Sensing her rising ire, along with her rising voice, Simon rose to his feet and placed his hands calmingly on her thin shoulders.
“I am not, for one second, suggesting you should. But there is definitely something going on around here that is dangerous. We don’t know if Mr Lindsay is involved, and until we do find out who this man is, you cannot take any unnecessary risks.” He hated the questions he had to ask her, and knew that given her current bad temper, she wouldn’t take them kindly but, having seen Mr Lindsay’s arrival, felt the need to pave the way for any future hurt she might feel when the truth was eventually revealed. He had no doubt that it would be revealed, it was just a matter of when, and who it would condemn.
He turned, shoving her behind him when the door suddenly opened and Bertie’s silhouette appeared.
“Gone to the well,” he mumbled, shuffling inside and taking his habitual seat.
“Are you sure?”
Bertie shook his head, shooting Simon a solemn look.
“Who has gone to the well? What is going on? I demand that you tell me know, Simon. This is my home and I have a right to know what you two are up to.” Francesca tried to keep her voice calm and reasonable but could hear the shrill tones hidden in the husky depths.
“It’s nothing for you to fret over, miss,” Bertie sighed. “The man here is just looking out for you and he has my full support. You should listen to him.”
“I would,” Francesca replied, turning accusing eyes on Simon, “If he told me anything.”
Simon sighed, searching for the right words and failing miserably. “What do you know about what Madeline did during the years you didn’t see her?”
“Madeline is beyond suspicion,” Francesca replied weakly. If she was honest, Madeline’s behaviour of late was becoming increasingly strange. Her once amiable demeanour had started to show undertones of a sullen nature that worried Francesca. That, along with her aversion to Bertie’s presence in the house and her objection to anyone being in the kitchen while she prepared dinner, all hinted at a change in her once friendly companion that made Francesca wonder if she really did know her old nursemaid.
“Nobody is beyond suspicion, Francesca. If you refuse to doubt anybody then you are only setting yourself up for a fool,” Simon replied harshly, immediately regretting his words when hurt flooded her face. “I’m sorry to sound so harsh, but this is a cruel world where nobody should be trusted.”
“Nobody?” Francesca gasped, staring at him in horror.
“Nobody,” Simon replied flatly.
“Even you?” Something made her ask the question, but once the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
“Even me,” he sighed, running a weary hand down his face. His side itched furiously where he had been bitten earlier, and he was fairly sure he had bracken stuck in his breeches. He longed for a nice hot bath and a large brandy, but knew that luxury was a very long way away.
“I don’t know what she did,” Francesca sighed, moving to sit on the box beside Bertie. “Whenever I ask, she says she took various nursemaid jobs around London. The address I used was always the same one in London, but whether she lived there or not, I am not entirely sure. She did respond to my letters in a most personal way indicating that she did actually read my letters, so I can only assume that she collected her correspondence frequently.”
“Do you know if she ever married?”
Francesca’s eyes shot skyward and she had to think carefully over her numerous conversations she had had with Madeline. Now that she came to think it over, it had been she who had imparted most of the information, while Madeline listened and asked questions. In reality, there was very little information she had actually managed to gather on her friend.
“I don’t know.”
“Boyfriends? Other places she has lived besides London?”
“Sorry, not a clue,” Francesca sighed, glancing toward Bertie. “Has she spoken about any of it to you?”
Bertie snorted and looked askance at her. “She hates me. Damned woman tried to drug me,” he grumbled, forgetting that Francesca hadn’t been told about his unfortunate encounter with the hot chocolate.
“What?” Francesca lifted horrified eyes to Simon, who briefly recounted Bertie’s story.
“Are you sure it was drugged?”
“As sure as I am you are sitting beside me,” Bertie declared firmly. “She hates me being in the kitchen too,” he glanced pointedly at Simon who nodded in understanding.
“Practically ordered me out of the kitchen when she was making breakfast this morning, and was downright aggressive when I refused to budge,” Simon added.
“So that’s what you two have been up to.” She shook her head at the men as though they were recalcitrant children. “Do you think she might poison dinner?” She was only half-joking and was unsurprised and alarmed in equal measure when both men seemed to consider the possibility carefully.
“We don’t know, but I don’t want to take any chances, do you?” Simon asked silkily, pleased when she lapsed into shocked silence.
“So what do we do?” Francesca asked after several minutes of silence. “We can’t sit up in the attic room all night.”
“We make sure she isn’t left in the kitchen unattended, and only eat foods we have seen her prepare for ourselves. We also start to keep an eye on where she goes and what she does during the daytime.”
“But she doesn’t go anywhere,” Francesca protested, thinking back to the many hours they had spent taking inventory of the better half of the house.
“She does go outside. How do we know she isn’t meeting someone at the back of the stable block?”
Francesca stared up at him. “What is it like to go through life so suspicious of everyone?” She wondered what had made him so cynical that he refused to see the good in anyone.
“It has kept me alive,” Simon declared flatly, refusing to explain, “And will continue to do so for many years to come.
Francesca shivered at the starkness of his features as he turned back toward the window.
“Until we do find out a bit more about Madeline, please don’t go anywhere with her without telling me first. Unless I have lost some of my abilities, she will suggest a trip into town soon,” he glanced back at Francesca and Bertie who sat staring at him. “Don’t, under any circumstances, go with her unless I go too.”
“Simon,” Francesca chided softly with a shiver. She hated the doubt he was placing in her mind. She wanted to protest Madeline’s innocence, but at the same time ask him more questions.
“Just who are you?”
“He’s on our side,” Bertie whispered, sensing Simon didn’t want her to know.
“But -.”
“I suggest we all make our way back downstairs, and spend the rest of our evening in front of the fire,” Simon said briskly, striding toward the door and holding it open for Bertie to shuffle through. “Francesca will be down in a few minutes. Which door are you going through?”
“Through the morning room, I’ll have been playing billiards with you,” Bertie replied sneakily, shooting Simon a quick grin. “I’ll set ‘em up.”
Simon smiled and nodded. “I’ll go easy on you,” and closed the door on Bertie’s chuckle. He turned to stare down at Francesca who stood by the window, encased in moonlight. She looked so ethereal, he was certain that if he tried to touch her, she would vanish.
“I work for king and country, Francesca, that’s all I can tell you and all I have told Bertie,” Simon said, moving to stand behind her. He couldn’t resist temptation and gently stroked a finger down the silken strands of her hair that had escaped from the tight knot at her nape. He was relieved that she had decided to stop pasting her hair with that awful white colour, allowing her glorious, natural colour to shine through. “Trust me, Francesca,” he whispered, wishing he could draw her into his arms. He almost cursed when she turned around and stared up at him. Her lips glistened temptingly, begging to be kissed, and he felt his body r
espond to her nearness.
“I can’t, Francesca,” Simon sighed, wishing he was able to draw her into his arms and lay claim to her senses. But he knew that by touching her, it wouldn’t be only her senses that were claimed.
“I know,” Francesca replied gently, feeling a surge of humiliation at his ability to read her mind. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Simon sighed, knowing she didn’t understand at all. “I don’t think you do,” he muttered, wishing he had the time and the opportunity to explain to her. But he didn’t understand himself yet, and wasn’t sure he ever would. He had never experienced the feelings she created within him, and he was reluctant to study them too closely. It was as though by acknowledging them and putting a name to them, they would impact his life in a way that could never be undone. Inside, a small voice warned that it may already be far too late.
“Were you sent to Thistledown?” Francesca asked, determined to get some answers from him once and for all.
Simon shook his head slowly.
“Much Hampton?”
He nodded.
“You are here to investigate the strange behaviour of the locals.”
“Sort of. I cannot tell you any more, it is confidential information that I am not able to reveal to anyone.”
“So your presence in my house?”
“Is purely an accident brought about by Tom and Charlie’s attack on you.”
“So why are you involving yourself in my problems?”
Simon paused, unable to reveal why he felt driven to get so deeply involved in battles that weren’t his.
“You have placed a roof over my head without question, and given me food and lodgings in exchange for no payment. I am not the kind of man who can turn a blind eye to any woman being bullied or threatened in her own home. While I am here, I will try to get to the bottom of why Mr Lindsay seems so determined to obtain Thistledown. When I leave, I hope to leave the village of Much Hampton a much happier place to live.”
“Will that be soon?” Francesca tried to ignore the stab of disappointment that swept over her at the thought of not seeing him each day, even from a distance.
“I hope to get my mission completed as soon as possible. There are people waiting for my assistance on other matters.” It was as close to the truth as he dared tell her and he struggled to keep his voice neutral in an attempt to thwart any more of her questions.
“Then I think we had better return downstairs before Bertie comes to find his billiards partner,” she said wryly, trying desperately for a cheery smile and failing miserably. She battled with the sting of tears all the way down the stairs, aware that Simon wasn’t behind her.
Rather than go back downstairs, and face Madeline’s fury she went to her room, locking the door carefully behind her. She usually found solace in gazing out into the moors from her favourite place on the window seat. But tonight, nothing would soothe her shattered senses. Her entire life was once again thrown into confusion, leaving her to wonder if it would ever settle down enough for her to make sense of it.
Closing the shutters with a quiet snap, she drew the curtains closed and changed into her nightgown, climbing beneath the sheets moments later with a tired sigh. Heart-sore and more confused than ever, she curled into a tight ball of misery and wept. The tears flowed for the loss of her uncle, the fear of her very uncertain future, and the loss of not only the vast grandeur of what had been Thistledown Manor, but also the one person she had considered her only trustworthy friend. If she looked too closely into the depths of her heart, she would have to face the fact that her tears were for the impending loss of the one man whom, she suspected, lay claim to her heart.
She cursed herself for being every kind of idiot for allowing herself to fall so easily for a veritable stranger. It was inevitable that a man like Simon wouldn’t want to spend his life in such a desolate place as Thistledown. Moreover, be shackled to someone like her. Not when he could be in the bright lights of London, with beautiful women who were more than willing to see to his every need while asking for very little in return.
A surge of humiliation swept through her at her wanton behaviour in the attic. She had practically thrown herself at him, so couldn’t really be surprised when he had taken his leave of her in the most kindly way possible. He had been letting her down gently and for that, she could only thank him. Now, she owed it to them both to make sure she never made the same mistake again. He had made his lack of attraction to her more than evident. Even more importantly, he had made no bones about not wanting to commit to anyone.
She fell asleep with tears on her cheeks, oblivious to the cold that began to creep into the room and, hours later, the rattling of the doorknob as someone tried to gain entrance.
Simon studied the figure outside Francesca’s door and knew it was Madeline. This time, he was determined to get answers from her, even if he had to beat it out of her.
Tucking his gun into the waistband of his breeches, he crept quietly down the corridor, his gaze locked firmly on the cloaked figure before him.
“You’re up late, Madeline,” he remarked casually, leaning a shoulder nonchalantly against the wall. “It’s awfully late to be visiting someone in their bedchamber.”
He watched the figure pause, clearly deciding what to do. He was poised, ready to strike if her hands disappeared inside her cloak, which they did. Lunging forward, he slammed both arms down over her, pinning her arms to her sides and sweeping her off the floor. He shoved her roughly forward until she was pressed firmly against the wall, and used his weight to press her against the hard surface almost painfully.
“Let me go, you idiot,” Madeline gasped in a pain-filled voice. “I was just checking on her.”
“At two o’clock in the morning?” Simon queried scornfully.
“Let me go!”
Simon decided to acquiesce, and released his hold so swiftly that she stumbled and fell into a heap at his feet. He stared dispassionately down at her while she struggled to regain her breath.
“Why, Madeline?” Simon growled, reading the hard glint in her eye as belonging to anyone other than an innocent nursemaid cum companion. People only achieved that almost feral look through experiencing the worst depravities life could offer. “What are you afraid of, Madeline?” he taunted, knowing he had struck a nerve at the almost panicked look she threw him. “Or rather, who are you afraid of?” When she made no attempt to answer him, he leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms, making it perfectly clear that neither of them were going anywhere just yet. “Francesca is safely tucked up in bed, in her room with the door safely locked. What possible harm could come to her?”
“I’m didn’t say she would come to any harm,” Madeline retorted, getting to her feet. “I was just checking she was alright.”
Simon snorted disparagingly, eyeing her long black cloak in distaste. “Slightly strange attire for a nightly check on your friend, isn’t it? Just going out? Or just returning?” One dark sweep of brow lifted contemptuously as he studied the defiant glare she gave him. Unsurprisingly she ignored his question.
“I am checking on her, Mr Marlbrook,” her chin lifted in contempt at the same time her voice hardened, “because I am not lost to the fact that she is an unmarried lady alone in a house with a travelling, and hitherto unknown gentleman. Someone has to protect her virtue from invading marauders. Tell me something,” her tone was almost conversational, and he could hear the hint of satisfaction in her voice as she took enjoyment in turning the tables on him. “What are you doing loitering outside her bedroom at such an ungodly hour of the morning?”
“I was checking for strange activity,” Simon murmured. “You should know all about that,” he whispered, feeling his patience wearing thin. She was far cleverer than he had given her credit for, and he knew she was going to be a worthy opponent. One he had every intention of bringing down. Something deep inside of him hoped that she was involved in the spy activities going on in the tin mine and the village
. He would take great delight in slapping irons on her and sending her off to Bodmin for further questioning.
“I think Francesca is best left alone Madeline,” he growled, his eyes turning to stone. He watched as she swallowed harshly and went pale beneath his unrelenting gaze. “She has me to protect her now. Goodnight,” he said several moments later when she made no attempt to leave. He continued to watch her carefully as she rose slowly to her feet, and sensed the argument that hovered on her lips.
He sighed at the rattling of the doorknob to Francesca’s room and cursed his luck when the door opened and a sleepy Francesca appeared in the doorway. When he looked back at Madeline, she had simply vanished.
He almost groaned at the delectable sight of Francesca standing in such slumberous confusion and had to fight the urge to sweep her back into the bedroom, not only to protect her from the lingering threat of Madeline and her associates, but to answer the demands of his body.
“What’s going on?” she mumbled around a yawn. “I heard someone talking.”
Simon felt his heart flip at the sleepy way in which she rubbed her eyes. With a low growl he moved across the corridor and swept her into his arms.
“Shut up,” he muttered when she gasped in protest. Her mouth opened just in time to accept the swift descent of his. He swallowed her small squeak of alarm, with a firm hand locked in her silken hair, one long arm clamping her firmly to his thundering heart.
The kiss was swift, harsh and held all of the burning frustration that was building deep within him. It contained all of his broken dreams, forgotten promises and poignant heartbreak. He knew that his life – he – would never be the same again, and wondered what that meant for his future. Dedicating his life to serving king and country was a very noble and honourable thing to do, but it didn’t make for a very welcoming bedmate. What happened, when he was no longer able to fight? Would it mean death? He wasn’t sure, but he did know that if he had to die on his next mission, he would rather die knowing Francesca was at Thistledown, in a home she loved, safe from threat of danger. He threw every ounce of feeling he couldn’t put a voice to into that single kiss, laying siege to her senses in a way that left them both gasping for more. When he did finally lift his head, he rested his forehead against hers and fought to regain control. His chest heaved with the effort it took to stop himself from backing her toward the bed, laying her down and possessing her fully.
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