Page 33 of Gilded Locks

She waited until he’d been gone for a few minutes before making her own departure. Should he be seen by Willa again, or anyone else, it was best if they were looking elsewhere when Grace exited.

As she waited, Grace thought on the reason her stomach was doing somersaults.

Their conversation replayed in her mind, the boldness of her own words and his playful responses warming her cheeks.

Heavens, Grace wished she’d been this bold far sooner. It was thrilling. It may not have elicited much information, but Grace couldn’t convince herself it wasn’t worth it.

Especially because the moonlight had granted her what words had not.

Those eyes.

Olive green and intense. The color of James’s eyes.

Step one, done.

Now she just had to convince James to rebel as himself instead.

Chapter 9

Weeding wheat fields had never felt so tedious. Grace cursed the sun’s leisurely voyage across the sky, willing it to move by working faster herself.

At least her parents couldn’t complain about her work ethic for once.

As she moved down the rows, she played out several conversations in her head until she felt confident in her arguments.

An hour after sunset, she was out her window and running the entire way to the maple grove. The night swirled with wind, the clouds shifting quickly so that moonlight streamed one moment and vanished the next. She’d twisted her bright hair into two tight buns at the nape of her neck near her ears, loose tendrils pinned so that her brown hood easily covered every strand.

Once at the grove, Grace went for the tree where she’d hidden her own letter.

It was empty.

“Curse the man,” Grace muttered. First she’d had to wait for the sun. Now she had to wait for James.The Rogue, she amended.

She knew it was him. She’d pictured those alluring olive eyes enough times that day to be sure, but it couldn’t hurt to verify. An unmasked rebel is far more likely to be cooperative, after all.

Now, if only he would get here so she could find out if he’d listened to her or not. Maybe he’d come as himself this time.

Grace tried not to be disappointed by the idea. It would be far more fun to remove his mask and bask in his shock that she already knew who he was.

The creak of a branch sounded behind Grace. She listened for a moment. Another creak, drifting down from above.

Instantly, disappointment was erased by a grin.

“Having fun spying on me?” Grace said without looking his way.

A deep huff, and a half minute of creaking later, the Rogue replied in his deep mystical voice. “How do you do that?”

Grace turned to face him.

“I listen,” she said.

The man sat on a branch ten feet up, legs dangling, arm looped tightly about the trunk. The verdure cloak hung over his shoulders and down his back. The illusion flickered between blending in with the trees and completing the figure of the Rogue. Despite the slight increase of moonlight slipping into the grove, she still couldn’t make out much detail on the Rogue’s face. That hood provided too much shadow.

Grace beamed. A fight to remove his disguise it was.

“You know,” Grace said, “if you’re struggling to hear, removing that hood might help. The cloth dulls sound, you know.”

He offered a deep, rich chuckle that sent Grace’s pulse spiking. She liked that she could make him laugh.

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