Touch Me (10 page)

Her warm flesh instantly pebbled in the cool air and she reached for her robe, one corner of her mouth lifting at the sight of Beauty curled up next to her clothing. After knotting the sash around her waist, she donned her long cape, her gloves and her boots, and tucked her pistol into her pocket. Feeling far less vulnerable now that her hands were covered, she turned to face him. He’d emerged from the spring as well, and was tugging his jacket into place, watching her through hooded eyes. For several seconds they simply looked at each other and Genevieve experienced a pull of attraction, and something else…something she’d never before experienced. Something that made her want to run to him and bury her face against his broad chest. Breathe him in. Feel his strength. She wanted to hold him, and be held by him. And never let go. She frowned and shook her head to dispel it of the ridiculous notion.

“Are you cold?” he asked, walking toward her.

If only she were. She
should
be. Instead, heat rippled through her, increasing with every step closer he took. “No.”

He stopped, looking at her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Then his gaze flicked to her mouth. Fire kindled in his eyes, and her heart lurched in anticipation. But instead of kissing her, he bent down and scooped up Beauty. The puppy opened one sleepy eye, gave a huge yawn, then snuggled into the curve of Simon’s arm to dream doggie dreams.

Lightly petting the dog’s golden head, Simon said softly, “Earlier, while dashing through the woods after this imp I was tempted to change her name to Evil Lead Chewer. Or Runs Impossibly Fast. Or Pain in the Arse. Now I’m tempted to change her name to Genius. Cer
tainly I owe her the largest beef bone in the kingdom for leading me here.”

“And here you thought she’d be nothing but trouble.”

“Oh, she’s trouble. But it appears I harbor a weakness for trouble.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Among other things. Which means we should leave now. Lest we end up here all night.” He extended his free arm. “Shall we?”

Genevieve tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and they made their way along the path. For several minutes the only sound was that of their footfalls crunching against the fallen leaves. Then for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she found herself admitting, “It’s been a long time since I’ve walked through the woods with a man.”

He turned his head to look at her. “I can only conclude that it’s been your choice to walk alone because you’d have only to snap your fingers to find a dozen suitors knocking on your door.”

Even though he was completely mistaken, warmth flooded Genevieve at the compliment. “Thank you, but you are far overestimating my charms, Simon.”

“I’m not.
You
are far
under
estimating them. Have you no mirrors in your home?”

“Yes. And they don’t lie.” They showed her exactly what she was—an aging former mistress with ruined hands. A shell of the woman she once was.

“Then you must require spectacles.”

She was about to assure him she didn’t when he abruptly halted. They’d rounded a corner and her cottage was just ahead.

“Your front door is open,” he said in an undertone, pulling her off the path and behind the trunk of an elm. As Genevieve peered through the darkness, he reached
down and pulled a knife from his boot. The silver blade glinted in the moonlight. “Give me your pistol.”

A chill ran through her at his terse whisper and she reached into her pocket. “That won’t be necessary. It’s not just a decoration—I’m very proficient.”

“You’re prepared to shoot someone?”

“If necessary.”

He gave her a quick, appraising glance, then nodded. “Good. Let’s hope you don’t need to. Stay behind me, be prepared to run, and for God’s sake don’t shoot
me.
”

He set the sleeping dog beneath the tree then crouching low, moved cautiously forward, his gaze scanning. Genevieve kept behind him, heart pounding with a combination of fear and dread. Was it possible Richard had come for the puzzle box? If so, she certainly didn’t want Simon to hurt him, thinking him to be an intruder.

They reached the flagstone steps and approached the door, then stepped into the foyer. And were greeted by the sight of Baxter lying on the parquet floor, a dark trail of what could only be blood marring the side of his face.

W
ITH HIS GAZE
scanning their surroundings, Simon knelt beside Baxter. Just as he touched his fingers to the side of the giant man’s neck and felt his steady pulse, Baxter stirred and moaned.

“He’s coming around,” Simon said in a terse undertone. “I need to see if anyone’s still in the house.” Taking Genevieve by the shoulders, he backed her up several paces until her spine touched the paneling. “Stay here against the wall with your pistol at the ready until I return.”

“But Baxter—”

“Will be fine until I return.”

“I can’t leave him like that on the floor.”

“You won’t be of any use to anyone if the intruder catches you unaware because you’re tending to him. I won’t be long.”

After a brief hesitation, she nodded. With his knife at the ready, Simon quickly made his way through the house. His instincts told him the intruder was gone, and his search ascertained that was the case. The last room he checked before returning to the foyer was Genevieve’s bedchamber. On a hunch he opened her dresser drawer and felt beneath the stacks of undergarments. His jaw clenched. He didn’t know what else might have been taken from the house, but one thing
was missing—the puzzle box was no longer hidden beneath her lingerie.

Had she moved it herself—or had the intruder taken it? He didn’t believe for an instant that this was some random break-in. Someone else wanted that letter. But who? He didn’t know, but he sure as hell was going to find out.

With his mouth flattened into a grim line, he hurried back to the foyer.

“The house is empty,” Simon reported.

Genevieve immediately went to Baxter and dropped to her knees beside him. “He’s groaned several times and just opened his eyes.”

“Good. See to him and I’ll be right back.” Simon hurried outside and retrieved Beauty who mercifully still slept as she was carried into the foyer and set on a rug in the corner. Simon then knelt beside Genevieve who was gently dabbing the wound on Baxter’s head with a lacy handkerchief. “How is he?”

“Conscious.” No sooner had she uttered the word than Baxter attempted to sit up. Simon immediately urged him back down.

“Bloody hell, me head feels like a battalion of demons are stabbing me skull with their pitchforks,” Baxter said in a gravelly voice. He groaned and slammed his eyes shut. “What the hell sort of rotgut did I drink?”

“You didn’t drink anything,” Genevieve said. “You were knocked unconscious.”

Baxter opened one eye and frowned. “Unconscious?”

“By someone who made a thorough and not very neat search of the house,” Simon said grimly as he leaned closer to examine the egg-sized lump on the side of Baxter’s bald head. He turned to Genevieve. “We need some light.”

She rose and returned less than a minute later bearing an oil lamp that cast the foyer in a golden glow. After looking at Baxter’s wound, Simon said, “It’s stopped bleeding. But that’s a hell of a lump you’ve got there.”

Baxter grunted. “Hell of a headache I’ve got.”

“Did you see who hit you?”

Baxter tried to shake his head, winced, then said, “No. I were tossin’ and turnin’ and heard a crashing sound, like glass breakin’. Thought it might be Sophia getting into some mischief, so I came to check.” His gaze shifted to Genevieve. “Didn’t want to think of you cuttin’ yer feet in the mornin’. Next thing I know, I’m starin’ up at you with me head feelin’ two yards thick.” His eyes widened. “Bastard wot hit me didn’t hurt you, Gen, did he?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

Baxter’s gaze turned to Simon and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Just wot the bloody hell are
you
doin’ here?”

“I was escorting Genevieve home. When we arrived, the door was open and we found you lying here.”

“Escortin’ her home?” Baxter once again struggled to sit up, this time accomplishing the task with Simon and Genevieve’s assistance. After taking several slow breaths, he turned to Simon with a baleful expression. “She already
was
home. So maybe
yer
the one who nearly broke me skull.”

Before Simon could reply, Genevieve said quietly, “I’d left the house. To go to the springs. Simon was walking Beauty and they happened upon me.”

Baxter blinked. “Wot in God’s name were ye thinkin’ to be going off to the springs at night by yerself?”

“I took my pistol and was prepared to shoot any lurkers.”

“Ye didn’t shoot
him
,” Baxter grumbled, glowering at Simon.

“I wasn’t lurking,” Simon said lightly. “But someone was.” He recalled the sensation of being watched he’d experienced at the festival. Turning to Genevieve, he asked, “Have there been any robberies in the area lately?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“You need to go through the house, see if anything was stolen. Do you have any valuables?”

Something flickered in her eyes. “A few pieces of jewelry, but nothing worth a great deal.”

“Let’s get Baxter cleaned and bandaged, then we’ll check to see if anything is missing.”

While Genevieve went to gather the bandages, Simon assisted Baxter to his feet, nearly staggering under the man’s considerable weight as he helped him to the sitting room.

“Don’t think I don’t know wot yer up to,” Baxter muttered as they made their way slowly down the corridor.

“Up to?”

“I seen the way ye look at her.”

“And how is that?”

“Like she’s a pork chop and yer a starvin’ mongrel.” Baxter halted and jerked his arm from Simon’s grasp. He swayed on his feet and slapped a beefy hand against the wall to steady himself. Shooting Simon a dark scowl surely meant to reduce him to dust, he said, “I won’t let ye hurt her.”

“I’ve no intention of hurting her.” Indeed, Simon hoped his investigations would prove that Genevieve’s reasons for removing the letter from the alabaster box were harmless and that she was innocent of any wrongdoings.

“Don’t matter wot yer intentions are, ye could do it
just the same, and she don’t deserve it. She’s been hurt enough.” Baxter leaned forward. “If you hurt
her
, I’m going to hurt
you
. Consider yerself warned.”

Simon didn’t doubt for a moment that Baxter could crush his skull like a walnut with his bare hands. Luckily, thanks to his training and experience as a spy, he excelled at extricating himself from dangerous situations. He’d been threatened by bigger men than Baxter.

“Fine. I’m warned. Now let’s see to getting that head wound cleaned so you’re better able to protect her—from whoever broke into the house.”

Baxter made a sound that resembled a growl and resumed walking slowly. “The bastard will be damn sorry when I get my hands on him. Wot I want to know is wot the hell was she thinkin’, wanderin’ around the woods at night? And why the bloody hell were you walkin’ yer dog on her property? Spyin’ on her, were ye?”

“No, I was chasing my ill-mannered puppy whose razor-sharp teeth bit through her lead. I’m lucky I didn’t have to chase the beast to Scotland. Be glad, at least for tonight, that Genevieve wasn’t here. She might have ended up unconscious like you. Or worse.” A shudder ran through him at the thought.

They entered the sitting room and Baxter plopped down heavily on the settee in front of the fireplace. Genevieve entered seconds later carrying a bowl of water and several lengths of clean linen. Moving directly toward Baxter, she said to Simon, “I’ll take care of him. There’s a bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of the desk. Could you please pour some for Baxter? And help yourself if you’d like.”

Simon crossed to the desk. There were two bottom drawers, one on each side of the chair. Thanks to his
earlier searches of the house he knew which one contained the bottle of whiskey. While he poured a generous portion for Baxter and a fingerful for himself, he watched Genevieve gently cleanse away the blood with a steady hand. A steady
gloved
hand. Clearly not even Baxter saw her without her gloves, and once again, he wondered what sort of injury she was hiding. He recalled the feel of her fingers sifting through his hair at the spring, her hands caressing him, and heat suffused him. Whatever it was, it didn’t lessen the fact that her touch set him on fire.

Carrying the two drinks, he walked to the settee and handed Baxter his glass. The giant grunted his thanks then proceeded to gulp down the potent liquor in two quick swallows. “Am I goin’ to need stitchin’ up, Gen?”

Genevieve lifted the oil lamp to examine the wound then shook her head. “Not this time.” She offered him a soft smile. “That’s nice for a change.”

Curiosity pinched Simon, urging him to ask how Genevieve and Baxter had come to be together, the refined woman and the ruffian, but he shoved aside the urge—for now. Better to wait until he and Genevieve were alone. Instead he asked, “Baxter gets struck on the head regularly?”

“No,” Genevieve said, wiping away the blood that had dripped down Baxter’s face with a calm expertise that indicated it wasn’t the first time she’d performed such ministrations. “At least not recently. But he had his share of altercations in his youth that resulted in some injuries.”

Baxter guffawed. “Other blokes always ended up lookin’ worse than me, though, didn’t they, Gen?”

Her lips twitched. “Always.”

Baxter’s rough features collapsed into a frown.
“’Cept this time. That’s going to be one sorry bugger when I get ahold of him. Good thing I weren’t sleeping. It were better I heard the bastard and scared him off—even if me head had to pay the price.”

He winced when Genevieve applied some ointment to his wound and she immediately asked, clearly to distract him from the discomfort, “Why couldn’t you sleep? Are you unwell?”

To Simon’s amazement the giant appeared to blush. “Um, ah, me mind was, er, occupied.”

A knowing glint entered Genevieve’s eyes. “I think I can guess with what, or rather, with whom. Miss Winslow is a lovely young woman.”

Baxter’s blush extended to the top of his bald head. “Far too good for the likes of me.”

“I disagree, and you’d best be careful what you say about my dear friend, Baxter,” Genevieve said, winding a long strip of linen around his head, “or else I’ll be forced to give you another whack to knock some sense into you.” She tucked in the end of the strip then leaned back to examine her handiwork. “How do you feel?”

“Like a bloody idiot for bein’ caught unawares.”

She smiled. “I meant your head.”

“Poundin’ like the hammers of hell, but I’ve had worse headaches after a night swillin’ Blue Ruin.”

“Glad you’re all right,” Simon broke in, in spite of his interest in the byplay between the two, which made it clear they were more friends than employer and servant. He couldn’t imagine any of his staff ever speaking to him in the casual manner that Baxter addressed Genevieve. He tried to envision Ramsey or his valet or his man of affairs calling him Simon and utterly failed. “Now let’s see if anything was stolen.”

While Baxter remained in the sitting room nursing another glass of whiskey, Simon followed Genevieve through the house, helping her straighten up things the intruder had disturbed. She found nothing missing, not even her few pieces of jewelry which she kept in a locked box in her small sitting room—a box which had been forced open.

When they entered Genevieve’s bedchamber, Sophia lifted her head from the spot where she lay curled up on the counterpane. After offering a half-hearted yawn, she settled back down.

Standing in the doorway, Simon’s gaze drifted to the statue in the corner and a vivid image flashed through his mind of hiding behind the marble woman and watching Genevieve—a real woman who, in spite of all the reasons why she shouldn’t, had captured his imagination and ignited his fantasies.

He pulled his attention back to Genevieve, who was hurrying across the room to her dresser. Simon followed, watching as she yanked open the drawer where the puzzle box had been. She pawed through her lingerie which the intruder—and Simon—had already disturbed, then drew in a shuddering breath. She whispered something that sounded like
bastard
, but he couldn’t be certain.

“Something missing?” he asked.

She hesitated then said, “I…I’m just distressed that someone has been touching my things.” She looked through the remainder of the drawers, then slowly turned to face him. Her skin was pale and although she was clearly unsettled, she was also obviously angry.

“Well?” he asked, looking into her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t lie to him, but knowing she would.

Her gaze never wavered. “Nothing is missing.”

Disappointment rippled through him. She had no reason to trust him—indeed, she was wise not to, even though she didn’t know that. Still, he’d hoped she would confide in him. Pushing the unreasonable feeling away, he said, “If this was merely a robbery, the intruder would have taken your jewelry. He was looking for something specific. Do you have any idea what?”

Again she hesitated, and for a single heartbeat, he thought she might perhaps tell him. Then she shook her head. “No.” Then something that looked like satisfaction flickered in her eyes. “But whatever it was, he didn’t find it.”

“How do you know?”

She blinked, clearly nonplussed. Then she shrugged. “Because there was nothing to find.”

Hope flared in him. He didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth with that statement. The letter was still here. The intruder hadn’t found it because she’d removed it from the box. Which meant not only that Simon still had the chance to retrieve the letter, but also that the bastard who’d broken in tonight would most likely be back.

All the protective instincts that she’d aroused in him from his first look at her roared to life. She needed protection. And he would make certain she received it. At least until he had his letter.

You want a hell of a lot more from her than that letter and you damn well know it
, his conscience whispered. Bloody annoying voice. He needed to teach it how to lie. Shouldn’t be difficult considering what an accomplished liar Simon was—a skill his years as a spy had honed to a razor-sharp edge. Yet, for reasons he refused
to examine lying wasn’t sitting well with him at the moment. Which was ridiculous, especially since she’d lied to him.