Page 21 of Mine This Winter
Aware of his disquiet, Gwendolyn came up on her elbow and looked him keenly in the eye. “I have no regrets. I invited you here. We were always destined to be lovers. We could barely keep our hands to ourselves all those years ago. Why should it be any different now?”
Her hair was a mess of dark curls, her lips swollen from their passionate kisses. She’d never looked more beautiful than she did at this moment. “A gentleman should show restraint.”
She smiled though her eyes lacked lustre. “Restraint? According to gossip, you’re a pirate and a heathen.”
He smoothed his hand over her bare buttock. Mother of all saints! He wanted her again. “Minx. We should dress before I roll on top of you and plunder you senseless.”
“A damsel alone in a cave wouldn’t put up a fight.”
Only a rake would take her again so soon. “As enticing as the thought may be, you need time to recover.”
Time was the one thing they didn’t have.
The ache in his chest returned.
Only two months ago, one of Mowbray’s men was shot whilst attempting to apprehend a suspect in Dieppe. If the spy was amongst the gentlemen attending the viscount’s Christmas festivities, he would kill to keep his identity a secret.
“I understand. I must sound like a wicked wanton.” She sounded hurt and a little embarrassed. “What must you think of me?”
He cupped her cheek. “I think you’re adorable. But there’s a reason I’m here, an important reason. If I fail in my duty to the Crown, men might die. I can’t live with that on my conscience.”
“Let me help you. I can find what you’re looking for. No one would question me inspecting the bedchambers.”
Though she made a good point, he’d not place her at risk. “It’s too dangerous. The less you know, the better.”
The determined set of her jaw said she disagreed. “You suspect Mr Payne of a crime. Why else would you rummage through his personal possessions? I can help you. I have a reason to question the men staying at Westmore.”
He stroked her hair off her cheek. “When did you become so brave?”
“Life is precarious, and we—” She froze.
The scuffle of footsteps on the pebbled beach forced Simon to sit up. He tapped his finger to his lips and lowered his voice. “Rise slowly. Dress quickly and quietly. Stay away from the cave entrance.”
Gwendolyn obeyed his instructions.
He threw on his clothes, crept to the entrance and peered out.
A lonely figure stood on the dark shore. Judging by his height and build and swathe of dark hair it had to be Lord Bancroft. The man carried a lit lantern, the flame spluttering amid the wind and light snowfall.
Seconds passed as he stared out at a desolate sea.
Was he waiting for a boat? For his French counterpart?
Only a fool would risk making the journey when the weather was volatile. Had Simon’s arrival left the lord spooked? But no one knew he worked for the Crown. Unless there was a traitor amongst the ranks.
“What the hell is he waiting for?” Simon whispered.
Gwendolyn crept up behind him and peered over his shoulder. “Is that Lord Bancroft? Why would he be outside in the dead of night?”
“Who can say?” In hindsight, perhaps it was better if Gwendolyn knew the truth. What if she accosted the lord at breakfast and invented a story about seeing him from her window? “Can I trust you?”
“I would never break a confidence.”
He’d always believed she was loyal to a fault, until her brother conspired to prove otherwise. “According to intelligence, one of the guests is a spy. There’s to be a trade. Money for a list of British agents working in France.”
She snorted. “Lord Bancroft is too dull to be a spy.”
Simon smiled at her naiveté. “It’s always those you least expect. Any one of the guests might be guilty. If I can find the list, I can save the lives of those working abroad.”
