Page 54 of Tempting the Highland Spy
“I’m so very sorry,” Grace said, carefully observing the change in Belle’s expression.
The heiress’s pain at being accused of such a horrible crime seemed very real. She wrung her hands together as tears glistened in her blue eyes. Surely she was not involved in her father’s death. The accusations against her made no sense. How could this woman have committed murder?
Behind Belle, a tall, strikingly handsome man with a thespian’s flair for making an entrance approached with long, sure strides. As his gaze settled on Belle, he flashed a smile that might have charmed the most dour of critics.Donnal Raibert. A decade earlier, the actor had made his mark on the London stage before leaving to seek his fortune in New York. Once, a year or so before she’d first traveled to Scotland, Grace had attended his performance ofHamlet. His emotional range was beyond compare. She’d been enthralled. But now, face-to-face with the man, something in his dark brown eyes unleashed a chill along her spine.
Nonsense, she chided herself. She was being a goose. The talk of Raibert and his supposedly crime-ridden past had gotten the better of her.
If she were to get through this mission, she had to believe that.
Surely, the agents had gotten it wrong. Mr. Jones’s spies could not possibly be correct. The handsome Scot the heiress had run off to marry wasnota ruthless killer.
Still, she could not deny Raibert had reason to want Herbert Fairchild dead. The tycoon had been a very rich man, an industrialist whose wealth would buy power as well as luxury.
And now, Belle stood to inherit that fortune.
Donnal has ploughed every penny he’s earned into restoring the place.
Raibert had motive. If he’d arranged the tycoon’s murder, would Belle be next?
The thought jarred Grace. Swallowing hard against a sudden attack of nerves, she fought to maintain her composure.
Raibert placed a hand on Belle’s shoulder. She started with a little gasp.
“Ah, there you are, darling,” he said in a smooth baritone. His smile broadened as she whirled around to face him.
“Oh, it’s you. I didn’t know you’d arrived.”
“A pack of wolves could not have kept me from your side.” As his attention swept over Belle, the frost in his gaze contradicted the warmth in his voice. “How did I gain such good fortune? You are the most beautiful woman here, my darling, and you’re mine.”
Good heavens, the man is giving quite a performance, isn’t he?Much more of this, and Grace would regret not wearing boots better suited for trudging through muck.
If Belle had blushed in response to her fiancé’s effusive praise, Grace would not have been surprised. But the heiress seemed to stiffen her spine as her mouth settled into a taut seam. Tension rather than delight seemed evident on her features. How very odd.
“Oh, you should not make such a fuss.” Belle’s light tone contrasted with the coolness in her eyes. Something was not quite right, though Grace could not put her finger on it.
Raibert pinned Grace with a look that seemed to scrutinize her. “Mrs. MacMasters, it is indeed a pleasure,” he said, closing the slight distance between them without waiting for an introduction.
He was a bold one, wasn’t he? The cool appraisal in his expression set her nerves further on edge.
“Might I ask how you know my name?” she asked, taking a step in retreat. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Surely I would have remembered.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I made your husband’s acquaintance earlier. He is indeed a lucky man.”
Your husband.
“Actually, I’d say I am the lucky one.” Grace forced a tepid smile. Mustering the bland response was a greater challenge than she’d anticipated. Even if the circumstances were different, she could not imagine ever marrying—any man, much less Harrison MacMasters. She’d seen how devastating love—and the loss of it—could be.
As if on cue, Harrison entered the sculpture gallery. With each long stride, his dark trousers hugged his muscular legs. What a pity he hadn’t worn a kilt for the occasion. Would it be utterly improper for her to suggest he don his plaid for their next outing?
The fine wool of his jacket clung to his lean-muscled shoulders. Defying her best efforts to focus on the job she’d come to do, the memory of curling her hands around those powerful arms washed over her. How was she ever going to get through this assignment if her own mind and body proved to be traitors?
He sidled up to her with a casual ease, his stance possessive and protective. Was he playacting? Or had the position come naturally to him?
“Mr. Raibert is newly arrived from America,” Harrison said, joining their conversation. “If I’m not mistaken, you attended one of his performances in New York, didn’t you, darling?”
“Yes—Hamlet, as I recall,” Grace said, feeling suddenly more at ease. How peculiar that Harrison’s presence heightened her sense of security. There was something about him she couldn’t quite define—a calm, intelligent confidence that glimmered in his eyes and infused his words. He wasn’t one to boast of his masculinity, but his strength and power were undeniable.
“One of my favorite portrayals,” Raibert said matter-of-factly. “I expect to revisit the role on the Glasgow stage in the near future.”
