Page 27 of Mine This Winter
No wonder the woman was so quiet around company.
Gwendolyn’s excited smile died. Any joy she felt for Miss Netherwell was surely overshadowed by the fact Bancroft was not the traitor. Indeed, all suspicion reverted to her brother.
Simon silently cursed.
If Oliver was found guilty of treason, Gwendolyn would be ruined. Not that it mattered. Simon would marry her regardless. The world was a big place, and he had no real ties to Whitehaven.
“You’ll not mention this meeting to anyone.” Simon loomed over Pope to ensure he took the order seriously. “Once Miss Caldwell confirms the girl is a willing participant, you may go ahead as planned.”
Pope blinked in surprise. “And if she’s not?”
“I’ll deal with Bancroft, and you shall have the sovereigns for your silence.”
Pope agreed, and they left him nursing his aching leg.
“I doubt Mr Pope can row seven yards, let alone seven miles,” Gwendolyn said. “Still, one must commend Lord Bancroft for wanting to rescue Miss Netherwell from her scandalous sister.”
“I pray his affections are genuine, and he’s not out to make a hasty escape with the list.” Simon scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed. He’d dealt with more complicated cases, always when his heart was filled with anger, not when it thumped wildly with love. “We must return to Westmore. I shall question Bancroft while you speak to Miss Netherwell.”
Gwendolyn inhaled deeply. “Afterwards, we’ll confront Oliver together.”
Simon reached for her hand and entwined their fingers. “I suspect he will do everything he can to drive us apart.” No man wanted to live with a constant reminder of his mistakes.
“Oliver won’t ruin my life a second time.”
Despite the cold, they strolled back to the house. Gwendolyn hugged his arm. When their passions overwhelmed them, they stopped to kiss behind the broad trunk of an oak tree.
They kissed again before parting at Westmore’s gates.
He watched Gwendolyn walk up the long drive. Love for her consumed him. Yet a deep sense of trepidation warned him not to count his blessings.
Before tackling Lord Bancroft, Simon went in search of Oliver Caldwell. He’d not let the bastard upset Gwendolyn, and the viscount would not discuss his mistress with his sister present.
He knocked on the study door and was met with silence.
The lord wasn’t in the drawing room or library.
“His lordship asked me to give you this note, sir,” Flanders said when Simon sought him out.
Simon snatched the note from the silver salver and broke the seal. Oliver wished to meet him on the beach and advised he bring his pistol. It wouldn’t be the first time Simon had stared down a loaded barrel or been threatened at gunpoint by a madman. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be the last.
Even so, he did not race upstairs to fetch a weapon. The quickest way to defuse the situation was to arrive unarmed. For all his faults, Oliver would not court dishonour.
Simon headed to the beach. Gwendolyn was probably questioning Miss Netherwell, and he would not alarm her unnecessarily.
The lord was pacing the shore like a caged animal, a pistol evident in his right hand. “I should have shot you the moment you arrived at Westmore.” The wind whipped at his ebony locks. “You’ve ruined my sister in the most despicable fashion and deserve to pay with your life.”
Simon remained calm and raised his hands in surrender. “I love Gwendolyn and mean to marry her, with or without your blessing. You’ve stolen five years. You’ll not steal a day more.”
“Lying bastard.” The lord’s growl of frustration mirrored the angry rush of the sea. “Does she know you have a wife? I have the proof of it here.” He dragged a note from his pocket, the paper fluttering amid the wild gusts. “You left this in your bedchamber. A letter to your dearly beloved.”
What the devil!
“You know damn well I’ve never married. You obviously wrote that to turn Gwendolyn against me.” Or to give him a justifiable reason to shoot. “She knows about your plans to marry your French mistress. She read the letter hidden in your bedchamber.”
The lord jerked his head. “What letter? I don’t have a mistress.”
“The gossips beg to differ. Mrs Astley told everyone at breakfast. You invited people for the Christmas season to marry off Gwendolyn and be rid of her. If you don’t believe me, gather the guests and ask them yourself.”
