“I have,” he said, without revealing what said decision actually was. Harrison could be an infuriating man. Feeling his attention fall on her, she steadied herself. Her mouth went dry, but she wasn’t about to betray that.
“Why are you here?” she asked, amazing herself that she managed such an emotionless tone.
His eyes gleamed, hard as jade. “I might ask the same of you. I thought you, of all people, would have had better sense than to agree to such a far-fetched scheme.”
The cool reproach in his tone pierced her heart. Her pulse stuttered, and she carefully considered her response. Harrison MacMasters had no right to speak to her with such derision. The man had no idea what she faced if she refused Jones’s offer. His arrogance was born of means, of privilege. He’d likely never had to concern himself with another’s well-being, with providing for those he loved. How dare he look at her with that fire in his eyes, as if she were the most gullible of fools?
She faced him directly. “My sense—or lack of it—is none of your concern.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” he said. “From this moment forward, our fates will be intertwined. At least, for the next fortnight or so.”
“Our fates…intertwined? Why, Dr. MacMasters, I do believe you’ve missed your calling. Surely there is a market for overwrought drama. There must be some melodramatic thespian who’d love to spout that line.”
Jones looked as if he wanted to say something, but held his tongue. Grace turned to him. “Do you intend to tell me what’s going on?”
“There’s been a change in our plan… I’d worked it out that we would be traveling under the guise of brother and sister, but I’ve been made aware of certain flaws in that scenario.”
“Flaws?” Grace crinkled her nose. “I thought it would work.”
Seeming to stall his answer, Jones plowed a hand through his dark hair. He let out a low breath. Whatever he was about to tell her, it was going to be a humdinger.
“As far as Belle Fairchild and her cronies are concerned, you are no longer going to be a bridesmaid.” Jones met her eyes. “This time, you’re going to be the bride.”
“Bride?” The question came out as a gasp.
“Well, a recent bride,” he went on. “For the purposes of this mission, you will be traveling with your newly wedded husband at your side.”
Good heavens, the man was infuriating. She’d neither the time nor patience for what seemed a bizarre puzzle.
“Husband? What in blazes are you talking about?”
As if on cue, Harrison crossed the room. Slowly, each step measured, he kept his eyes on Grace. Reaching for her left hand, he gently slid a rose-gold band over her ring finger. His mouth curved at the corners, but no sane person would have dubbed the tilt of his lips a smile.
“Consider this part of your disguise, Miss Winters. Or should I say—my darling wife?”
…
If Harrison had been a mere onlooker and not a participant in this ill-conceived farce of a mission, he might have found Grace’s expression humorous. At the very least, he might’ve taken some satisfaction in the fact they’d found something capable of rendering a woman who’d mastered conversation as a weapon momentarily speechless. She stood very still, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide with shock. Or was that disbelief? In either case, she seemed to reach for words that would not come.
But given the circumstances—and the fact that his own initial reaction to this newest aspect of Jones’s scheme had mirrored her own—he found neither humor nor satisfaction in the situation. The prospect of masquerading as newlyweds bordered on the inconceivable. At this point, Grace could scarcely look his way without tiny shards of glass gleaming in her gaze. Whatever tender feeling she might have once possessed for him had been trampled into bits. In her eyes, he was now the enemy—an enemy who wished to keep her alive long enough to see her punished for her crimes.
Her eyes narrowed as she folded her arms over her chest. “Isn’t it a little early to have started drinking?”
He met her cold glare. “Actually, I’d be in a far better mood if I had imbibed this morning. I am by no means overjoyed at the prospect of carrying out this charade.”
She heaved a sigh, a bit more dramatic than he’d expected. Not that he doubted her dismay. God only knew he was far from overjoyed at the prospect of pretending to be her newly minted husband. How the hell was he supposed to gallivant around Scotland with this woman—out of all of the women on the planet—and keep his focus on the investigation?
Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to Jones. “This is absurd. Was this your idea?”
He nodded. “It’s the only way we can make this work and ensure your security.”
“Why, I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a harebrained proposition in all my days.”
Her complexion flushed as anger sharpened the rounded edges of her words. She was furious. And absolutely beautiful. Vibrant and alive, her velvet-brown eyes flashing, she bore little resemblance to the mousier woman who’d stood in this room the night before and agreed to sell her soul in exchange for her freedom.
“Believe me, Miss Winters, we have discussed several alternatives. None of them will work,” Simon explained.
She hiked her chin and pursed her lips, seeming to consider her words carefully. “Given it’s my neck on the line, I would think I deserved the courtesy of being included in the discussion.” She pulled in a breath. “While I understand the need for protection, this is taking the matter to the extreme.”
