Page 57 of Tempting the Highland Spy
If she had any notion of the temptation posed by her words—as well as the subtle torture of the prospect—she did not betray that fact. Damn it, he’d once had a bullet removed from his flesh without so much as a sip of whisky to dull the pain. He could certainly withstand sharing a bed with a beautiful woman, even a woman he knew better than to touch. Or kiss.
Or want.
Damnation, he was weak—weaker than he thought.
“As you wish,” he said finally. Still, he didn’t lie back upon the mattress. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. With any luck, she’d soon fall back to sleep. She’d pose far less temptation then.
It wasn’t long before the soft, rhythmic hush of her breaths betrayed she’d drifted off. He turned. Grace lay on her side, facing the woolen barrier she’d erected. Hazy sunlight drifted in the window, dancing over her reddish-blond curls and the contours of her face. Without thinking, he reached for her, intending to feel the silky skin of her cheek. An innocent touch.
Regaining his good sense, he pulled his hand back. Only a fool would touch her when it wasn’t necessary. Why torture himself even more?
Giving his pillow a thump, he lay on the bed, his back to her scratchy, makeshift wall, and closed his eyes.
He would’ve been better off in the chair. The thought drifted through his mind, even as he slid back into a light sleep.
When he awoke two hours later, Grace was sitting in the chair, clothed in a high-necked nightgown with a wrapper tied at the waist. She glanced up from the novel in her hand.
“Good morning,husband.” Her mouth curved into a cheeky little smile. If he’d had any reason remaining in his head, he would not have found the soft lilt of her voice or the teasing in her eyes appealing. But blast it if his gaze wasn’t drawn to her.
He grunted his own “Good morning,” and pushed himself up against the headboard. The covers fell down about his waist and her brows hiked upward, quick as a blink. And then, she plastered her attention back to the open book. Was it his imagination, or had her cheeks pinkened?
“I rather enjoyed the evening,” she said, thumbing the novel to the next page.
“I suspected as much,” he said, picturing her scandalous sketch. She had a clear talent for putting pencil to paper, even when the subject was without benefit of fig leaf or trousers.
“Miss Fairchild is a charming, modest woman.” She looked up from her book and marked the page with a ribbon. A little frown played on her lips. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “I still believe Mr. Jones’s suspicions are completely misguided.”
“The woman’s charm is irrelevant. I’d imagine Saucy Jack had his pleasant moments as well. It’s easier to lure in a victim when you’re not snarling at them.”
She heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’m surprised you’ve gone along with this. How anyone could believe Belle Fairchild—or her handsome fiancé, for that matter—is capable of cold-blooded murder is beyond me. It’s nothing more than vicious speculation. Is there even a shred of proof?”
Evidently, Grace had not looked inside O’Hanlon’s locked book. If she’d seen what the hollowed-out pages contained—the macabre proof of Mr. Lowry’s death—her opinion might have been very different. Though O’Hanlon had done the deed, there seemed little doubt he’d killed Lowry on Raibert’s command.
“Trust me when I tell you it’s not nonsense. Whether or not Miss Fairchild is involved is up for debate. Answering that question is part of our mission.”
“Well, we will have ample opportunity to look for answers. Miss Fairchild’s invitation to the festivities leading up to her wedding was quite enthusiastic. I thought you’d be pleased at my success.”
“I assure you, I am. You’ve gotten us in the door.”
“I do hope Mr. Jones allotted funds for my wardrobe,” she said, still studiously focusing on the pages.
Harrison gave his head a shake, stirring himself from sleep. “For your wardrobe?”
“It goes without saying I’ll need to acquire another gown or two before we leave for Raibert Castle.”
His gaze wandered to her leather-bound metal and wood traveling chest. The blasted thing looked like something a pirate would tote from port to port. The case took up as much floor space as the chair. Surely she’d brought an ample supply of garments for the trip.
He cocked a brow. “Did someone pilfer your clothing while I wasn’t looking?”
“Of course not. I certainly would’ve mentioned such an occurrence.”
“You brought a trunk full of clothing. I nearly broke my back hoisting that thing into the carriage, and the poor fellow tasked with bringing that thing up to this room looked as if his eyes might pop out of his head from the strain.”
The faintest of smiles played on her lips. “I’d say you looked quite capable of bearing its weight. After all, aren’t Highlanders known for their strength and brawn?”
“This particular Highlander prefers to conserve his strength for tasks that are worthy of his time.”
Her eyes gleamed with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “Subduing criminals who wish to kill me, perhaps?”
