Page 7 of Tempting the Highland Spy
A man towered in the entry. Shadowed against the gaslit corridor, he remained faceless to her. But she could feel his eyes glaring at her as he closed and latched the door behind him.
No amount of fresh linens would disguise what she’d been up to.
With long strides, he came to her, seizing her by the shoulders. Fighting her sudden fear, she clasped the box within her hands. She couldn’t let him discover she’d already removed the book.
She recognized him now. Some society type at the ball had introduced him to her aunt. Grace had overheard the conversation, brief as it was. George O’Hanlon. The Irishman had made a fortune in trade, not all of it legal, or so Aunt Thelma had said. Had she known that he was the man she’d been sent to rob?
O’Hanlon’s silver-tinged hair had been combed back from his face. Tall and burly, the man was old enough to be her father. But the power in his hands revealed he still possessed considerable strength.
His eyes gleamed with cold fury as he gave her a rough shake. “What in bloody hell do ye think ye’re doin’?”
She swallowed against a little cry in the back of her throat as her mind raced. She couldn’t afford to be caught with the book. She had to get away.
He shook her again. “Who sent ye?”
“No one sent me,” she whispered, praying the tremor in her voice did not betray the blatant lie. “I thought…I thought you might have some trinket or other you wouldn’t miss.”
“Trinket?” He stared down at the box. “What kind of fool do ye take me for?”
“I…I’m sorry. I let greed get the better of me,” she murmured. “A rich man like yourself wouldn’t know the struggle to feed a family.”
He dug his thumbs into the tender flesh beneath her collarbones, and she bit back a cry.
“Ye think I give a damn about your family?”
He’d hurt her before this was over and done. That much was sure. She had to find a way out of this mess, away from this brutal man.
“No, sir.” Stalling, she cobbled together a desperate plan. “It’s just…I’m throwing myself on your mercy.”
“I’ve got none of that.” His hands slid closer to her throat. “Now, tell me who sent ye. This place is crawling with riches, and yet, ye chose this room. Ye went after what’s mine. Why?”
“I’ve already told you.”
His gaze dropped to the tools she’d left lying on the floor. “Did ye open the box?”
Still clutching the box, she shook her head as she edged away from his reach. “I know what I’ve done is wrong. I…I made a mistake.”
His eyes narrowed as his mouth twisted into a travesty of a smile. “Ye have no idea.”
The pendulum on the wall clock kept cadence with her heartbeat. She eyed the rod she’d used to open the lock on the satchel. Though slender, the probe was made of steel, pointed at one end, and sharp enough to pierce his skin. She might not kill him. But she’d buy herself time.
She needed to get to the makeshift weapon before he did.
“I won’t blame you if you call the constable,” she said, calculating her next move. Once she reached for the metal probe, there’d be no turning back.
A thirst for violence colored his gaze. “By the time I’m through with ye, there will be no need for that.”
Fear ran roughshod over reason. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She had to get away.
She took a step back. Then another. Little more than an arm’s length separated them. His mouth pulled into an ugly slash as he stalked after her, blocking her path to the door.
“Don’t even try it.” O’Hanlon reached for her.
She twisted away. Powering the motion with her body’s momentum, she swung the box hard. The metal slammed into the side of his face.
Whoosh.Air rushed from his gaping mouth. Stunned by the blow, he clutched his head.
Seizing her chance, Grace ducked low.
