Touch Me

“Tell me how you know about that,” she said, her voice not quite steady.

And so he told her. All of it. Of Waverly’s plot to kill Ridgemoor and frame Simon for the crime. Of Ridgemoor’s last words. Of Simon confiding in Waverly and being granted the time to clear his name. Of renting the cottage. Repeatedly searching her home. Of her almost catching him that first time. She listened to all of it in complete silence, her gaze never moving from his, only growing bleaker until, when he finished, she simply stared at him with eyes that resembled two flat stones.

A full minute of the loudest silence he’d ever heard swelled between them. He wanted so badly to touch her, but he knew, knew she’d pull away from him. And he also knew that would break whatever small piece of his heart still remained intact.

“Richard is dead,” she finally said in a voice as flat as her expression.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I know you cared for him.”

“You knew all along that I wasn’t a widow. That I’d been his mistress.”

“Yes.”

“You befriended me, flirted with me, spent time with me, seduced me-all to get the letter.”

“No-”

She held up her hand to halt his words. The emptiness in her eyes was gone, replaced with a combination of pain, anger and betrayal that twisted his heart. “Do not lie to me again, Simon.”

“I’m not lying. I admit that’s why I came here and why I initially sought you out. But once I met you…you weren’t what I expected. Genevieve, what we shared together, it’s all been real.”

Her eyes blazed at him and an incredulous sound escaped her. “Real? It’s been based on nothing but lies! If you wanted the damn letter so badly, why didn’t you simply ask me for it?”

He didn’t immediately answer, and he saw the realization dawn in her widening eyes. “Dear God, you didn’t ask me because you thought I might have been in some way connected to Richard’s death.”

“I couldn’t ignore the possibility.”

“So not only were you willing to seduce me for the letter, you did so believing I might have been either directly or indirectly responsible for my former lover’s murder.” The sound she made reverberated with disbelief. “These are actions you can be proud of?”

Without thinking, he reached for her hand. She jerked away as if he’d burned her, and his hand fell to his side. “I couldn’t tell you the truth at first. All I knew of you was contained in the last desperate words of a dying man, words you cannot deny were more incriminating than exonerating. All I can tell you is that every moment I spent in your company served to convince me of your innocence.”

“Yet still, you did not tell me the truth. Or ask me for the letter.”

“I’d planned to do so as soon as I returned to the cottage this morning.”

Another bitter sound. “Because you weren’t able to find it after spending the night searching my home. And pawing through my personal belongings. Again.”

He could think of ways to pretty up that bald statement, but what was the point? She was correct. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “As for seducing you…I want you to know that my mission and the letter were the last things on my mind when we were together. And that I…care for you.”

The fire in her eyes extinguished like a snuffed-out candle. “‘Care for me,’” she repeated in an utterly bleak tone. “Yes. That is obvious.”

A sensation very close to panic gripped him. He had to make her understand. “Genevieve, I was trying to capture a murderer, a man, it turns out, who was a threat not only to me and you, but to England as well. I was going to tell you as soon as I could. I never meant to hurt you.”

But he had. Hurt oozed from her like blood from a wound. And even if she forgave him, he knew she’d never forget. Or look at him with that same care he’d seen when he first opened his eyes. He tried to remind himself that in a mere few hours, as soon as he could travel, he’d be on his way to London. He’d never see her again. But instead of that reminder making him feel better, it only served to make his heart feel as if it had been ripped in two.

Her only reply was to rise, moving as if her limbs weighed an enormous amount. Then she turned her back to him and slowly headed toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

She paused, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’m going to get you your letter. After all, it’s the reason you’re here.”

Simon watched her climb the stairs with labored steps. After she had disappeared from view, he struggled to his feet, resting his hand against the wall and closing his eyes to combat the waves of dizziness that hit him. When he opened his eyes he saw the folded piece of paper he’d offered to Waverly-the piece of paper that had saved him. Taking care not to keel over, he picked up the paper square and slipped it back into his pocket. By the time Genevieve rejoined him, he’d regained his equilibrium.

She stood in front of him, holding a gilt-edged frame. Her eyes remained expressionless, as if she’d pulled a curtain over her emotions. “Richard sent a note along with the box-a note I destroyed per his request-indicating he would come for it soon. Even though months had passed since we’d been together, the way he’d dismissed me still rankled, as did the fact that he took another mistress almost immediately, a very young, very beautiful woman. He didn’t even have the decency to tell me face-to-face that he wished to end our arrangement. Instead he merely sent me a note.”

Her lips pressed together briefly, then she continued, “I knew the box had to be of great importance and I was determined that he’d face me when he retrieved it. It took me hours to figure out the combination, but when I did, I discovered the letter inside. I suspected anywhere I tried to hide it would be discovered, just as I suspected Richard would try to retrieve the box and its contents without seeing me. I resolved to thwart him. Therefore, I hid the letter in plain sight by slipping it into an old picture frame and hanging it on my bedchamber wall, among all my other artwork and replicas of favorite poems.” She held out the frame. “Here you are.”

Simon took the frame and stared at the handwritten letter pressed beneath the glass and a swell of admiration hit him. “Very clever. I saw this hanging in your bedchamber-saw it, yet didn’t really see it.” He read the words, which appeared to be nothing more than a rather boring account of a day spent in the country, and his jaw tightened. “It’s in code, as I suspected it would be. But according to Ridgemoor’s last words, its message will prove Waverly’s guilt and my innocence. Which means I owe you my life. For this and for tending to me after I was shot. Thank you, Genevieve.”

A flicker of warmth broke through the blankness in her eyes. “You’re welcome. I…I hate that you lied to me, and I cannot deny I feel tricked. But since I’ve told many lies myself, I’m not precisely in a position to judge. I understand you only did what you believed you had to.”

His gaze searched hers. “Do you? I hope so, because when we were together…you have my word I wasn’t using you. You need to know that however this began, it changed course very quickly and became…something more.”

“Yes, I suppose it did.” Her gaze flicked to the frame. “I’m glad you have what you came for.”

Encouraged by her words and that miniscule flash of warmth, he moved a step closer to her. His heart jumped with hope when she didn’t back away. There was only one thing left to tell her, but surely if she could forgive him the other, larger transgressions, the fact that he’d omitted his title was a miniscule offense. “There’s one more thing you should know about me, a very small thing, actually.”

She appeared to brace herself. “What is it?”

“To protect my identity, I affected a slight change to my surname. It is actually Cooperstone.”

She considered, then nodded. “Understandable, especially as there is a noble family that bears that same name.”

“Yes, I know.” He made her a formal bow. “Simon Cooperstone, Viscount Kilburn, at your service.”

He wasn’t certain what reaction he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t the dawning horror that bloomed on her face. The small amount of color she’d regained leeched from her cheeks, leaving her chalk-white. “You’re a viscount.” She said the word as if it harbored a contagious disease.

“Yes.” Bloody hell, she looked as if she were going to swoon. “Um, allowing for some understandable annoyance due to the deception, wouldn’t most people think that’s good news?”

“I’m afraid I’m not most people,” she said in a barely audible voice.