Page 26 of The Highland Heist
He hesitated, the wind nudging him back toward the house as if urging caution. Decision made, he turned, but the relief was fleeting. A rush of footsteps shattered the quiet, and before he could fully pivot, a blinding pain exploded at the back of his head.
He stumbled, the world spinning, the ground rushing up to meet him. His arms faltered beneath him, and he tried to rise, but darkness clawed at the edges of his vision. Through the haze, a single thought burned clear:I have to protect Grace.
Pain crippled him back to the ground. His grip on the pin slackened, and as the world faded, he felt its weight lifted from his hand.
Then all went black.
Chapter 7
Grace smoothed her palms over the bodice of her dress, as if arranging armor, and knocked firmly on the door to her sister’s room. From Miss Cox’s report, when Grace had gone to check on the maid and Zahra, Lillias had only been out of her room once since entering it earlier, and that was to see little Thomas.
Not counting this morning, it had been seven months since Grace had last seen her sister, and their final exchange had not exactly been the kind one commits to sentimental recollection. Grace had cornered Lillias, demanding she confess her pregnancy to Frederick before the wedding. When Lillias refused, Grace had issued her ultimatum: “Tell him, or I will.” Instead, Lillias had taken the third option—eloping with Tony under cover of night, leaving Grace to face both Frederick and their father’s wrath alone.
Since then, the few letters Lillias had sent to Grace waxed stiff and eloquent about her provincial life as a banker’s wife.
But now Grace understood why each letter felt shallow and weak.
Because they had been.
A gambling husband, a diminished household, and the ever-tightening squeeze of discontent: a threefold braid of discontent, all tracing back to that pivotal final conversation.
Guilt tempted a poisonous resurrection in her chest, but Grace shook her head. No, this wasn’t her fault. Lillias had made her choice long before that confrontation—long enough, in fact, to create little Thomas.
Grace knocked again, more insistently this time. Lillias’ voice, faint but audible, summoned her forward.
The room was a startling oasis of opulence, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. Paintings Grace recognized from Rutledge House adorned the walls, and a light oak bedstead with gilded edges dominated the room. The heavy curtains, fine wallpaper, and marble fireplace spoke to a life Lillias had clearly curated as compensation for everything else.
“I’m having Dorothy serve supper to you in your rooms,” Lillias said from her place in a high-back chair positioned in the alcove of windows. “I haven’t the inclination for socializing this evening.”
Her sister’s pale face and frown drew Grace farther into the room. “Of course not. No one would expect it, Lillias. And Frederick and I will tend to ourselves and the others, for the next few days, if that would relieve you.”
Her sister looked up, her light blue eyes red-rimmed and tired. “I would appreciate that.”
Grace’s fight died a little and she continued her path into the room. “If there are other ways we can be of assistance, please let us know. Frederick and I both wish to help you.”
One blond brow arched in response. “Can you find the person who killed my husband?”
Just having Lillias ask the question relieved some of Grace’s concern. If Lillias wanted help to locate Tony’s killer then it was less likely her sister was a part of his death, wasn’t it?
“That’s exactly what we mean to do.” Grace took the question as invitation to sit across from her sister. “Which is why I’ve come to speak with you. I believe you have information that will help us try to figure this all out.”
Lillias’ eyes widened before her lips tipped crooked. “Youmean to find the person who murdered Tony?”
Grace sat up straighter, offering her sister a reassuring smile. “I mean to try.”
“You’re serious.” Lillias grin grew into a puff of a laugh, before her gaze trailed down Grace’s body, leaving a strange sort of unease in Grace’s stomach.
“Grace, this isn’t one of your novels. This is real life.” Lillias looked over at her as if speaking to a young child. “Though I appreciate your intentions, this task is not for you, little sister.”
Grace blinked, her mind turning over the tone, the look—at once familiar and yet startlingly new. Had she misread it all these years? Had what she’d once dismissed as harmless endearment always been cloaked in condescension?
Her throat tightened, an unwelcome knot forming. Had she been so naive? So blind? What else in her past, taken for truth, was merely another lie wrapped in sibling civility?
“Lillias,” Grace began, forcing her voice steady, “haven’t you read my letters? I’ve been involved in much nastier business than this over the past few months, and none of it had anything to do with my imagination.” She paused, reconsidering. Her imaginationhadgotten away from her a time or two, but still, it had all been undeniably real. “One involved almost being buried alive in a tomb, and the other—well, let’s just call it a treasure hunt. Not that I was looking for treasure, but some very unpleasant people certainly were.”
Lillias rolled her eyes. “There’s no need to exaggerate. I’m sure your life as a countess is terribly exciting.”
Words sputtered and died before Grace could push them out. Exaggerate? She rarely exaggerated. Life had proven itself more colorful and adventurous than any flourish she might add. Yet here she was, suddenly feeling absurd, as though caught playing dress-up. The sensation was achingly familiar, dredging up memories of their childhood relationship.
