Page 63 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Chapter Eighteen
Raibert Castle, The Scottish Highlands
Two Days Later
When she’d been a girl, Grace had dreamed childish dreams of princesses and princes and castles. Of course, even while very young, she’d never expected any of those dreams to come true.
But now, perched on a balcony overlooking the grand hall and ballroom of Raibert Castle, Grace wondered if perhaps, she’d been wrong. Beneath her, in a cavernous chamber that magnified every note of the musicians’ serenade, lovely young women garbed in finery that would have made a princess a wee bit jealous glided over the floor with their elegantly clad beaus, swaying in perfect time to the music. She’d attended many balls in grand hotels and mansions, everywhere from Richmond to Buffalo to Edinburgh. But something about this setting was truly enchanting. Everything about this night charmed her beyond all reason.
Raibert Castle was a grand old structure. Though many of the main living spaces, particularly the smaller rooms occupied by Miss Fairchild’s guests, were in need of repair to some degree or other, the ballroom had been restored to its former glory. Rich tapestries adorned the gray stone walls, while the polished wood floor gleamed with wax and the efforts of the castle’s household staff.
Of course, the charm of the place might have had something to do with Grace’s escort. As much as she dreaded admitting the truth, even to herself, Harrison cut a dashing figure. He was a handsome man—goodness knows, he was appealing fresh out of bed in the morning with his hair mussed and his clothing rumpled. She doubted anything up to and including being doused with mud from a passing carriage could change that. But tonight—ah, tonight he might well have been a man straight out of her girlish dreams.
Tall—of course, that was nothing new. He stood a full head above her, and she’d never been considered petite.
Broad shouldered. Again, that was not a change. Unlike some men who depended on a bit of padding and the fine cut of a well-tailored jacket to emphasize the breadth of their shoulders, Harrison required no assistance in that department. Whether wearing a jacket or bare chested—her throat went a little dry at the thought—his shoulders were masculine, sleekly muscled, and powerful. Tonight, he’d selected a jacket in elegant black wool for the occasion. The cut of the coat clung deliciously to the span from shoulder to shoulder. The memory of her fingers curving around that perfect meld of flesh and bone washed over her, and she felt a wave of heat rise to her cheeks.
Handsome. With his burnished wheat hair, classically carved features, strong nose and chin, and those eyes, as green and inviting as a forest, he stood out in a crowd of attractive men.
But tonight, something was different.
Tonight, he’d worn a kilt.
Be still my treacherous heart.
He’d worn the MacMasters tartan, the hues of red and green and black posing a striking contrast against the ebony of his jacket and snowy white of his shirt. His long, muscular legs bore the tawny hue of hours beneath the sun. Evidently, he preferred the plaid when he was not conducting business, rushing about Scotland and England as an operative in the service of the Crown. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned him roaming the Highland countryside of his ancestral home, tossing cabers about as if they were twigs among other manly pursuits. She stifled a giggle. Good gracious, at this rate, the Harrison in her mind would be saving fair maidens from Scottish dragons—fire-breathing ones, no less.
What had come over her? It wasn’t as if she were this fanciful every day. She couldn’t even blame it on being foxed. She had not imbibed so much as a drop of alcohol, not even a sip of champagne.
Didn’t she know better than to think of him as a hero, as a man she could love? Nothing good could come of it. If anything, she put more of herself—and her heart—at risk every time she allowed herself to think about him.
It would be far better for her if she detested him. Even a mild dislike would work to her benefit. But even when he tried to scowl at her or when he adopted that all-business, stiff-upper-lipped way of his, she couldn’t help but look at him and wonder if he still wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him.
He was a good man.
Drat the luck.
She could resist a scoundrel.
Of course, there wasn’t really anything to resist. Since that night in Edinburgh when he’d defended her from that horrid man, O’Hanlon, he’d conducted himself with the utmost propriety. He had not touched her in any manner that was not utterly genteel. Even lying in the same bed, the heat of his body warming hers, he’d conducted himself with restraint.Too much restraint.He hadn’t even attempted to steal a kiss, except upon her prompting. Not that he would’ve had to try so very hard. She was weak. And, she suspected, too willing to taste his lips for her own good.
No, Harrison MacMasters was a gentleman, through and through.
Drat, drat, drat the luck!
Not that she’d made it easy for him. Something about Harrison MacMasters cried out to be loosened up, to cast aside the constraints of duty and savor a taste of levity, a sip of humor. Heaven only knew she’d seized every opportunity to tease him about their false marriage.Husband, she’d call him from time to time, if only to see that muscle in his jaw tighten at the sheer absurdity of the thought. If either of them could be deemed a scoundrel, it was her.
Is that even possible?She pondered the question, smiling to herself as she pictured the expression on his face each time she teased him.
He wasn’t immune to her. She didn’t even want to think about why the thought pleased her so. But it did. She couldn’t help but notice the way he’d squirmed beneath the covers that morning while she sat bundled in her to-the-neck cotton gown. Perhaps if they did not share such a powerful memory, he could pretend his aloofness came naturally and wasn’t the product of a concerted effort. Pity she saw through him.
“I shudder to think what kind of scheme you’re concocting now.” He came up quietly behind her, resting large, gentle hands on her shoulders. His voice was low and pleasantly deep, his breath warm against her ear. A ribbon of awareness unfurled along the length of her spine.
“Whatever would give you that idea?” she said, keeping her back to him. Not that she was keeping a distance between them. Quite the opposite. The feel of his hands against her clothed skin was delicious, and she didn’t want to give him an excuse to pull away.
“You’re being quiet.” Lightly, he turned her to face him. A smile danced on his mouth. “That’s always dangerous.”
“Is it now? I suppose you will have to guard yourself against a wicked woman like me.”
