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
“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.
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.”
“Thank you. It was a gift.”
“From your husband?”
