Touch Me

beatings. She wouldn’t consider letting Mother go until the debt was paid and the interest she levied was exorbitant. Although I hated to leave my mother alone there, I sought a position as a governess, but it quickly became clear that the man of the house expected me to entertain him once his wife and the children were abed. I was desperate enough to do it, to do anything to earn enough of a wage to get my mother out of that house and not have her forced to lift her skirts in back alleys at the docks. I was prepared to give in, to do what was necessary, when my mother called upon me at the house where I was employed. She told me that during the several weeks I’d been gone, she’d met a man…a kind man, a wealthy man who was a regular of one of the other girls. A man who’d admired one of my paintings. When my mother told him her daughter had painted it, he said he wished to meet me.”

“And that was the nobleman.”

She nodded. “I found him handsome and agreeable, kind and, most importantly at that point, very generous. Being with him saved me from my repulsive employer and enabled me to remove my mother from her horrid situation.”

“So you saved her as well.”

Unmistakable sorrow shadowed her eyes and she shook her head. “She died less than a year later. But at least I have the solace of knowing her final months were as comfortable as possible.”

“Did you love him?” Another question he had no right to ask, but he wanted the answer just the same.

“Not at first. But over time…yes, I grew to love him. He was very good to me. Until…” Her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped to her hands. “Until he stopped caring.”

“Do you ever see him?”

Something flickered in her eyes then she shook her head. “No. Nor do I expect to. He made it perfectly clear that he wanted no more to do with me, that our arrangement was irrevocably severed.”

Yes. Until he’d sent her the puzzle box. “Do you still love him?”

She considered, then said, “No, he effectively snuffed out that flame, although I will always be grateful for the protection he gave me, and for making it possible to help my mother. It turned out that the man I loved did not really exist-if he had, he would not have cast me aside. Yet even as I say that, I do not blame him for doing so.”

Simon barely managed to tamp down his anger. “You should blame him. His reason for abandoning you was dishonorable and selfish in the extreme.”

A humorless sound passed her lips. “I’m flattered by your outrage on my behalf, but truly, what good is a mistress if she no longer brings pleasure?”

“Any man who didn’t find you immeasurably pleasurable is blind. And a complete arse.” Her words, her manner, all cemented what he’d already known in his heart-she didn’t know Ridgemoor was dead.

Her eyes went soft, like a summer sky blurred by a gentle rain, and she gave him a tremulous smile. “Thank you.”

“What of your painting?”

“I enjoyed it for many years, but it would be too difficult now.” Her gaze flicked to her hands.

“Have you tried?”

“No. Not recently. I was afraid…”

“Afraid of what?”

“Failing. Of not being able to create anything beautiful again.” A frown creased her brow. “But now…you’ve given me hope that…” Her expression cleared and she gazed into his eyes. “Well, perhaps I’ll try it again.”

“I think you should. And I hope you do.” A memory flashed through his mind and realization hit him. “The painting in your sitting room, above the fireplace. That’s your work.”

She nodded. “Yes. It was always my favorite.”

“I can understand why. It’s extraordinary.” Just like you.

“Thank you. Simon, I want you to know…he was the only man I was ever with. Until now. Until you.”

Bloody hell, he felt as if his heart shifted in his chest. “Thank you for telling me. I know it cannot have been easy to share something so deeply personal.”

“You’re welcome.” Her gaze searched his, and once again he could see the vulnerability in her eyes. “And now that you know the truth…is today still the sort of day you’d like very much to repeat?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “You?”

“Yes.”

Her smile damn near undid him, and he cursed the fact that for today, at least, their time was nearly over. She glanced down and he followed her gaze, noting that Beauty had fallen asleep with her head resting on his boot.

“We’ve bored the dog to sleep,” she said.

“Good. Otherwise she’d be wanting to gallop down the path and I wouldn’t be able to do this.” He drew her into his arms and brushed his lips over hers. She immediately opened for him, and with a groan he sank into the kiss, his tongue exploring the silky heat of her mouth. And he prayed they would have the opportunity to enjoy another day like this before his mission and his life in London separated them.

15

SIMON STOOD in Genevieve’s sitting room and stared at the painting hung over the mantel, the painting she had created. He lifted the single candle he held, noting again the vibrant colors that seemed to jump off the canvas even in the dim light. The intriguing brush strokes. The vividness of the sea waves that were so lifelike he could almost hear them smashing against the cliffs. Was the blond woman gazing out over the water Genevieve? He found himself reaching out to touch the lone figure. In addition to her intelligence, wit, kindness, charm, beauty and sensuality, she was immensely talented. Or had been, until the problem with her hands had stolen her confidence.

With a sigh, he forced his attention back to the matter at hand and moved about the room, searching for hidden recesses in the paneling, loose bricks in the fireplace, false bottoms in the desk drawers, loose floorboards-anything that might provide a hiding place for the letter he sought, all the while fighting his frustration over the fact that he was no closer to knowing who had killed Ridgemoor than when he’d arrived in Little Longstone. Simon considered sending Waverly a message, asking if he or Miller or Albury had discovered anything that could clear his name, but he quickly discarded the idea. A message could be intercepted, and Simon wasn’t ready for his whereabouts to be known. He was certain a political foe of Ridgemoor’s had killed him, but which one? There were dozens. And Simon was running out of time. Damn it, he needed that letter.

He moved methodically through each room, concentrating on his task, but when he searched Genevieve’s bedchamber, his gaze kept straying to her bed, his imagination filled with flashing images of the two of them, limbs entwined, hands and lips exploring, bodies arching. He squeezed his eyes shut to banish the erotic mental pictures, but that only rendered them more intense. Muttering an obscenity, he purposefully shifted to face away from the bed and turned his attention to the escritoire.

After a thorough examination of the small desk failed to yield the letter, he once again opened the top drawer. His hands lingered over the handwritten pages of what he didn’t doubt was a sequel to the Ladies’ Guide. His fingers traced the tight, painstaking script, his heart squeezing in sympathy at how painful it was for her to write. It was fortunate she’d found this place, Little Longstone, where she had access to the hot spring that brought her relief. It was where she belonged. While his life was in London. Where he belonged.

His gaze dropped to a woven basket next to the desk and he bent down to retrieve a crumpled piece of paper from within. He flattened the square sheet and peered at the words, written in Genevieve’s hand.

Today’s Modern Woman must always keep her head about her when in the company of a charming, attractive gentleman. The more charming and attractive the man, the more difficult this is to accomplish, therefore concentrating on something unrelated to him, such as mentally reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy, or something tedious such as counting to one hundred can prove very useful.

A small smile tugged at his lip at the advice. She was a remarkably insightful woman. The last line was badly smudged, no doubt the reason she’d tossed the sheet away. For reasons he couldn’t explain, other than to know he