Page 5 of Mine This Winter
Simon continued up the stairs. “Does Lord Holmes know his butler spreads malicious gossip about the guests?”
“His lordship suggested I have a polite word with all the gentlemen present. You fit the criteria.”
Simon snorted. “His lordship might disagree.”
On a dark winter’s night five years ago, Oliver Caldwell had made his true feelings known. Then, he had been his father’s errand boy. Despite inheriting the title Viscount Holmes, he was still an arrogant arse.
“Doubtless your master had much to say about me. I’m the unwelcome intruder come to spoil the festivities.”
“Nothing one could repeat, sir.”
Simon chuckled to himself. There was one consolation to this whole sorry business. Holmes’ face had twisted into a perfect picture of outrage as he read the King’s missive. The viscount had no choice but to grant His Majesty’s request and give Simon leave to conduct an investigation.
“What a shame you didn’t adopt the same philosophy five years ago,” Simon said. Had the butler kept his mouth shut, Gwendolyn would not have been forced to change her opinion. But who was he fooling? Perhaps she had always been false-hearted. “I might have married Miss Caldwell.”
Flanders gave a nervous cough and seemed relieved they’d reached their destination. “You’ll be staying in the blue room, sir. As requested, it gives an excellent view of the garden. It’s usually reserved for special guests.”
The butler led Simon into a palatial chamber of true Elizabethan design. Luxurious blue and gold hangings adorned the huge oak tester bed. Rich, detailed tapestries covered the walls.
A maid had been to turn down the bed, light the fire and lamps.
Oddly, Simon felt more at home in a traitors’ den in France. The Caldwells might not have betrayed king and country, but they were all snakes in the grass.
Simon strode to the window, focusing on his mission and not those who deserved his contempt. “I recall there’s a stile giving access to the coastal path leading down to the beach.” It was hard to get one’s bearings when gazing at nothing but a white blanket of snow.
Mowbray was confident the villain’s fellow conspirator would arrive by sea. But few, except for experienced fishermen, would take to the water in the dead of winter.
Flanders ambled to the window. “Walk beyond the formal gardens, past the fountain to the path behind the tall topiary hedge. Be careful if you venture outdoors, sir. The path is rocky underfoot and often unstable in bad weather.”
“You almost sound like you care, Flanders.”
“I’m paid to be polite, sir.”
“Regardless of how you feel about me, I admire honesty above all things.” What a shame Gwendolyn had spun a web of lies instead of explaining how she felt. “Perhaps you might teach your employer the value of integrity.”
The butler shuffled uncomfortably, the change of atmosphere revealing the servant’s sudden unease. What had made Flanders nervous? The mention of the beach or integrity? Simon had not discounted the possibility the spy worked at Westmore.
“So I might avoid Mrs Astley’s nighttime antics, can you tell me who occupies the rooms along this corridor?” It wasn’t Gwendolyn. She had a chamber in the west wing. It probably smelled of spring roses and other female trappings. Things a man remembered when his body craved company at night. Devices used to make a man fall in love.
“I’m not at liberty to say, sir, though Mrs Astley can cover the best part of a mile when half asleep and in a state of dishabille.”
Simon chuckled. He’d make sure to keep the door to his chamber locked. That said, he planned to do a little midnight snooping himself.
Flanders withdrew.
Time ticked slowly.
Simon’s thoughts turned to Gwendolyn, and a host of questions flooded his mind. Why kiss him passionately if she found him lacking? Why insist she must marry a titled man yet remain unwed? Every fellow at Westmore sought an alliance—that’s what had made him so damn angry. So why wait five years to take the plunge? Which fop had taken her fancy? He’d kill the first man who laid a hand on her.
Damnation!
Simon rubbed his temples to ease the mounting tension.
He should have stayed in the drawing room and been friendly to the guests. How else was he to catch a spy? Yet being in Gwendolyn’s company roused all the old memories.
He craved her touch. Needed to feel her delicate hands roaming over his body. Longed to slide his tongue over her plump lips. God, he was desperate to hear her sweet pants and moans.
They’re the moans of a traitor, he reminded himself. A woman who broke bread with him, professed her love only to abandon him hours later.
