Heather, who had joined them, gasped in astonishment. ‘I cannot believe all these smuggled goods are here!’
Mr Stone brushed past Grace’s shoulder, she instinctively stepped back at his touch and swallowed hard, suddenly aware of every inch of herself. He took a bottle of wine from one of the crates and handed it to her. ‘We must take these to the magistrate.’
As her fingers closed around the glass, a distant memory surfaced.
She had seen an identical bottle before.
In that cave.
Her breath caught. She quickly relayed the memory to Mr Stone.
He nodded gravely. ‘Well, this is sufficient evidence to convict Gibbs, his associates, and Averton.’
Heather was called away to her dance master, leaving Grace and Mr Stone to return to the study, their eyes falling on the safe once more.
‘If only we could get inside the safe,’ sighed Grace. ‘Perhaps we should try to find a more skilled locksmith from London?’
Mr Stone rubbed his jaw, his frustration evident. ‘However, this is all pointless if we cannot find Gibbs.’
He suggested changing tactics. ‘I think we need to start interviewing some of the tenants, see what they know. What do you think?’
Grace adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses, shifting her weight. ‘I agree. I think we should start with the Trent’s. Melissa and Gibbs went missing on the same day—that cannot be a coincidence, especially now that we know he was smuggling.’
Their work for the day concluded, Grace left the study.
As Grace walked through the corridors, the familiar strains of a lively tune drifted from the great hall. She paused, unable to resist stealing a glance. Peeking in, she saw Heather gracefully executing the cotillion steps, her dance master keeping pace with surprising agility for his age. Grace tapped her foot to the rhythm, absorbed in the moment.
Heather spotted her and ran over excitedly. ‘Ah! Perfect timing! We need another couple to join the cotillion. Mr Stone, would you partner Grace?’
She reached for Grace’s shawl, but Grace resisted. A playful tug-of-war ensued, with Heather managing to claim two shawls, while Grace stubbornly clung to the last. A sudden prickle of awareness made her stop.
She turned—only to find Mr Stone watching their little skirmish with evident amusement. His gaze swept over her, making her shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. She shot Heather a glare.
‘It would be a pleasure, Miss Heather,’ Mr Stone said smoothly, his voice teasing yet firm.
He leaned against the doorway before strolling towards Grace. A sudden dryness caught in her throat as he extended his hand. His hazel eyes locked onto hers.
Her stomach fluttered.
Mr Stone looked willing, but Grace feared her emotions were becoming far too obvious.
She had to put a stop to this. ‘I must decline, Heather. I am tired and would prefer some rest.’
Noting the disappointment on her sister’s face, she softened.
‘Perhaps tomorrow?’
Without another glance at Mr Stone, she made her escape.
Back in her room, she paced the carpeted floor, Grace was furious—with herself. She was behaving like a lovesick fool! She needed to rein in her feelings before they spiralled out of control.
When he leaves, I will be the one left hurting.
‘I must stop this,’ she muttered.But how?
Avoiding him was nearly impossible. He had an uncanny ability to draw her into conversations, making himself an inescapable presence. Perhaps if she were less agreeable, less polite... yes, that would surely deter his attention.
AT DINNER, SHE PUTher plan into action, responding to questions with only monosyllabic answers. She kept her head down, focusing on her hearty meal rather than the man sitting across from her. Later, the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, and not long after, Mr Stone followed.
