Before he could say anything further, the door burst open. Baxter strode into the foyer, followed by a bespectacled man with gray hair carrying a black leather medical satchel, and a tall gentleman with an official air. Genevieve appeared to have gathered herself and performed the introductions. When she said his name and title, Baxter gaped at him.
“Viscount?” he repeated. “Yer a bloody
Damn it, the man made it sound as if a
The look Baxter shot him made it clear he’d like to murder him with his bare hands. Given the oppressive guilt weighing him down and the incessant pounding in his head, Simon wasn’t entirely opposed to letting him, although he was at a loss to explain this unprecedented reaction to his title, which, even though he hadn’t been honest about it, still seemed extreme.
He waded into the awkward silence and quickly told the magistrate what had occurred, giving him only the pertinent facts. After the magistrate and doctor verified that Waverly was, indeed, dead, Dr. Bailey asked Genevieve where he could examine Simon. She led them both to the sitting room while the magistrate, with Baxter’s assistance, saw to the removal of Waverly’s body.
Simon sat on the settee, his gaze fastened on Genevieve who stared out the window while Dr. Bailey examined his wound. He answered the doctor’s questions by rote. No, he no longer felt nauseated or dizzy. Yes, his vision was fine. No, nothing other than his head hurt.
Well, that and his heart, which ached as if it had taken a lead ball dead center.
“How soon before I can travel?” Simon asked, wincing a bit as the doctor applied a salve to his wound.
“You were merely grazed, my lord-it bled a great deal as head wounds do, but except for the lump on your temple you escaped unscathed. Therefore, I’d say you can depart Little Longstone as soon as you like, although I’d recommend traveling by coach rather than on horseback.”
“Is there a livery in town where I can secure a carriage?”
“Yes. I pass right by it on my way home. Would you like me to see to it for you?”
“Yes, thank you. I need to return to London as soon as possible.”
Yes, he did. Which meant leaving Little Longstone…and Genevieve. Given the way she’d looked at him, she clearly wanted him gone. That was good. His life was in London. His job was in London. The sooner he left, the better.
His gaze remained on Genevieve, who continued to stare out the window while Dr. Bailey wrapped a linen bandage around his head. Bloody hell, she was so lovely. And she looked so lonely, standing there by herself. He ached to walk to her, take her in his arms. Would she allow him to? Based on her previous reaction, he doubted it. Indeed, she was more likely to whack him upside his head, which would completely finish him off. And if it didn’t, Baxter would no doubt be delighted to do so.
He had to leave. She had to stay. He would never forget her, but their time together was over.
And surely, after the passage of some time, the raw edge of hurt sawing at him would fade away.
Surely it would.
GENEVIEVE stared out the sitting room as the words Simon had just spoken to Dr. Bailey echoed through her mind.
She squeezed her eyes shut. A viscount. Just another nasty jolt in a morning filled with them. First, thinking he would die. Then, realizing she loved him. Then, the muscle-loosening relief when he regained consciousness, followed by the foolish hope that maybe, somehow, they wouldn’t have to say goodbye. That perhaps he’d come to care for her as she cared for him.
Finally, she’d listened to his admissions. All those lies. The heartbreak. The numbness. The disintegration of dreams she’d barely had time to acknowledge before they were snatched away. As much as she hated that he’d lied to her, she couldn’t deny his reasons were valid. He didn’t know her. Didn’t know he could trust her. He’d done what was necessary to stop a killer-the man who’d murdered Richard-to save himself and other people.
The thought that he’d seduced her to gain access to her home, to the letter, filled her with a combination of hurt and fury that had made it hard to draw a breath. But his assurances that what may have started out that way had turned into something more…her heart had latched on to that, rekindling a spark of hope that his earlier words had extinguished.
So what had she done? Like a fool, she’d begun to hope again. Hope that they could, somehow, find a way to be together; build a life together. Her imagination had taken flight, weaving a happy ending that involved the two of them, standing before the vicar, taking vows to love and cherish. Genevieve Ralston, anonymous author, and Simon Cooper, operative for the Crown.
Except he wasn’t Simon Cooper.
A huff of humorless air blew past her lips, fogging the window. A viscount.
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
