Except he wasn’t Simon Cooper.
A huff of humorless air blew past her lips, fogging the window. A viscount. Viscount. That single word had popped the happy bubble she’d stupidly allowed to form in her mind. How had she made the same mistake again? How had she fallen in love with another man she couldn’t have?
The sound of the door closing pulled her from her thoughts and she turned to discover she was alone with Simon. He rose from the settee and walked toward her. A snowy bandage encircled his head. An image of him on the floor, bleeding, flashed through her mind, and she blinked several times to dispel it.
He stopped when an arm’s length separated them. “The doctor says I can travel. I’ll be leaving for London as soon as my transportation is arranged.”
“I understand.” And she did. She just wished it didn’t hurt so damnably bad.
“I have to go, Genevieve. It is my duty. I have to report to my superiors, give the letter to our decoders-”
“You don’t have to explain any further, my lord. I know you have to go.”
He frowned and moved closer, and it took all her strength not to back away, to stand her ground when all she wanted to do was run to her bedchamber, lock herself in and pretend that today had never happened. To pretend that he was a simple steward and she was just a woman in love.
But she stood her ground, even when he reached out and clasped her hands. His gaze searched hers and she forced herself not to look away. Why shouldn’t she look her fill? It was the last time she would ever see him.
“It’s Simon, not ‘my lord,’” he said quietly. “I want you to know that this time I spent with you has been unforgettable.”
She offered him a small smile. “I won’t forget you, either…Simon.” As much as she wished otherwise.
There was no missing the relief that filled his gaze, then his eyes turned serious. “Genevieve. I want to see you again. I don’t want this to be goodbye.”
Her stomach dropped to her toes with longing-and profound regret. She slipped her hands from his and shook her head. “I’m afraid this cannot be anything other than goodbye. I’ve been a nobleman’s mistress, and it’s an arrangement I’ve no desire to repeat.” Indeed she’d vowed never to be another rich man’s plaything, to be tossed aside when he tired of her. And given Simon’s position in society, that’s all she could ever be to him. “Continuing our physical relationship might satisfy us both for a short time, but let’s not pretend it would last for long. My life is here, yours is in London and with your work. Eventually you’ll need to marry and produce an heir, and I’ve no desire to share my lover with another woman, even if that woman is his wife. So I’m afraid that this has to be goodbye.” She drew a deep breath and pressed on, praying her voice wouldn’t break. “I’ll always remember you fondly and hope you’ll think of me the same way. I hope the rest of your life is wonderfully happy.”
For several long seconds he said nothing, just looked at her with an unreadable expression. Finally he gave a nod. “Rest assured I shall always remember you fondly. And I hope the rest of your life is…magical.” He reached for her hands and brought them to his mouth. “My darling Genevieve. Don’t ever think you are anything less than perfect.” His breath warmed her skin, as did the gentle kiss he pressed to the backs of her fingers. Without another word he released her, then turned and quit the room. The instant the door closed behind him, the tears she’d been fighting since she’d found him bleeding on her floor spilled from her eyes.
17
THE FIRST two weeks after Simon’s departure passed in a slow parade of dreary days marked by crying jags and listless walks around the cottage. Genevieve now dreaded her daily jaunts to the springs-she couldn’t erase from her mind the torturous image of her and Simon together. If the heated water wasn’t necessary to relieve the pain in her hands, she’d never visit there again.
She tried to keep up her spirits in front of Baxter, but he wasn’t fooled, and she knew he wanted, in his words, to “break that damn viscount into tiny pieces.” She wished she could be angry with Simon, but she wasn’t. He’d offered to continue their relationship. Indeed, he’d offered her the only thing he could. She was simply going to have to set her feelings aside, put them away using the same tactics she’d employed when Richard was no longer part of her life. The problem was, while she’d found a place inside her to submerge her feelings for Richard, there simply wasn’t enough room for all the emotions, the wants and hopes and dreams Simon had inspired. Where could she possibly bury something so huge?
Fifteen days after Simon had left, a knock sounded on the door, and for several seconds Genevieve couldn’t breathe as anticipation tore through her. Had he returned? Her ridiculous hope died when Baxter admitted an older gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Lester Evans, a solicitor from London.
“I’ve a letter for you, Mrs. Ralston,” Mr. Evans said, withdrawing an envelope from his waistcoat pocket. Genevieve froze at the sight of the maroon wax seal. It was Richard’s crest. “I represented Lord Ridgemoor’s interests for many years. He gave me this letter a year ago, instructing me to deliver it to you personally in the event of his death. I’m more sorry than I can say to be carrying out that wish. Should you have any questions or wish to contact me before I depart for London tomorrow morning, I’ll be staying in the village, at the Sheepshead Inn.”
Mystified, Genevieve watched him return to his elegant carriage, then she retired to her bedchamber. Sitting on the wing chair before the fire, she broke the wax seal and unfolded the single sheet of ivory vellum with hands that weren’t quite steady.
My darling Genevieve,
Since the day I ended our arrangement, it has been my greatest hope to someday see you again, to stand in front of you and to give you these words in person. I’m sorry you’re receiving them this way, through this letter. But under the circumstances, this unfortunately is the only way.
I’ve always prided myself on telling the truth, which made it so difficult to lie to you. And lie to you I did, when I told you I no longer wanted you. Genevieve, I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you, a beautiful young woman whose paintings touched my heart. I’ve loved you since the first time I touched you, a love I’ve never felt for another person. I know I hurt you when I ended our arrangement so abruptly and I can only say that doing so nearly killed me and filled me with a pain that has lived with me every moment since. But it had to be done. Threats had been made against me, and I realized that, given my feelings for you, you would be in danger. Certainly you would be the perfect weapon for my enemies to use against me-I’d give up anything for you, including my life, in a heartbeat, and I couldn’t allow them to know that.
So I cut you from my life to guarantee your safety. I could stand being injured myself, but couldn’t bear to think of any harm coming to you. Knowing your feelings for me, knowing the caring, loving woman you are, I had to push you away irrevocably, sever the tie between us completely, and that meant in a way that would hurt you, that would snuff out your feelings for me, that would prevent you from coming to me and that, thereby, would keep you safe. I want you to know it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and only the fact that the threats against me increased afterward enabled me to stay away from you, to not travel to Little Longstone, fall to my knees before you and beg your forgiveness. But you have to know that not a day, nay, not a moment passed that I didn’t miss you, want you, love you with every breath.
While I can no longer ensure your physical well-being, I can guarantee your financial well-being. Toward that end, I have established an account in your name at the Bank of England, the details of which Mr. Evans, my solicitor, can help you with, along with giving you any other assistance you might require. I wish I could do more. And I wish I could be with you. Now. Always.