Page 52 of The Bachelor Spy
She took Zahra’s hand and placed it on her belly, the motion almost involuntary. Why would she do that? But for some inexplicable reason, if felt right and intimate and comforting to do so. “I’m going to have a baby.”
Zahra’s concern melted into bright-eyed delight. “I am good with babies.”
Tears pricked Grace’s eyes, but she smiled through them. “Yes, I know you are.”
“And Papa will want a son.”
“Papa will love whatever God brings us,” Grace corrected gently.
Zahra shook her head with the certainty of youth. “He has two daughters and a wife. He needs a son.”
“Well, we cannot know until after Christmas, because that’s when the baby is expected.” Grace stood, bringing Zahra up with her. “I was wondering what on earth I would purchase for your papa this year.” She laughed. “His gift may be a little late to go beneath the Christmas tree, but God knew I had too much to manage to sort it out myself.”
Zahra’s smile widened as she bent to scoop up the cat. “It is the best present. Even if it might be a boy.” She wrinkled her nose in mock displeasure, though the gleam in her eyes betrayed her teasing.
Her humor continued to grow with time just like so much more of her personality.
“I will take Shams for a walk now.” She nodded as she walked to the door.
Grace followed. “Try to keep clear of the patients’ areas, especially with Shams. There’s plenty to explore outdoors without disturbing the men. Do you understand?”
Zahra turned at the threshold, her expression suddenly grave. “Unless I discover clues. And then I must keep watch.”
Grace tried valiantly not to smile, but the pride wiggling up through her failed to stop at merely a thought. “Only if you can be safe and do so.”
They walked to the back stairs, where the girl headed toward the garden entrance. Grace meant to turn toward the main corridor—
But something caught her attention.
Below, Blake stood at one end of the back hall, apparently awaiting Mrs. Powell, who was chattering about attempting to locate a particular key. But Blake wasn’t looking at Mrs. Powell.
He was staring with focused intensity at someone across the corridor.
Miss Helen Gale.
It wasn’t a long exchange, but the way they looked at each other said everything—not like strangers, not like a patient and a servant, but like two people who knew each other far too well.
In only a moment, it passed, and Helen turned and walked away. Her posture was perfect, her steps measured—the picture of a dutiful housemaid returning to her responsibilities.
But Grace had seen her face for just a moment before she turned.
Some sort of unspoken entreaty? Similar to the plea Zahra had just made to Grace about Shams. It was a silent request, but for what?
This was not the first time Grace had been around people who were pretending to be something they were not. Italy was the most memorable, but during all of her and Frederick’s adventures, they had encountered masquerading individuals.
Her attention flicked back to Blake.
But never someone so close to her.
Blake remained in the alcove, his hand pressed against the wall as if he needed the support. His head dropped forward, and Grace saw his shoulders rise and fall with what looked like a shuddering breath.
Very un-Blake-like.
So much more stirred inside the man than the carefree cousin or the charming gentleman.
Then Mrs. Powell turned toward him and he straightened, his expression smoothing back into that pleasant smile he wore so expertly. Was the smile only a mask?
It seemed so.
