Free A Highlander for Christmas by Debbie Macomber, Christina Skye

was tense as she pushed open the door to the jewelers. She almost forgot her pursuer in the glitter of diamonds and pink pearls and star sapphires. The cameos arranged on an elegant cushion of black velvet immediately caught her eye. Several were rose, and some were blue. All were sculpted with the fine hand of a master.
    Maggie heard the door to the shop open and the bell tinkle behind her. She managed not to turn, despite the burning sense that she was once more under scrutiny.
    “Something is wrong with the cameo, madam?” The graying jeweler crossed behind the counter and looked at her anxiously.
    “No, it’s beautiful, but I prefer that pale cream intaglio. The woman and child are exquisite and the cutter’s flair shows best with no distracting color. It’s brilliant work.”
    The jeweler nodded, approving her choice. “My thoughts exactly. So many want new colors, new styles. The classical is soon forgotten.” He shook his head in resignation. “Where money goes, the artists must follow.”
    “Not all artists,” Maggie said firmly. “And no one could possibly improve on this. The look on the mother’s face is pure emotion.” She cupped the beautiful oval of a woman holding a young child. It was nineteenth-century Italian, very beautiful and very expensive. “Is it by one of the Saulinis?” This pair of sculptors, father and son, had excelled at meticulous detail. Maggie had seen examples of their work, but had never touched one.
    “So it is. I was fortunate to acquire it in Florence last year. You would like the piece perhaps?”
    In the excitement of her discovery, Maggie forgot about the man who had been watching her. Her mind raced through a dozen design ideas: a platinum choker or gold braid. Perhaps a simple knotted satin cord.
    She took another glance at the discreet price tag. Steep, but worth every pence. Especially for a real Saulini cameo. “Fine. I’ll take it.”
    “My compliments. You have excellent taste.” The stranger she’d forgotten in her excitement spoke from behind her.
    Maggie stiffened as he crossed the room and admired her cameo.
    “I couldn’t help but notice. It’s a lovely piece.”
    His eyes were harder up close, and she noticed there were little streaks of gray at his temples. “Yes, it is,” she said stiffly.
    He smiled, slightly uncertain. “Forgive my question, but I believe that I recognize you.”
    Maggie shook her head, looking away. She refused to believe that he could be a reporter, although she’d heard gambits like this before. Why did she never seem to have Chessa’s ready quip or Faith’s brash bravado, the throwaway line that turned intrusive questions into good-tempered camaraderie? “You’re wrong. We haven’t met.”
    She turned her back as the jeweler returned with her receipt. Then the old man smiled broadly at the stranger. “So nice to see you again, my lord. Give my regards to your wife if you will.”
    Lord?
    The man beside her thrust out his hand, smiling apologetically. “I should have introduced myself immediately. I’m Nicholas Draycott, and I’m quite certain that you’re Margaret Elizabeth Kincade, though the photo you sent with your jewelry designs doesn’t do you justice.”
    Maggie swallowed. He was the twelfth Viscount Draycott? At least that explained why he had been following her. But she’d pictured someone balding and overweight, with red cheeks and faded tweeds covered with dog hairs.
    He cleared his throat. “Sorry if I’m not what you expected.”
    “My mistake. But call me Maggie. All my friends do.”
    “Maggie, it is. When did you arrive? Our meeting isn’t until Thursday.”
    “I had some things to do before we met, and I didn’t want to miss the Etruscan exhibit at the British Museum. Then when I saw the cameos, I couldn’t resist coming in for a look.” She decided not to mention that she had put him down as a Lothario on the prowl.
    “Perfectly understandable. My wife and I succumb to temptation