Page 34 of The Highland Heist
Unpinning her hair, she worked her way out of her blouse with no small effort, missing Frederick’s help and possibly straining a muscle in her side, to unfasten the back buttons.
Finally slipping into her nightgown, she crawled into bed beside him. His arm instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close. And she nestled into the comfort and “aliveness” of him, resting her head on his shoulder.
But her mind didn’t rest. There were too many questions. Too many puzzles to explore.
“If the murderer returned here after killing Tony, why didn’t he kill you too, my dear Lord Astley?” she whispered into the quiet room.
Grace raised up to press a kiss to his cheek, interrupting another soft snore, but not waking Frederick. What a mess! She sent God a quiet offering of thanksgiving … and then a request for wisdom and safety.
This entire situation was looking more like Tony was specifically targeted, and hopefully they’d discover why before something worse happened.
Chapter 9
Frederick’s head still ached, but his mind was clearer than it had been the night before. Waking to find Grace pressed against his side, her breathing deep and steady, anchored him in a way no tonic ever could.
She was safe.
He let out a slow breath, tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying easing away. Grace often reminded him, with her cheerful certainty, that God held her life securely. Yet the gnawing concern for her well-being kept his senses perpetually on alert. It wasn’t as if danger lurked around every corner of their married life—not every moment, anyway. There had been months of peace, tranquil interludes where he dared to imagine what a mystery-free existence might look like. But those interludes were fleeting, and he had to admit—if only to himself—that solving mysteries had begun to intrigue him almost as much as it did her.
Almost.
His gaze softened as it drifted back to her face. No one, not even the most dedicated enthusiast of serialized detective novels, could match his wife’s insatiable appetite for intrigue. Yet he couldn’t deny the pull he felt when a new case presented itself. It wasn’t just the thrill of unraveling the puzzle—though he wasn’t immune to the appeal of that—but the deeper sense of purpose that came with setting things right. After years of feeling like less than a hero, these mysteries—and the luminous woman who seemed to attract them like moths to a flame—gave him a reason to believe he could be something more.
Grace stirred beside him, her lips curving into a soft smile even before her eyes opened. The sight of it tugged a matching grin from him. It had been far too rare since their arrival, and no wonder. What he’d planned to be a sweet reunion of daughter with her sister and father had turned into a horrible sequence of lies, deceit, and now death.
How would this adventure, so near to her heart, impact her?
She stirred and blinked open those large sapphire eyes of hers, the soft smile on her face spreading as she looked over at him.
“Good morning, my dear Lord Astley,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
His finger reached out to spin a fiery red lock of her hair around its tip. “Good morning, darling.”
She sighed and scooted closer, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, her palm on his chest. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Currently, I am very well contented,” he said, earning a pleased hum from her.
“Does your head feel clearer?”
“It does.”
“That is wonderful news, for your brains are quite important to sleuthing.”
His grin twitched. “I prefer them intact, most assuredly.”
He almost felt her smile in response.
“I assume you took on the duties of valet for me last night?” he asked, his fingers absently twisting her loose hair.
“I did. And we both agreed not to tell Elliott you find me better to look at than him.”
The memory surfaced in his still-foggy mind, and he let out a soundless laugh. “I fully stand by that observation.”
Her delighted sigh warmed him to his core.
After a moment’s silence, Grace stirred. “I think poor Miss Cox may not be with us for much longer, Frederick. After your impressive entrance to Lillias’ room last evening and then Lillias’ thorough tongue-lashing of the young woman when she didn’t button Thomas’ baby gown the right way, I’m afraid her salary may not fit our style of living.”
He barely caught his chuckle. “I’m sorry for you and Zahra, but you managed fairly well without a lady’s maid when in Egypt and Italy. Do you think you’ll be fine until we return to England where you’ll have Ellie at hand again?”
