Page 90 of Tempting the Highland Spy
Or had Belle seen truths about the man she’d wed…realities that now made her regret the marriage? Did she know more about Raibert than she’d let on?
The questions raced through Grace’s mind, stirring a sense of foreboding she couldn’t quite shake. She’d bathed in hot, scented water following her return to her room, but now, a chill wafted over her, and she tightened the sash of her wrapper around her. She sat on the side of the bed, inches from where Mrs. Carmichael had found the talismans. The mere thought of it—of someone attempting to cast some sort of spell over her, protective or not—set her nerves on edge.
Belle had turned away from the occult. Or so she’d said. Which posed another troubling question—if Belle had not placed the charms in their rooms, who had?
The question unleashed a new jolt of apprehension that slithered along her spine. Grace hugged her arms to her chest, letting out a long, calming breath.
Very soon, she’d inform Harrison of the new developments. Since the morning, she’d seen very little of him. He’d woven his way into what seemed like a friendship with Raibert. With any luck, he’d gather the intelligence they needed to clear Belle.
If only she could be sure Belle wasn’t in danger. She couldn’t simply walk away knowing that the heiress was trapped in this isolated place with a man who might be up to no good.
She wandered to the window, pulling back the curtain, flooding the room with warming sunlight. What had come over her? It wasn’t like her to allow her fears to take control. Even now, she fought the impulse and steeled herself to go on with the task ahead. If something went wrong—if her suspicion that Raibert was a dangerous man was true—Harrison would watch over her.
He would protect her.
She had to believe that. Or else, she’d never get through this mission—she’d never make it home to Claire.
…
Harrison had expected to find Grace in their chamber, but the sight of her curled on her side, lids closed in what appeared a restless slumber kindled a protectiveness that defied all logic. Dressed in her wrapper with a throw tossed carelessly over her, she sighed in her sleep. Despite his determination to steel himself against her, a rebellious ache he could neither control nor ignore stirred in his chest.
Didn’t he know better than to care about her?
Damnable shame he couldn’t help himself. The desire to shield her from danger was as instinctive, as elemental as drawing breath.
He hesitated, then approached the bed. Standing over her, he drank in her beauty, even as his fingers closed around the object in his hand. The point of the bejeweled heart dug into his palm, but he paid little attention to the twinge of pain.
Her sable lashes fanned out against her skin. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to savor the texture of her peach-soft skin against his fingertips. Instead, he opened his hand and stared down at the brooch.
Just his bloody luck that the woman he hungered for—the woman he’d give his life to protect—was a thief.
Seeming to sense his presence, she sighed again and stretched as her lids fluttered open.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were here,” she murmured, still half asleep. She reached for him, curling her fingers around his hand. “I was so very tired. Don’t worry…I won’t be late for dinner. I’ll hurry and get dressed.”
He shook his head. “There’s no need to rush. I must speak with you.”
“I have news to tell you…something I learned from Belle.” She gave her head a little shake, rousing herself. She pressed up on one elbow. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.”
His blunt response seemed to jar her fully awake. “What’s happened?”
He opened his palm. “This.”
She blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand. How…how did you get that?”
“I found this on the floor, beneath your trunk. You must’ve forgotten to conceal it before you fell asleep.”
“Conceal it?” Emotion colored her question as her eyes went wide. “What in thunder are you talking about?”
“You know damned well what I’m talking about. Do you realize how badly you might have compromised this mission?”
“I’ve done no such thing.” She reached for the brooch, but he closed his fingers around it. “What do you think you’re doing? Give that to me.”
“To you?” He cocked a brow. “As you are well aware, Lady Sybil’s brooch went missing this morning.”
She swept her hair over her shoulder, the reddish-blond curls tumbling down her back. Her chin hiked in defiance. “You are accusing me? You believe I stole it?”
