“You’re looking for trouble” came Genevieve’s voice.
Clutching his knife tighter, Simon crept forward then cautiously peered around the corner. And blinked.
Genevieve sat at the wooden table in the center of the kitchen, a plate of food and steaming teacup in front of her. Baxter stood next to her, a white apron covering the front of his clothes, his beefy fists planted on his hips. They were both staring at the floor and smiling-at Beauty, who was on her belly, inching her way toward Sophia, tail wagging, head cocked to one side, her puppy curiosity clearly wondering, “What sort of chewy treat is this?” Sophia eyeballed the encroaching dog with all the enthusiasm a princess would bestow on week-old stall-muckings.
“Yer about to get yer nose swatted, pup,” Baxter warned, his gravelly voice laced with amusement.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than one of Sophia’s paws flashed out, catching Beauty’s snout. Beauty yelped and tried to scramble away, but she couldn’t find her footing on the wood floor and landed on her stomach with her legs splayed. Clearly satisfied that she’d demonstrated who was in charge, Sophia lifted both her tail and her nose in the air, then strolled several feet away to lie down in a pool of sunlight streaming through the window. With the golden rays adoring her, she hoisted a hind leg in the air and proceeded to groom herself.
Relieved that there was no need for concern, Simon stepped into the doorway. Beauty caught sight of him and barked a greeting, then, managing to gain her feet, she darted toward him. Bending down he scooped her up and was instantly the recipient of a wealth of canine adoration, followed by whining that was obviously a report on the terrible fate that had just befallen her. He gave her a sympathetic hug, then holding her in the crook of his arm and dodging doggie kisses as best he could, he entered the kitchen.
His gaze instantly settled on Genevieve. Dressed in the same demure pale-yellow day gown she’d worn last evening, her blond hair pulled back in a simple chignon, she stole his breath. He stared at her, feeling as if he’d been punched in the heart. Her lips looked ripe and slightly kiss-swollen, yet her beautiful blue eyes offered no indication that the two of them had shared anything more than a casual conversation. That irked him, mainly because he wasn’t certain his expression was as inscrutable.
Memories of the previous night flooded his mind…hands and lips exploring, her straddling his thighs, taking him deep into her body, the sound of her moaning his name as she came apart in his arms. Then, holding her close, their limbs entwined, his lips pressed to her temple, breathing in her delicate fragrance. The profound, utter satisfaction that had washed through him-satisfaction, he sensed, that was due to more than mere sexual gratification. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so damn good. So damn…content.
Good enough apparently to fall into an uncharacteristically deep sleep. Of course, it had been a long time since he’d been so completely wrung out. Indeed, he couldn’t recall a single occasion when he had been so thoroughly exhausted by a woman. Normally he left soon after his passion was spent. Sleeping with a woman, spending the night with her, awakening with her the next morning was too…intimate. Too…serious.
Yet he’d never once thought of leaving that bed. Instead he’d held Genevieve close and fallen into a deep, restful sleep the likes of which he couldn’t recall ever experiencing. Until this woman. A woman who was now looking at him with a glimmer of humor in those bewitching blue eyes he couldn’t stop staring into.
He cleared his throat. “You’re all right?” he asked Genevieve.
“Of course she’s all right,” Baxter broke in. “I’ve been watchin’ over her while ye slept like a babe. Made her breakfast and tea. Weren’t easy considerin’ how bare yer pantry is.”
Simon shifted his gaze to Baxter, whose glare could have melted bricks. “Obviously you’re feeling better.”
Baxter grunted. “Good enough to watch over Gen without any help. So now that yer awake, we’ll be gettin’ ready to leave.”
Simon’s insides knotted at the words. He couldn’t let her go back to the cottage yet, not until he knew what sort of threat she was facing. He realized it was more than that, however. He simply didn’t want her to go. Not yet.
He opened his mouth to object, but before he could speak, Genevieve said, “I don’t think we should be in such a rush to leave, Baxter. What if whoever attacked you returns?”
Baxter cracked his knuckles. “I’ll be ready for him next time.”
“Still, I think I’d feel better staying here a while longer. That is, if Simon doesn’t object.”
“You may both stay as long as you like,” Simon assured her. Clearly she suspected the intruder would return. The only reason the bastard would do so was because he hadn’t found what he was looking for last night-something he’d discover as soon as he figured out how to open the puzzle box. Simon harbored no doubts that the letter he himself sought was exactly what the intruder was looking for. Genevieve had to know where it was, and based on her reluctance to return to her home, he’d wager it was still somewhere in the cottage.
Yet, if the letter was important enough for her to remove it from the box, why wouldn’t she bring it with her? Had she done so? He considered for several seconds, then decided no. She clearly was aware the letter was connected to the break-in-she knew the box was missing. Which meant the letter represented danger. He couldn’t see her bringing something like that here, where it could place Baxter in further harm’s way. Simon would wager all he owned that the letter remained in her cottage-in whatever fiendishly clever hiding place she’d fashioned for it.
“In fact,” he continued, “I think you’d best plan on remaining at least one more night. I also think someone should watch the cottage, in case the man does return.”
“I agree, and I volunteer,” said Baxter. “I’d like nothin’ better than to get my hands on the bastard wot hit me.”
“Excellent. I propose you take the day watch, and I’ll take the night,” Simon said to him. “That way one of us will always be with Genevieve.” It was far more likely the intruder would return at night, which would afford Simon hours of uninterrupted time to conduct his own search-a brilliant solution. Besides, Baxter would never agree to leave Genevieve alone with him all night.
Baxter turned to Genevieve. “That agreeable to you?”
She appeared relieved. “Yes, provided you both promise to be very careful.”
Baxter nodded then turned back to Simon. “It’s agreed. I’ll bring home supplies from the cottage when I return this evening so we don’t all starve. How have ye not done so already?”
“I’ve taken my meals in the village. And it’s not as if there is no food here. The pantry does contain the basics.” Not that he knew how to put them together to actually make something of them. But hell, he was certainly capable of smearing jam and honey on biscuits if he grew hungry between meals.
“Not much more than that.” Baxter’s gaze flicked to the knife Simon still held. “You plannin’ to stab someone?”
“Just a precaution. I wasn’t certain you both were safe.”
“We’re safe, and breakfast is ready.” Baxter’s gaze raked over Simon, then he crossed his meaty arms over his barrel chest. “I’ll wait ’til ye get some clothes on before I leave.”
Simon glanced down. He’d completely forgotten his state of undress. “Very well. I’ll also pen a note to the magistrate telling him about last night’s break-in. I think it best if you deliver it-that way you can give him your personal account of your attack.”
Baxter jerked his head in agreement. “I’ll visit him before I begin my watch on the cottage.”
Thanks to the fire Baxter had built in the hearth, there was hot water. Simon carried a half-filled pail back to his bedchamber with Beauty trotting at his heels. After they entered his room, Beauty promptly began chewing on his boot and he quickly washed, then shaved-an act he was by no means expert at. His valet had never so much as nicked him, a claim Simon couldn’t make. But since a steward wouldn’t employ a valet, he’d had to learn how to shave himself, and not cut his own throat while doing so.