Touch Me (8 page)

Her brows rose. “On the basis of your looks alone, I’m certain you don’t lack for attention.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“I’m not looking for attention.”

“You think I am?”

“Aren’t all men?”

He laughed. “So…you think me handsome?” he asked in a teasing tone.

She laughed. “Heavens, I’ve never known anyone to fish for compliments with less subtlety.”

“I was merely making certain I understood your meaning.”

“You understood perfectly.”

“In that case, thank you. And allow me to return the compliment. You are—” his gaze wandered over her and all the relaxation he’d briefly achieved vanished in what felt like an engulfment of steam; he raised his gaze back to hers and once again he felt himself drowning in those eyes “—exquisite.”

His words, or perhaps his obvious desire, or perhaps both, clearly flustered her. Instead of acknowledging either, she said, “I can only conclude that the reason you don’t have a wife is because you haven’t wanted one.”

Which was absolutely true. Yet, hearing her say it unreasonably irked him. “Perhaps it’s because I haven’t
fallen in love.” That was certainly true—he never had. And even though he’d never allowed himself to become emotionally entangled due to the secretive nature of his spy work for the Crown, he suddenly realized he hadn’t had to put forth much effort to avoid it. He’d yet to meet a woman who affected him in more than a superficial, fleeting way.

She studied him for several seconds, her clear blue eyes searching his, and he wished he knew what she was thinking. Finally she asked, “You’ve never been in love?”

“No. Have you?”

Her expression turned cool. “You ask this of a woman who was married?”

“I meant no offense. But you cannot deny that not all marriages are based on love.”

“No, I suppose they’re not.”

“What was your husband’s name?”

She hesitated, then said softly, “Richard.”

Her answer was precisely what he had suspected she’d say. Richard was Lord Ridgemoor’s Christian name. Simon was beginning to believe that there never had been a Mr. Ralston. Only her lover, Ridgemoor, whom she had clearly loved. And who, based on her reactions, had cast her aside. Did she have any idea that her former lover was dead? Certainly she would know if she was in any way involved in his death.

“You loved him very much.” It wasn’t a question.

She pulled her gaze from his and looked down at her lap, but not before he detected the sheen of tears in her eyes. Tears of sorrow for losing the man she loved—or tears of guilt, for complicity in his death?

“Yes,” she whispered. “I loved him.”

The heartfelt sincerity in her words, her tone, unex
pectedly touched Simon in a way he didn’t quite understand. Reaching out, he gently laid one of his hands on her tightly clasped ones. “I’m sorry.”

She went perfectly still for several seconds. Then a shudder seemed to rack her entire body. She snatched her hands from beneath his and abruptly stood. “I must go,” she said, her voice agitated.

Simon rose. “Are you all right?” he asked. Ridiculous question. It was obvious something was amiss, yet he didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m fine. I simply recalled a previous engagement, one to which I’m already late. Thank you for the outing. Good day, Mr. Cooper.” With that she turned and strode quickly away from him.

Simon’s first impulse was to go after her, but he forced himself not to. Instead he watched her melt into the crowd.

He didn’t believe for a minute that there was a previous engagement, so what had sent her fleeing from him? Grief? Or perhaps guilt over her lost love? Or was it his touch that had sent her away? His guess was the latter, which then begged the question why. That gentle touch couldn’t have hurt her, yet she’d fled as if he’d burned her. Had that brief connection affected her the same way it had him—filling him with a deep hunger for more? Or was it aversion that had her running away? She clearly shied away from touching, no doubt because of whatever the problem was with her hands.

Simon blew out a sigh and slowly sat back down to await Benjamin’s return with Beauty. Genevieve Ralston inspired far too many questions—questions that would be damned difficult to answer under the best of circumstances. To make matters worse, the lady wasn’t being honest with him. Certainly she hadn’t been forth
coming about her past, although he couldn’t blame her for not telling him she’d spent ten years as a nobleman’s mistress. Or that she’d authored the most scandalous book of the decade.

Nor could he throw any stones, given the glass house in which he dwelled. He certainly hadn’t been honest with her about who he was or why he was in Little Longstone. Given his suspicions regarding her and the number of lies he’d been forced to tell over the years, this shouldn’t have bothered him. Yet it did.

He heaved a weary sigh. He needed to bury his conscience and concentrate on finding that damn letter, getting it back to London and into Waverly’s hands, so that together they could clear Simon’s name.

Still…how would it feel to tell someone the unvarnished truth? A humorless sound escaped him. It had been so long since he’d done so, he couldn’t recall. But he imagined it would be…liberating.

Of course he couldn’t, wouldn’t consider saying or doing anything that could jeopardize his mission. Still, he idly wondered what her reaction would be if he were honest with her. What if he told her he was a spy for the Crown? That his true surname was Cooperstone? And that he wasn’t a steward but a viscount? The spy revelation would no doubt shock her, as it would his acquaintances, friends and family. Very few people knew about his secret life. As for his exalted title—would he see the same flicker of greed he observed in so many other women’s eyes? That glimmer of assessment as they calculated how much they could get from him? A bracelet? A necklace? A proposal?

Before he could ponder the question further, an odd chill stole over him—a sensation he well recognized after spending eight years in the spy game.

He was being watched.

He scanned the crowd, but saw nothing amiss. No one’s attention appeared fixed on him. Keeping his movements casual, he rose and glanced around. Hundreds of people milled about, none of whom he recognized, none of whom seemed the least interested in him. Yet he felt the weight of someone’s eyes on him. And he sensed danger.

No one except his butler knew he was here, and he’d sworn Ramsey to secrecy. He looked around again, but the feeling of danger faded, convincing him that whoever had been watching him was no longer nearby. Every instinct screamed that whoever it was had to be connected to the letter he sought, which made Simon’s mission even more urgent. He needed to find that letter—before someone else did.

G
ENEVIEVE
paced the length of her bedchamber, pausing at the window to stare down at her garden. Moonlight bathed the gravel paths winding between the hedges and plants. Usually the sight calmed her, but not tonight. Her thoughts had been in turmoil ever since she’d walked away from Mr. Cooper this afternoon after they’d chatted and laughed together, after he’d flirted with her, and she’d flirted back.

After he’d touched her.

Genevieve closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cool glass, recalling the unforgettable sensation of his fingertips brushing over her shoulder. So light a caress to inspire such heat within her. She should have left then. But she’d been enjoying his company and the admiration and want in his eyes. It had been so long since she’d been desired, felt desirable. It had been so long since she’d experienced the longing tug, the yearning of sensual need. So, instead of listening to her better judgment, she’d simply shifted away from his touch and stayed, basking in his attention.

But then he’d laid his hand over hers, and she’d frozen, shocked by the unexpected touch. No one had touched her hands in a year. Fear had momentarily paralyzed her. Could he feel the swollen joints beneath her
gloves? Did he know the ugliness that marred her? Would the disfigurement that had caused Richard to reject her affect him similarly? The warmth of his hand over hers penetrated the soft leather, melting her fear with a fire that seemed to engulf her, filling her with the overwhelming need to touch him in return, feel his hands on her, and hers on him. Those unwanted, dangerous needs would ultimately only lead to hurt and rejection. And she’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.

But then why,
why
couldn’t she banish this man from her thoughts? Why could she not rid her mind of the unwanted fantasies he inspired? She pictured herself coming naked to his bed…of having him naked in hers. Kissing, touching, exploring—her hands were perfect as they glided over his body. She should be sleeping in her own bed right now, not pacing the floor with her skin on fire and her heart beating in rapid, hard punches against her ribs. She pressed her thighs together to relieve the insistent ache between her legs, but the friction only served to frustrate her further.

There was only one way to relieve the tension gripping her—a soak in the hot springs. She lifted her head and glanced at the mantel clock. It was just after midnight, but that didn’t matter. She often visited the springs late at night, when the pain in her hands prevented her from sleeping. Tonight she suffered from a different sort of ache, one she hoped a good soaking would diminish.

She kicked off her slippers, replacing them with sturdier boots, then she grabbed the small pistol she kept hidden in her wardrobe. She’d never been threatened in any way, either by a person or an animal during her nocturnal visits to the springs, but better to be careful
than sorry. She hurried down the stairs and pulled her cloak from the brass rack by the door. After donning the garment and slipping the pistol in the pocket, she silently left the house. Not that silence was needed. Baxter’s quarters occupied the far corner of the cottage, and he always slept as if he’d been hit on the head with an anvil. Just as well; she knew he would strenuously object to her visiting the springs at night alone. Still, what he didn’t know, he couldn’t worry about.

The moon provided a bright, silvery light, but she could have navigated the familiar route through the thick copses of trees without it. She breathed in the cool, crisp air and immediately felt a layer of tension slide from her shoulders. After a brisk five-minute walk, she arrived. Surrounded on three sides by an outcropping of rocks that provided privacy, the circular spring wasn’t large, no more than eight feet in diameter, the water only deep enough to reach her shoulders. A submerged natural ledge curved around a three-foot section close to the rocks, providing a perfect seat. Genevieve shed her gloves, cloak, robe and boots, leaving her clad only in a chemise. After setting her pistol within easy reach next to her bundle of clothing, she stepped down into the heated water.

She settled herself on the stone seat and breathed out a long, satisfied
aaaahhhh
as the bubbling warmth surrounded her. The heat brought instant relief to her hands which she slowly flexed, and after several minutes the tightness in her limbs gave way to a delicious languor. Her eyes slid closed and she concentrated on emptying her mind of everything save the soothing sensation of the water lapping around her. Unfortunately, images of exactly what she was desperately trying to forget rose
in her mind’s eye…Mr. Cooper. Joining her at the springs. His green eyes devouring her as he entered the water. His body pressed against hers, relieving all the throbbing aches he inspired.

With a groan, Genevieve spread her legs and pulled up her chemise to her waist. The bubbling water caressed her exposed, aroused sex, but it wasn’t enough to alleviate her discomfort. She skimmed one hand over her stomach, between her thighs and separated her swollen folds, while her other hand cupped her breast. With a deep sigh, she imagined it was his hands bringing her pleasure, circling, fondling, tugging, rubbing, delving. A low moan escaped her and her head fell back. She spread her legs wider and raised her hips, desperately seeking the relief that remained just out of reach. She was a single breath away from her climax when she heard a loud crashing in the underbrush, followed by a string of curses uttered in a deep, masculine voice.

Her eyes popped open. She saw no one in the surrounding woods, but the voice was close by. Heart pounding, she reached for her pistol.

“Bloody hell, come back here.” The man’s call broke through the trees, followed by the blur of an animal. A heartbeat later a tall figure skidded to a stop at the small clearing containing the spring. Indeed, he halted barely before he would have fallen into the water.

“What the devil—”

Clearly the intruder saw her pistol because his words cut off and he slowly raised his hands. Genevieve looked up to where he stood illuminated in a streak of silvery moonlight and was about to inform him that she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him if he came any closer when recognition hit her.

“Mr. Cooper?”

Her relief that it wasn’t some stranger or footpad was quickly tempered by the heat that flooded her. Dear God, she’d just been fantasizing about him, thoughts that had left her teetering on the brink of orgasm. Now here he stood, looking tall and strong and masculine, slightly disheveled and far too delicious by half.

At the sound of his name his gaze snapped up from the pistol to her face. And he blinked. “Mrs. Ralston. What are you doing here?”

Genevieve’s brows shot upward. “I believe that’s what I should ask you, seeing as you’re trespassing on my property.”

“And I’ll be delighted to tell you—as soon as you put down your weapon. Unless you plan to shoot me?”

“You’re fortunate I didn’t.”

Now his brows rose. “Do you know how to use that thing?”

She smiled sweetly. “Perfectly. Would you care for a demonstration?”

“Ah, no. Happy to take your word for it. Now if you wouldn’t mind…” He gave the pistol a pointed look then jerked his head toward the rim of the spring.

“You seem a bit unsettled, Mr. Cooper.”

“Do I? No doubt because I’m surprised. I wasn’t anticipating having a pistol pointed at me.” His gaze swept over her. “Or running across a wet, naked woman.”

Heat that had nothing to do with the warm water rippled through Genevieve. Raising her chin she informed him, “I’m not naked.”

“How…unfortunate.” He gave the pistol another pointed stare. “I assure you that weapon isn’t necessary.”

She slowly set the pistol aside, fighting her reluctance
to do so. Even though she didn’t believe he meant her any harm, releasing the cool metal rendered her vulnerable, especially given her lack of clothing and the fact that she was up to her shoulders in water.

After placing the weapon next to her pile of clothing, she quickly submerged her hands and glared up at him, anger replacing her surprise. “You nearly startled me out of my skin. What are you doing here?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you spying on me?”

“No.” His gaze skimmed over her, lingering for several seconds on the swell of her breasts visible above the bubbling water before returning to her eyes. “Although had I known I’d make such a delightful discovery, I would have—”

“Spied
on me?” she asked in her most scathing voice.

“Arrived here sooner.”

His quiet words hung in the air between them, momentarily stealing Genevieve’s ability to speak. If he’d arrived any sooner, or with any sort of stealth, he would have seen her pleasuring herself. Her nipples hardened at the thought and she scooted down a bit lower.

“You still haven’t explained your presence, Mr. Cooper.” Botheration, instead of sounding annoyed, she sounded absolutely breathless.

“Beauty,” he said, nodding toward the edge of the spring. Genevieve turned. His mischievous puppy stood next to her pile of clothing, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Upon hearing her name, Beauty barked twice.

“That beast has run me all over Little Longstone,” Mr. Cooper said. “She managed to chew through her lead and led me on a merry chase that brought me here.”

As he spoke, Beauty let out a huge yawn, circled
twice, then settled herself atop Genevieve’s clothing and closed her eyes.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Mr. Cooper said, his voice half amused, half aggravated. “I’ve trotted over half the kingdom trying to catch up with that imp, and
now
she decides to take a nap.” He shot the sleepy puppy an exasperated look. “Why couldn’t you have decided to do this several miles ago?”

Genevieve pressed her lips together to suppress her amusement. “Exercise is good for both the body and the spirit, Mr. Cooper.”

“Yes, in the morning or afternoon. Or even the early evening. At midnight, however, it is merely an aggravation.” He scowled at his pet who’d already fallen asleep, then shifted his attention back to Genevieve. “Would you like a dog?”

She laughed at his disgruntled tone. “No, thank you. If I brought home a puppy, I’m certain Sophia would be most displeased.”

“Would you like to trade pets?”

“I’m almost tempted to agree just to call your bluff. You adore that puppy and you know it.”

“
Now
I do. She’s an angel when she’s sleeping.”

“What happened to the man who enjoyed a challenge?”

“He’s right here—out of breath from all the running he’s done after that mischievous beast…and looking at you.” He moved to the edge of the spring and crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees. “And what an exquisite view it is. Now it’s your turn. What are you doing here?”

“Surely that is obvious. I’m taking the waters.”

“At this time of night?” He looked around. “Alone?”

“I often take the waters at night. It helps me to sleep.
And I
was
alone—until you and Beauty crashed into the clearing.”

He lowered one arm and dipped his fingertips into the water. “Baxter isn’t nearby to protect you?”

“No.”

“As protective as he is of you, I can only assume he doesn’t know you’re here.”

“No, he doesn’t. Not that it’s any of his concern. Or yours. I have my pistol for protection. But this isn’t London, Mr. Cooper. There aren’t footpads lurking in the shadows. Indeed, this is the first time I’ve ever encountered anyone on one of my nocturnal visits.”

“So you do this often—come here at night?”

She pulled her gaze away from the oddly arousing sight of his long fingers slowly circling the surface of the water and hiked up her chin another notch. “As a matter of fact I do, yes.”

“And you came tonight because you couldn’t sleep.” His soft, husky words were a statement rather than a question.

“Yes. That and the fact that the weather is perfect for a brisk walk and a soak.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Imagining you touching me. Kissing me. Making love to me. Because the desire I feel for you is so overwhelming, I can barely think properly
. “No particular reason. I just have a great deal on my mind.”

“Something we have in common. I couldn’t sleep either. That is why I thought to take Beauty for a walk—to tire us both out.”

She arched a glance toward the sleeping dog. “It worked very well for Beauty.”

“Yes. Not so well for me.”

Silence swelled between them. His eyes glittered and his hand kept drawing those slow, hypnotic circles in the water. Genevieve had to fight to keep her breathing slow and steady under his unwavering regard. Her better judgment coughed to life, demanding she tell him to leave. Immediately. But she couldn’t seem to force the words from her suddenly dry throat. Indeed, all she could do was stare back at him. And wonder if he was experiencing this same stifling tension and profound attraction that was all but suffocating her.

His gaze flicked to his circling hand. “The water feels good. Warm.”

She nodded and forced out the only word she could manage. “Yes.”

His gaze burned into hers. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I couldn’t sleep?”

She had to swallow twice to locate her voice, and even then it only came out in a whisper. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Because of you.” He sat down on the ledge and yanked off one of his low boots. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He tossed the boot aside, peeled off his stocking, then applied himself to his other boot.

She gaped at his bare foot. She opened her mouth to speak—only to discover that her jaw was hanging open. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Telling you why I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was your face. Your smile. Your eyes. Do you have any idea how extraordinary your eyes are?”

“No—”

“They’re the most gorgeous shade of blue I’ve ever seen. Like a cloudless sky on a summer day. And those
gold flecks in them…stunning. And so expressive.” He tossed aside the second boot and stocking. “But they’re not always. Sometimes they’re frustratingly difficult to read—”