Page 13 of Romancing the Scot
“Yes, it is a diamond. And I would guess it’s worth a fortune.”
“I thought as much,” she said. “It was sewn into this pouch and secreted within enough layers of the fabric that it was impossible for anyone looking at the dress to know it was hidden there.”
“You opened the pouch?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended.
Jo blushed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have. But I hoped it might tell us something about our guest.”
“I’d say it does.”
Their guest spoke a number of languages. The coins indicated a connection with America. Now this precious diamond. All pieces of a puzzle. She could be a victim or a thief, or an American heiress like those Caton sisters. He would withhold his judgment, however, and not jump to any conclusions until he had all the facts.
Hugh walked back to his sister and placed the diamond in her hand. “You should show it to her as soon she awakens. If it were mine, I’d be quite concerned about it.”
“And you think this could be the reason she was shut in the crate?” Jo asked. “Perhaps someone was after the jewel. But is it hers? Or does it belong to someone else?”
“We won’t know until she regains consciousness. For now, keep it safe.” Hugh had as many questions as his sister. “All we can do is wait. She’s the only one who can give us any answers.”
Chapter 5
Grace’s body was on fire.
Hot sweat ran from her brow in scalding rivulets. Heat rose in waves from within, piercing her skin with the sharp pain of a thousand needles. Her back, her scalp, her chest burned. Every inch of skin ached. She struggled to take cooler air into her lungs. A weight held her down, making it impossible to breathe. She was confined, her arms and feet trapped beneath a thick shroud. She kicked at it, pushed it with all her failing strength until it fell away.
She rolled and landed with a thud on her hands and knees in the darkness.
She was in a strange place. Her fingers tentatively traced the wooden surface. Panic urged her to get up and run, to flee, but her limbs were too weak to follow directions.
Finally, with great effort, Grace managed to push herself to her feet. Clinging to a bedpost, she tried to breathe and looked about her in confusion. Her chest was heavy and pained her dreadfully, but she was too afraid to cough, fearful of making any noise.
Where was she?
In the deep shadows in the corners of the room, formless dangers stirred and came to life. Unable to move, she watched them edge out through the dark, inching threateningly across the gleaming wood floor like a living fog. They curled around her legs, tugging at the glowing white nightgown covering her.
Heat continued to radiate off her body, and waves of terror washed through her, paralyzing her.
Something moved by an open window, and Grace stared at a hulking figure there. It took a moment before she recognized the shape. A woman, seated in a chair, a quilt pulled around her. Moonlight threw her features into dark relief, making her eyes look sunken and black. The coverlet rose and fell rhythmically; she was sleeping.
Grace had never seen her before. She’d never been in this room. Was she a prisoner?
Her father. She had to get to him. He needed her.
Her legs wobbled as she made her way to the door. Finding it slightly ajar, she pulled it open and slipped through. No candle or lamp shed any light in the wide hallway, but a window in the stairwell drew her toward it.
This was not the inn they’d stayed after . . . after . . . when was that? Where? Fragmented images of a ship’s cabin flashed through her brain. Ragged boys crowding around her. An endless, foul-smelling ditch running between tumble-down buildings.
But where was her father? The dressing on his leg had to be changed. Who was seeing to his dinner?
Her mind was incapable of finishing a thought. Holding tight to the railing with two hands, she slowly descended the stairs. A wheezing sound froze her until she realized it was her own ragged breathing.
The heat of a few moments ago suddenly turned to a chill. Following the winding stairway down, she pushed her loose hair back from her face and gathered the nightgown tighter against her damp skin. Light from a larger window streamed across a black-and-white checked floor below. All was quiet. She shivered violently, but she forced herself on. Her father was surely in pain. He needed her.
She went down another step, and the light suddenly grew bright as everything around her tilted.
Grace groaned as she opened her eyes. The floor was cool and smooth against her cheek. She was lying at the bottom of the stairs. Feeling about, she clutched at the newel post and pulled herself upright. The darkness whirled around her, and she held tight until her eyes focused. Across the floor she saw a line of yellow light at the base of a pair of doors.
Father.
The doors were about a mile off, but she had to get to him.
