Page 26 of Mine This Winter
The sight of him had her heart thumping hard against her ribcage. “We did, but I encountered Oliver’s wrath and had to escape the house.” She paused—her loyalty conflicted. Despite her brother’s treachery, how could she betray him? “You should avoid returning to Westmore. Oliver may call you out. He may look for a reason to get rid of you.”
“To call me out is to call out the King,” he said as they strode towards the harbour. “It would be considered treason.”
“Not if he lays the blame at your door. He’ll say you ruined me.” Like a trapped bird, panic fluttered in her throat. “Perhaps you could stay at Whitney Grange for a night or two.”
Simon gave a mocking snort. “I’ll not flee like a coward. Besides, according to Mrs Astley, Oliver has a French mistress. A mistress whose brother was killed by a naval officer. A British officer.”
Lord have mercy!
Could matters get any worse?
“I found Myrtle in my brother’s chamber, looking for proof he’s a spy. I wonder if that’s why she was cleaning his study late last night.” Gwen relayed her conversation with Myrtle. “Oliver may not be a loyal brother, but he is loyal to his country.”
Simon brought her to a halt and faced her. “After what he did to me, to us, I’ll never trust the devil again.”
Gwen hung her head. It came down to a choice. Her kin or the man she loved. “You must do what you think is right. You have my blessing and my full support. I’ll not give you cause to doubt me.”
Simon glanced around the deserted street before kissing her on the lips. “I know now is not the right time to speak from the heart, but for the first time in years, I fear what tomorrow will bring.”
She drew her hand from her muff and cupped his cold cheek. “People conspired to keep us apart once before.” If she lost him again, life would not be worth living. “It’s best to leave nothing unsaid.”
Regardless of the public setting, he wrapped his muscular arms around her. “I’m in love with you, Gwendolyn. I’ve always been in love with you. I will always be in love with you.”
Tears welled. His love was all she wanted, all she had prayed for. No amount of sadness or regret would spoil this moment. “I have never stopped loving you, Simon. I love you more with each breath.”
They stood on the snow-covered quay, Mr Pope’s establishment in their sights, but they only had eyes for each other.
“I promise no one will keep us apart again.” As the words left Gwen’s lips, a thought gnawed at her confidence.
A traitor lurked in the shadows.
Someone capable of tearing their world in two.
CHAPTER 9
With a disgruntled mumble, Pope led them to his private quarters above the boathouse. A small fire crackled in the hearth, stealing the icy nip from the air. The elderly man struggled to look Simon in the eye, and his shiftiness screamed of guilt.
“What brings you from Westmore on such a bleak day?” The fellow dropped into a rickety chair and propped one leg on a stool. He rubbed his knee vigorously. “The cold squeezes the life out of old bones. Don’t expect it affects you young’uns.”
“Perhaps you should remain indoors at night,” Simon said, eager to discover the truth and put this sorry business behind him, “instead of meeting Lord Bancroft on the beach.”
A muscle in Pope’s ruddy cheek twitched. “Happen you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I never venture far from the hearth in the dead of winter.”
Simon produced the letter bearing the King’s seal. “I’m in Whitehaven on behalf of the Crown. I followed Bancroft last night and witnessed your private encounter. You may know nothing of Bancroft’s nefarious deeds, in which case, it’s in your best interests to confess all now.”
As quick as a fisherman casts out a line, Pope’s resistance faltered. His shoulders curled around his feeble frame. “He’s paying for the use of my boat. I’ve explained it’s lunacy to take to the water when there’s a storm brewing, but the man is desperate.”
“Desperate to do what?” Gwendolyn asked, her distress evident.
Doubtless she prayed her brother was innocent. That his French mistress had not persuaded him to betray his country. Simon had no such loyalty. But if he meant to marry Gwendolyn, he couldn’t be the one to send her brother to the gallows.
“He means to elope and wants me to row seven miles to Workington,” Pope said. “From there, it’s not far to the Scottish border. He said the girl is willing.”
“Elope? With whom?” Gwendolyn clutched her chest like she was the intended victim.
Pope shrugged. “A young lady staying at Westmore. She’s under the care of her sister. He’s agreed to pay me twenty sovereigns. A poor man can’t say no. Not to a nabob with deep pockets.”
Clearly, he referred to Miss Netherwell.
