her father’s death.
Grace was resourceful. He’d give her that. Carrying a simple prop that provided a reason to strike up or continue a conversation was ingenious. Her quick, clever mind appealed to him. Even with her back pressed to the wall by circumstance, she was determined to use her wits to rescue herself and that daft aunt she cared for quite deeply.
By hellfire, he should not be impressed by her skill at deception. She was a cheat and a swindler. He’d do well to remember she could turn her talent for manipulation against him whenever it suited her purposes. Blast it, he would not fall for her coy tricks.
Watching her, his gaze wandered over her curves. She was slender, the column of her neck long and elegant, with a heart-shaped face he could look at all day—and night—without ever tiring of the sight. Her eyes were the most striking of her features—dark as a fine chocolate, fringed with deep charcoal lashes.
The eyes of an enchantress.
Bah.He brushed away the thought. It wasn’t as if he was some lovestruck poet.
If he’d been drinking, he might’ve blamed the liquor for his wandering thoughts. But he sat here, sober as a vicar delivering a sermon on Sunday morn, watching a woman who was a known thief, battling the part of him that wished beyond reason that he could change the truth. That he could change her past. Why was it so difficult to reconcile the woman he’d known with her transgressions?
From what he’d learned of Grace’s crimes, she and her aunt had pilfered from the wealthy, helping themselves to expensive jewelry and the occasional work of art—luxuries, not items of necessity. The objects were not even missed until weeks or months after they’d been stolen. They’d chosen their targets with some thought, pocketing gems that would be considered conspicuously extravagant—never an heirloom that carried with it family history, never a beloved piece treasured by a widow. By design, they went after objects that held no value beyond the money the gems would fetch on the market. While no one could accuse Grace and her aunt of playing the part of Robin Hood, they made a point to take only from people who would find the thefts an affront, but would not suffer any impact on their station in life.
He’d never detected a hint of maliciousness in her dealings with others. To the contrary, an intrinsic kindness glimmered in Grace’s eyes. Even at the ball in Edinburgh, she’d taken time to console a tear-stricken woman. There’d been no benefit to her in comforting the distraught bridesmaid. If anything, she’d made her own position more vulnerable in the process. But that had not deterred her. Tonight, while she’d spoken with Miss Fairchild, her interest in the woman had seemed sincere. He’d noticed the expression in her eyes, the kindness that seemed all too real. Was she that skilled at deception? Or had Grace revealed a certain truth while she played a part?
Truth.The word played in his thoughts. There was so much about her he didn’t know. How had a woman as refined and intelligent as Grace come into a life of trickery and deceit?
Miss Fairchild’s companions did not appear pleased that she’d joined them. To the contrary, the older woman’s expression had been icy with displeasure she couldn’t quite hide. How had Jones’s source missed the key detail of the women’s identities? Despite his dislike of theAmerican Arse, Harrison had no reason to question the agent’s competence. Jones was determined to accomplish his mission. It wasn’t likely he’d fail to note Miss Fairchild’s contacts in Scotland.
The older woman said something to Grace that made her complexion go as pale as the bleached napkin she’d left by her plate. But Grace had maintained her composure. Now, she walked toward him, her expression unreadable.
By the time she reached their table, some of the color had returned to her cheeks. Her delectable lips were drawn with tension, slightly pursed, and she brushed a curl that had escaped her upswept style behind her ear. By thunder, she was lovely. Did she feel the eyes of the other diners on her as she approached? Even dressed primly as she was, with her fine wool skirt, pristine white shirtwaist blouse, and unpainted features, she captured the interest of those around her.
Grace’s dark brown eyes met his, and he rose, holding the chair for her as she settled into her place across from him. She rubbed her hands together, as if to warm herself.
She glanced down at her lace-covered palm. “My, that was peculiar.”
“In what way?”
Her top teeth grazed her lower lip in an unwittingly sensuous gesture. Harrison swallowed against the urge to reach out to her, to comfort her with a gentle touch.
She wove her fingers together into a loose knot. “I’ve seldom sensed such hostility.”
“From the older woman?”
Grace nodded. “So, you noticed it, too.”
“She wasn’t happy to see you. That much was evident.” Harrison placed one hand lightly over hers.
The faintest of smiles tugged at her mouth. “Your hand is warm.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Again, she nodded. “The older woman—Lady Sybil—she touched me, and now, I cannot quite rid myself of the chill. The warmth of your skin feels rather nice.”
He kept his expression purposefully bland. “Aside from the fact that Lady Sybil has cold hands, what did you learn about the women?”
“Not very much,” Grace began, then continued to brief him on their names and what little knowledge she’d gleaned.
“Before you left their company, you looked a bit shaken by the interaction,” he said. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
She shook her head. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. What Lady Sybil said was actually rather innocuous, but I cannot help but feel she knows more about me than she let on—I sense it’s a most interesting story that has brought you here. I do expect that someday very soon, you will tell me all of it.”
