Harrison studied the older woman. Had she always employed her beauty as a weapon?
Mrs. McTavish had trained her niece well. God knew Grace had wrapped him around her delicate little finger. He’d been wild for her—he, who prided himself on his good sense where the fairer sex was concerned. If she hadn’t been gone when he’d awakened after their night together, what might he have done? Would he have pursued her? Would he have entertained thoughts of a future with her at his side and in his bed?
He shook off the questions. Their liaison had been passionate and spontaneous. Had he been nothing more to her than another part of her disguise?
He turned his focus back to Mrs. McTavish. The woman sniffled and dabbed a lace-trimmed handkerchief to her eyes. She’d been weeping. What in damnation was going on?
“I’m so sorry, Grace,” the woman said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.
Grace looked as though she’d been slapped. “Oh, dear, what have you done?”
“I don’t know what came over me, Gracie. I shouldn’t have—” Mrs. McTavish broke off into a sob.
“What did you do?” Grace’s tone held no trace of anger. Weary distress showed on her features.
“I just couldn’t help myself,” the older woman said between sniffles. “It was a trap, and I took the bait.”
“Tell me what happened,” Grace persisted, sadness coloring every syllable.
“The count flaunted that jeweled watch of his…the rubies and diamonds were breathtaking.”
“Oh, my.” Grace stared down at her hands, at the fingers she’d laced together into a knot. “Oh, dear.”
The matron swallowed a sob. “I…I tried to stop myself. But…I had to have it.”
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Grace questioned in a gentle tone.
The sound of her distress cut through Harrison. He shook it off. She did not deserve his sympathy.
“The count was such a gentleman,” Mrs. McTavish went on. “He said he found me enchanting. I believed him. I never thought he’d miss that bauble, much less that soon.”
“Fortunately for your aunt, Count Antonio has agreed to keep the local authorities out of this matter,” Jones said. “On certain conditions.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed. Her chin quivered as she marched up to him. “Allow me to guess—his silence in exchange for my cooperation.”
“That about sums it up.”
Cold fury darkened her eyes. “You set her up, didn’t you?”
“Actually, I cannot take the credit.” He slanted Simon a glance. “MacMasters provided his assistance in the matter.”
“Why…why would you do such a thing?”
A muscle ticked in Simon’s jaw as he met her searing gaze. “We needed to ensure you would cooperate. Count Antonio has ties to our guild. He merely presented a temptation, and predictably, your aunt took the bait. I must say, she is an adept thief. I see now where you gained your skill.”
“You’re no-good scoundrels—the lot of you.” Behind the anger in her slightly raspy voice, Grace could not disguise the defeat she was unwilling to admit. Her eyes glistened. Were those tears?
The thought was like a punch to his gut. Instinct gnawed at Harrison. He wanted to go to her. To hold her, and offer her comfort.
Bloody hell, he wanted to watch over her and protect her.
Have I gone mad?
She was a thief. She’d used his weakness for her like a weapon. She was a master manipulator.
Blast it, hadn’t he’d learned his lesson? Never again would he play the fool. For any woman, much less a known conniver.
She lowered her eyes, seeming to study the pattern of the carpet beneath her feet. In the sudden silence, the swish of the pendulum on the wall clock was inordinately loud. Lifting her gaze, she met Harrison’s eyes. She nibbled her lower lip, her expression thoughtful and slightly bemused, as if she’d pondered a question but thought better of asking it, then looked away.
