Page 23 of Mine This Winter
They met her pathetic excuse for a brother in the hall. Snow covered the shoulders of the viscount’s greatcoat. The ugly purple bruise surrounding his eye made him look more like a pirate than a peer of the realm.
“Where the hell have you been?” the lord whispered between gritted teeth. “I searched the house and gardens. Walked as far as Whitney Grange. You realise you left the front door open, Garrick?”
“I’ve not visited the Grange in years,” he said, keen to avoid discussing their whereabouts. “Perhaps a vagrant forced the lock.”
“There’s a makeshift bed on the floor, blankets strewn about the place. Someone had stacked dry wood beside the fire.”
The lord’s accusatory tone roused Simon’s ire. “As I said, maybe some poor devil is merely sheltering from the storm.”
“A deserted house would be the ideal place for a lovers’ tryst.” The lord stepped closer, his nose twitching like a hound sniffing out the scent of their arousal. “Look at her. She looks like she’s been tumbled in a bloody haystack.”
“It’s snowing and blowing a gale,” Gwendolyn countered. “Mr Garrick found me on the beach and insisted on escorting me home.”
The viscount muttered a curse. “You being here, Garrick, has left everyone unsettled. I encountered Miss Netherwell wandering aimlessly along the corridor. Myrtle had taken to cleaning the study because she couldn’t sleep. I found Mrs Astley and Mr Payne drinking port in the library. Both were keen to know why you’ve come to Whitehaven.”
“I trust you put your duty to the Crown before your need to feed the gossips.” Simon considered the man who had lied to his family. Oliver Caldwell was a consummate actor. Perhaps he was the spy and wished to cast suspicion elsewhere.
Simon made a mental note to search the lord’s desk. He would only mention it to Gwendolyn if he found proof of her brother’s duplicity.
Gwendolyn stifled a yawn. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed. It’s been a day full of shocking revelations. Doubtless the guests would be appalled to know you’re not what you seem.”
Despite her brother’s plea to discuss the matter privately, she whirled around and marched upstairs.
“My work abroad taught me an important lesson,” Simon said, feeling contempt, not pity for the pathetic lord. “A man cannot escape his transgressions. The past always comes back to haunt him.”
CHAPTER 8
Gwen was the first down to breakfast. Partly because she had not slept a wink last night. It had nothing to do with the aches and pains from making love on a sandy bed. Or the way her heart still raced at the memory. Nothing to do with nerves. She would steal into the King’s chamber if it meant finding the list and preventing Simon getting hurt.
No. Oliver was the cause.
After his treachery, how could she continue to live at Westmore?
How could she play hostess for a man she didn’t respect?
The alternative proved bleak.
She stared at the floral pattern on the plate while nibbling her toast. How quickly one’s illusions could be shattered. One could spend their life with someone and wake to find they were living with a stranger.
“I’m surprised to seeyouup bright and early.” With a ravenous glint in her eyes, Mrs Astley examined the breakfast buffet. “You were out well past midnight.” She loaded a china plate with cake rather than eggs and ham. “I believe Mr Garrick’s room was empty, too.”
Ordinarily, Gwen would feign ignorance and change the subject, but she had grown tired of being lectured by hypocrites.
“I’m surprisedyouhad time to notice. I heard you plotting with Mr Payne in the corridor. I saw you kissing him in the garden.”
“Touché, my dear.” Women like Mrs Astley thrived on being rebellious. “Why remain indoors when there’s pleasure to be had elsewhere?”
Gwen waited for Mrs Astley to sit before questioning her morals. “Where are your loyalties? Mr Payne made it clear he’d come to Westmore to win my hand.”
The footman returned with the teapot, though Mrs Astley did not curb her tongue or her wanton eye. “Mr Payne has more chance of marrying a princess of Persia than he does marrying you. You can’t keep your eyes off Mr Garrick.”
Gwen couldn’t argue with the woman’s assessment. “Mr Garrick is a handsome man.” He was an incredible man. Strong. Virile. “You said so yourself. Still, my brother arranged these festivities hoping I would find a husband.”
This time, the lady had the foresight to glance over her shoulder before speaking. “Yes, because you’re a dreaded inconvenience. He wants rid of you so he can move his French mistress in. It’s supposed to be a secret, though a select few are party to the gossip.”
French mistress!
Gwen’s heart missed a beat. The toast slipped from her fingers and landed on the plate. “I—I’d know if my brother had a mistress.”
