Page 33 of The Highland Heist
“Heroism, is it?” Frederick’s voice drew her from her thoughts as they reached the first landing.
“Well,” she said, tilting her head with exaggerated deliberation, “you’ve always been rather heroic. But today you not only survived an attack—you also endured my driving.”
His laugh came easier this time, a low rumble that made her chest warm. “You do add a certain … unpredictability to my life, darling.”
Darling.Exactly how he made her feel. Which seemed all the more poignant in light of everything happening now. He was her home, her future.
Her sister’s influence was in the past.
“I do wonder how Tony’s gambling may play into all this.”
Grace shot him a look. “Yes. I’ve thought of that too. People do tend to wind up dead after cheating at cards, don’t they?”
“Let’s hope it’s not as common as the novels suggest,” Frederick said, as they finally crested the last step to the bedroom hallway. “But it’s certainly possible.”
Her brow furrowed as a new thought struck her. “And this fake Officer Clark? His timing was far too convenient, not to mention his disguise. Do you think he could be Mr. K?”
The name sent a shiver down her spine. It was just the sort of ominous alias one might find inThe Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.She could almost hear Holmes’ measured voice drawling about the “diabolical mind of Mr. K.”
But this wasn’t a novel. She couldn’t simply close the book when things grew tense (not that she’d ever abandon a story mid-chapter).
This was personal—painfully so. Her sister’s betrayal, her family’s deceit, the danger they’d invited to Frederick’s doorstep.
And the pointed attacks from her sister felt much less manageable than the possibility of a Scottish murderer lurking outside of the townhouse.
“I don’t know,” Frederick murmured, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. “But do be careful, darling.”
She moved to his side, deftly sliding his jacket off his shoulders. His wonderfully dark eyes lifted to hers, heavy with exhaustion “Ah, are you my valet now?”
Grace smirked as she brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I can be, though I doubt I’m as efficient as Mr. Elliott.”
Frederick’s hands found her hips, his grip light but grounding. His eyes closed as she began to undo his tie. “You’re far better to look at than Elliott.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “I’ll keep that observation to myself. Wouldn’t want to break poor Elliott’s heart.”
His responsive chuckle came weak, his eyes still closed.
She pressed a kiss to his temple before crouching to untie his shoes. He murmured in protest, but she shushed him. “You can barely sit up. Hush.”
She focused on the laces, her thoughts spinning as she worked. She sighed, attempting to unknot the strings in one shoe. “Something doesn’t make sense, Frederick?”
Ah, she finally detangled the string and slipped off both his shoes.
“Hmm?” came his hummed response.
She stood only to find her husband collapsed backward on the bed, eyes closed. Was he asleep?
A soft purr of a snore answered.
This only proved all the more how much he trusted her.
Or how exhausted he was.
But she preferred to think of it as a healthy combination of the two.
With a smile and a solid determination to pin this moment to memory, she maneuvered him fully onto the bed, tucking him in as best she could before turning to the mirror.
Love truly was such an enormous feeling. And if what she felt was the mere human side of it, how very incalculable God’s love must be. It really should lead her to much less worry, shouldn’t it? Even about all the current difficulties and hurts swirling around them.
