Page 101 of The Highland Heist
With one last propulsion off the wall, she leaned forward toward her husband and he caught her by her forearms. He pulled her over the railing and into his arms, holding her as though he’d never let go. His face pressed into her hair, and she felt the trembling in his chest, the quick rise and fall of his breaths. She breathed in this safety, his home.
A second later, another pair of arms wrapped around her middle.
Grace looked down to find Zahra hugging them both, her face pressed against Frederick’s side.
Frederick’s smile bloomed as he looked into Grace’s face, and with a shift of movement, he placed a palm against Zahra’s head.
They were safe.
Together.
Malcolm Kane was not in the library.
Frederick’s chest tightened as he shot a glance from Grace to Tony.
“Where’s Kane?”
Tony blinked, his mouth opening uselessly for a moment, before spinning on his heel and rushing down the hallway toward the grand staircase. Frederick followed, their boots pounding against the wood until they came to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs.
At the bottom stood Stephen Blake, looking for all the world like the Cheshire Cat after a banquet. He leaned casually against the newel post, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, his smirk a declaration of triumph.
And there was the tableau to his left.
Lady Blair, tied up so tightly she resembled a poorly wrapped Christmas roast, glared daggers at anyone foolish enough to meet her eye. Beside her, sprawled on the floor, lay Malcolm Kane, unconscious and similarly trussed up. Standing guard over him was none other than Mr. Locke, a shovel in one hand and his boot planted squarely on Kane’s back as though the man were freshly tilled soil.
Frederick barked out a laugh, equal parts relief and disbelief. “What a vision,” he muttered under his breath as Grace and Zahra caught up with him.
“Now you show up?” he called down to Blake, his voice carrying across the vast room.
“Better late than never, old boy.” Blake took one last drag of his cigarette before extinguishing it in a tray with the nonchalance of a man who’d just completed his afternoon tea. His grin softened into something more serious as Frederick descended the stairs with Grace firmly in tow. “Mr. Kane, it seems, did a bit of tampering with my car.” He gestured with his chin toward the gardener. “And ironically enough, locked Mr. Locke in his own cellar, so we were a bit late to the party.”
Ah, the party. Frederick glanced sideways at Grace, his grip on her hand tightening as if anchoring himself to her. Her hair was a wild tangle of red, her cheeks streaked with soot, and her dress bore unmistakable evidence of their earlier peril. Yet somehow, she looked radiant—untamed and indomitable. His Grace.
“No matter,” Frederick said, waving a hand toward the stairs. “The dancing wouldn’t have suited you, Blake. Far too refined. And I know you prefer your smoke confined to cigarettes and salmon.”
Blake’s grin tipped even wider, his gaze flipping from Frederick to Grace. His gaze rose to the stair landing, where Tony and Lillias stood, arm-in-arm. “And what about those two?”
“I do believe they’ve turned a new leaf,” Frederick said.
Blake’s lips curled into a frown his eyes didn’t match. “Perhaps I’ll remain here with the scoundrels, then, Freddie. All this near-death sentimentality is a bit too much.”
“Mosslea needs the Blairs among its walls,” Mr. Locke declared, a leathery grin creasing his face as he ground his boot into Kane’s back. The bound man let out a muffled grunt of protest. “It’s not right without a Blair in these walls.”
“But the fire?” Lillias asked as she and Tony descended, her arm still looped protectively through his.
“Clever design, that,” Blake interjected with his signature insouciance, throwing Locke a knowing wink. “The damage is contained. The rest of Mosslea is as solid as ever.”
“You mean, we can still live here?” Lillias asked, looking from Blake to Locke and back again.
“Mosslea’s stood through centuries, Mrs. Dixon,” Locke declared, puffing out his chest.
“And have you seen the size of this place?” Blake gestured expansively. “If one room burns, you’ve still got at least two dozen more to choose from. Truly, the height of luxury.”
Lillias turned to Tony, her smile luminous despite the soot-streaked tear trailing down her cheek. “I think this is a very good place to start over, don’t you?”
Even Tony, the eternal curmudgeon, managed a smile that softened his weathered features. “As long as I have you and Thomas with me, I’ll start over wherever you want, Lillias.” He gave her hand a firm squeeze, his voice low but steady. “The right way this time?”
She nodded, her expression resolute. “The right way.”
