Page 53 of Tempting the Highland Spy
“And precisely where might I find that noble hero?” She met his eyes, noting how they’d darkened ever so slightly at her question.
“You’d be surprised,” he said with the slightest hint of a smile. “Regarding the statue and your rendering of it, I would think you’d strive for accuracy. You certainly possess the talent with that charcoal in your hands to portray the bloke in all his glory.”
Talent.The word played in her thoughts. It wasn’t like Harrison to offer idle flattery. Her heart warmed at the thought, but just as quickly, the flicker was extinguished. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down.
She couldn’t afford to pretend they were something they were not. He was here out of duty. Nothing more.
“Since you’re not a fan of fig leaves as attire, would you prefer trousers? Or a kilt?” she said with as much cheek as she could muster.
“A kilt, any day of the week,” he said. “I suspect that fellow would share my preference.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge,” she said. “But we really should be moving along. We still haven’t spotted Miss Fairchild.”
An uncharacteristic mischief flashed in his gaze. “I’ll look for her. In the meantime, let’s see what you can do with that pencil.”
“Agreed.” Feeling more relaxed than she had in days, she turned her attention to the statue and put her pencil to paper.
She wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed when she’d finished sketching in the tartan on the newly kilted fellow’s image. Perhaps she’d taken a wee bit too much time on the abdominals, defining the sleek musculature of the model’s flat belly, and she’d definitely put some focus on the swell of the fellow’s biceps. She glanced from the statue to her sketch. With a sigh, she studied the face on the page. She’d done well enough with his strong, chiseled jaw, but she’d offered little definition to his features. It wasn’t as if she did not possess the ability to portray eyes and lips and a fine Roman nose. But for some reason she didn’t even want to understand, every time she began to depict the features, the picture in her mind’s eye looked nothing like the man on the statue and quite a bit like the Scot who’d made far too many appearances in her dreams.
“Oh, my, that is splendid.”
Grace nearly dropped her pencil. She turned, coming face-to-face with Belle Fairchild.
Belle reached for Grace’s sketchbook. “May I?”
“Of course,” Grace said, handing her the leather notebook.
Belle studied the drawing. “It’s marvelous! I do so love how you’ve given him a bit of modesty, and with a Scottish flair.”
“I’m not quite so surehe’sthe modest one,” Grace replied with a smile.
“If I could make one suggestion, I’d make his legs even more powerful.” Belle looked from the page to the statue and back again. Her expression grew serious. “It won’t be quite true to the statue, but much more befitting a Scotsman.”
My, she hadn’t expectedthatfrom the rather reserved Miss Fairchild. Evidently, she’d begun to break out of her shell, just a bit. Grace glanced behind Belle, looking for any sign of her previous companions.
“An excellent suggestion,” she said, sketching in more muscles on the strong legs beneath the kilt.
“I just knew I’d find you here with your sketchbook. I recall how beautifully you depicted the flowers around the castle in Edinburgh. Such a lovely place for a wedding.”
“Will you be taking your vows in Scotland?”
“Of course,” Belle said. “Donnal’s family home will be the perfect setting. It’s not far from Loch Lomond. Such beautiful countryside.”
“I don’t believe I’m familiar with that vicinity,” Grace said, adding in a bit more bulk to the fellow’s calves with a few strokes of her pencil.
“It’s enchanting. When I think of the factories that surround the city where I grew up, the Highlands seem a paradise on earth.”
“Indeed,” Grace agreed.
“Raibert Castle is utterly grand. Donnal has ploughed every penny he’s earned into restoring the place. The main living areas are nearly done, and the ballroom is simply divine. In time, the entire estate will be back to its former luster.” Belle’s expression turned pensive. “I only regret…” She gave her head a brisk shake. “Well, this is no time for regrets, is it?”
“Of course not,” Grace said. “I have such fond memories of the wedding. You were a lovely bridesmaid.”
“As were you.” Belle nibbled her lip. “It seems I’ve left all of my dear friends behind. I departed New York rather abruptly. I suppose you saw the papers.”
“Yes, I did happen to see thePostbefore I returned to Scotland.”
Belle motioned her toward a quiet corner. When she spoke, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “It was dreadful, Grace. Utterly dreadful. The headlines were the stuff of nightmares. They even came up with a name for me—the Notorious Heiress.”
