Consigning his irritating thoughts to the devil, he said, “We can report the break-in to the magistrate tomorrow. In the meantime, you can’t stay here.”
She raised her brows. “Surely you don’t think whoever did this will be back?” Even as she said the words, he could see the realization dawning on her that it was, indeed, a very real possibility.
“I don’t think it can be ruled out. Which means that you-and Baxter and Sophia as well-are coming home with me.”
For several seconds she said nothing, just looked at him with an annoyingly inscrutable expression. Damn it, why couldn’t she be like the other women he knew-predictable and easy to read? She moistened her lips, a gesture that drew his gaze to her gorgeous mouth-a mouth he ached to taste again.
“That is very kind, but-”
He jerked his gaze back up to hers. “No buts. There is ample room for all of you in my cottage, and you’ll be safe there.” He would see to it. Because the thought of anything happening to her, of her being hurt the way Baxter had been, twisted his insides into knots. “Baxter isn’t fully recovered, and even if he were, based on the amount of whiskey he’s tossed back, he’s in no condition to properly protect you. He requires rest. And you…” Reaching out, he lightly grasped her shoulders. “You require someone to watch over you.”
She stilled beneath his hands. For an instant he believed she was going to pull away and he had to fight the urge to tighten his hold. But instead she raised her chin. “While I’m perfectly capable of, and accustomed to, taking care of myself, I cannot deny I am unnerved by what’s happened. Therefore I accept your offer, with my thanks.” She lifted a single brow. “I must say, for a steward, you’ve proven unusually capable in dealing with this matter.” Her gaze flicked to his boot. “And you’re surprisingly at ease handling that knife.”
He shrugged. “When you work for a wealthy man, you become adept at dispatching hooligans and footpads and the like.”
“I see. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll change my clothes so we can depart. Would you mind sitting with Baxter while I do? I hate to think of him all alone.”
Simon nodded then released her. And was alarmed at how difficult it was to do so. He turned to go, but instead of leaving, he nodded toward the statue. “That’s a beautiful piece.” That I stood behind and fantasized about you.
“Thank you. It was a gift.”
“From your husband?”
“No. From myself. I saw her in a London shop years ago and had to have her. The beauty and simplicity in her lines, in her pose, captivated me. I couldn’t resist her.”
Simon pulled his gaze from the statue to look at her. I couldn’t resist her. “Yes. I understand completely. Baxter and I will await you in the sitting room.” With that, he turned and quickly quit the room, before he gave in to the temptation to yank her into his arms and put out the simmering fire that seemed to crackle beneath his skin.
He strode down the corridor and dragged his hands down his face. Bloody hell! As if the searing attraction he felt toward her wasn’t bad enough, this fierce protectiveness was utter insanity. And it could very well prove dangerous. She’d lied to him, most recently about the puzzle box. She knew the box had been stolen and she knew where the letter she’d removed from it was. His every instinct should be warning him away from her; instead a small voice in his head insisted there was some reasonable explanation. And that she wasn’t in any way involved in Ridgemoor’s death.
Damn it, and now she’d be staying in his temporary home. Close enough to touch. And, by God, he wanted to touch her, wanted her, with a raw ferocity he couldn’t recall ever before experiencing. Their interlude at the hot springs had only served to whet his appetite for her.
He’d offered her a choice. Only now did he realize that by doing so, he may have gained strides in earning her trust, a trust that could lead to her confiding to him the whereabouts of the letter. However, at the time he made the offer, he hadn’t been thinking of his mission. Not at all. No, all he’d thought of was her. What was best for her. How best not to hurt her or involve her in any scandal.
It was the first time he’d ever forgotten his mission. Ever allowed a woman to distract him from his purpose. And the first time since he was a green lad he had so completely lost control of himself and his passions.
Which meant that regardless of whether Genevieve Ralston was guilty of any wrongdoing, she was very dangerous indeed.
11
GENEVIEVE paced her bedchamber in Simon’s cottage. A low-burning fire in the hearth warmed the small but comfortable room, and the bed, with its forest-green counterpane and trio of pillows looked cozy and inviting. Baxter was settled in another bedchamber, asleep seconds after his head touched the pillow. Sophia, initially unhappy at the change of environment and completely disdainful of Beauty, now lay curled up in a drowsy ball on the hearthrug, allowing the fire’s warmth to worship her. There wasn’t a single reason for Genevieve not to slip beneath the covers and go to sleep.
No reason except the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through her mind in regard to tonight’s break-in and its ramifications. And in regard to Simon Cooper.
She’d paced the length of the room for the past two hours, trying to make sense of tonight’s events. Yet all her pacing had only resulted in a plethora of unanswered questions. She’d initially considered the break-in to be a further threat against Charles Brightmore, but she’d discarded that idea the instant she’d discovered the alabaster box missing. Richard’s note had stated he would come for the box. Had he visited the cottage tonight-or had he sent someone in his place? But surely Richard wouldn’t have hurt Baxter. Perhaps he hadn’t realized it was him-although who else would her former lover have thought would be in her house? Then again, she hadn’t believed Richard capable of hurting her the way he had, and she’d been proven profoundly wrong about that.
If the intruder was someone acting on Richard’s behalf, that meant Richard hadn’t wanted to see her. Had he suspected she’d intended to confront him, force him to utter the words he’d been too cowardly to say to her face? Or had Richard himself come to her bedchamber under the cover of darkness to regain the puzzle box and the letter hidden inside? Her instincts told her no. Richard had proven himself too weak to do something as violent as strike someone-especially a man who outweighed him by at least five stone. And he’d made it perfectly clear he no longer desired her. Therefore why risk encountering her in her bedchamber? Unless he’d been spying on her and knew she’d left the house.
The questions that had plagued her since she’d received the box once again drifted through her mind. Why had Richard sent it to her? What was the significance of the letter she’d found hidden inside? Richard was a powerful man, a growing force in politics. The letter was obviously very important to him, enough that he’d entrusted it to her for safekeeping. Why?
The more she thought on the matter, the more convinced she was that Richard himself wasn’t the intruder. And that led to the question-was the culprit acting for Richard, or against him? Richard had written that she was the only one he could trust. Were the puzzle box and the letter hidden inside important to someone other than him? Were they important enough that a man would be attacked and her home ransacked? And would the intruder be back when he realized that although he’d stolen the box, he hadn’t found the letter?
She experienced a small thrill of triumph over that, but then quickly sobered. Perhaps it would have been better if the letter had been found. Anger seethed through her that someone had hurt Baxter, had violated her home, her sanctuary and had pawed through her personal possessions. If the letter had been found, then she’d no longer be involved in whatever this madness was and she could simply concentrate on her own life.