Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The muscles in Gwendolyn's core clenched around his fingers. She was panting, her breasts heaving. They might have been lying on a picnic blanket deep in the woods or hiding in the orangery and stealing every second of pleasure. Instead, they were in Payne's blasted bedchamber, Simon's fingers buried deep inside her, his cock ramrod stiff.

He met her gaze, the need to make love to her urging him to lay her down and drive home. "How does it feel, Gwendolyn?" He pushed a little deeper into her wetness, relishing her sensual gasp. "Like I've never been away? Like you need my touch now more than ever?" Were their thoughts aligned?

She closed her eyes as he pumped his fingers slowly. He brushed his lips over hers and slipped his tongue into her mouth to tease a reaction.

He wanted an explanation. He wanted a bloody apology. More than that, he wanted to make her come again. He wanted to lose himself in the body of the only woman he had ever loved.

The spy was probably down on the beach selling secrets, while Simon was afraid to move from Payne's room in case Gwendolyn cast him aside again.

"Talk to me," he urged. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Though he wanted her, he couldn't trust her.

He'd never trust her again.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. She opened her eyes, the power of her gaze holding him captive. "That I'm dreaming. That some part of you still wants me after all that has occurred."

Because he was a fool.

A fool who couldn't resist her.

"And you still want me." He stroked her clitoris with his thumb. She was a slave to his will, grateful for every sweet morsel of pleasure. "More desperately than you did before."

"It's like we're both starving."

"I've been ravenous for years."

"Then why leave?"

The image of her taunting him that night charged into his mind. The cruel things she'd said. The way she'd tossed him out like the dinner scraps.

With the sting of bitterness rising in his chest, he snatched his hand from under her skirt. "You made your feelings clear five years ago. Perhaps you take pleasure in toying with a gentleman's affections. Is that why you remain unmarried?"

Her eyes widened—eyes he'd once presumed would never lie. Eyes no longer glazed with desire but clouded with hurt. "I told you I'd fallen in love with you. How was that toying with your affections?"

Was she being deliberately obtuse?

After years of imprisoning his emotions, he released them from their shackles. "You could have told me you were unsure about your feelings. You could have been honest instead of blaming my father. Hell, even when your brother delivered the letter written by your own hand, I struggled to believe you wrote it. That's how much faith I had in you. That's how much faith I had in us."

Despite the vehemence in his tone, she stared through him, not saying a word. But then she shook her head. "What letter?"

"The letter you sent the night I left England."

She started blinking and couldn't seem to stop. "I never sent you a letter. One minute, we were kissing and enjoying a picnic, and I believed my whole life was mapped out before me. Hours later, Oliver told me you'd left. I've been confused ever since."

What the devil?

He scoured his mind, dragging buried memories to the surface. "Oliver delivered the note to Whitney Grange. It looked like your handwriting. I feared your father had discovered our secret, decided I wasn't good enough and persuaded you against a match."

The frown lines on her brow deepened. "I was told you'd had a change of heart. I came to Whitney Grange in the dead of night, but your father said you'd left for the Continent."

The words penetrated his armour, bringing with them the sudden realisation all was not as it seemed. Had he spent five years living with a mistruth? Five years trying to forget the woman whose callous words had cut like a knife?

"Do you take me a fool? I heard the truth fall from your lips." He had not waited at Whitney Grange like a milksop. He hadn't bothered to saddle his horse but had sprinted across the fields, hoping to change her mind and make her see sense. "You said you couldn't marry a pauper. You said you couldn't risk a child inheriting my father's roguish ways."

She jerked. "How could you think I would say such things?"

Simon dragged his hand down his face. "For the love of God, I saw you in the garden. I heard you tell your father you wanted to marry someone with a title."

She touched her fingers to her forehead as if dazed. "I don't know who you saw that night, but it wasn't me. What time did you call?"

"Seven. Ten minutes after your brother left." It had taken that long to catch his breath and stop his head spinning. "You were sitting on the bench amid the topiary, talking to your father. Your father chased me away."

"I—I went to visit Miss Marsham that evening and didn't return until eight. You may ask my brother and maid."

Confused, he stepped back. "You wore your blue pelisse with the sable-trimmed hood. The one you said made you itch."

She suddenly snapped her spine straight. "Then you didn't see my face. You couldn't have."

He closed his eyes briefly against the memory. Every cell in his body had convinced him it was her. "No, but based on?—"

"Oh, Lord!" Gwendolyn clasped her hand to her mouth, smothering a keen cry. Her knees buckled. She would have hit the floor had he not caught her. Tears streamed down her face. She grabbed his coat lapels. "I—I gave Mrs Samuel that pelisse."

Simon froze.

The truth hit him hard in the chest.

The Gwendolyn he knew would never have been so shallow.

He'd been duped.

Five years wasted.

Five years spent living a lie.

He couldn't speak, which was just as well. He might not have heard the heavy footsteps trudging along the landing, followed by a sharp feminine gasp.

"Mr Payne?" came a woman's voice from the corridor outside. "You gave me such a terrible fright. What are you doing wandering about in the dead of night?"

Yes, what was Payne up to?

Had he been checking the route to the beach?

"I might say the same of you, Mrs Astley."

"I'm unused to keeping country hours and am on the hunt for entertainment. Perhaps you'd like to join me for a little tipple. Something warm to chase away the cold. Have you brandy in your room?"

Merciful Lord!

Gwendolyn would be ruined if Payne caught them in a clinch. The pompous Lord Holmes would call Simon out, leaving the spy free to trade his secrets, to sell the names of all the British agents working in France.

Fear darkened Gwendolyn's brown eyes. Tears still fell. Simon was forced to press his mouth to hers again to mask every stuttered breath. And to taste her lips one last time.

"I've come to Westmore to win Miss Caldwell's hand," Payne said, his tone lacking conviction. "One mistake and all the hard work will be for nothing."

The damn snake.

As if Gwendolyn would marry someone so shallow.

"You could always marry my darling sister. She has a decent dowry, and you'd get to spend an inordinate amount of time with me."

Payne sighed. "Miss Netherwell is as dull as a winter's morn."

"Yes, bless her soul, but I shall ensure you're never bored in her company. And it will save me having to attend tedious house parties again."

"Miss Caldwell's brother is a viscount."

"Yes, but my sister is far more biddable." After a brief pause, Mrs Astley added, "Come. Let us venture to my room and discuss the matter in detail. No one will disturb us there."

For heaven's sake, go ! Simon silently willed.

"I could fetch Holmes' best port from the library," Payne suggested, his complete surrender to the widow a given.

"I shall come with you," Mrs Astley purred. "We may steal a quiet moment alone, though it will be our little secret."

The creak of the boards accompanied the pad of footsteps.

Simon pressed his finger to his lips, urging Gwendolyn to remain silent. They stood statue still but for her bosom heaving against his chest.

Only when the danger had passed did the true meaning of their conversation hit him. Gwendolyn's father and brother had ruined his damn life. The men were responsible for five years of abject misery. Had conspired to destroy a profound love affair. A love that would always be tainted. A love that would always be marred by their wicked treachery.

Anger burned in Simon's chest.

The previous Lord Holmes might be entombed in the family's mausoleum, but Oliver Caldwell was still alive and breathing. By God, Simon wouldn't rest until he'd made the bastard pay.

"Return to your room, Gwendolyn," he whispered with some urgency. "I shall ensure the coast is clear." Then he would seek out Lord Holmes and smash his fist into the viscount's smug face.

She shook her head, her beguiling eyes swimming in disbelief. "Tell me again why you left."

"Your family convinced me you didn't want me." Hatred licked at every word. "That's the only reason I accepted Lord Mowbray's offer to work overseas."

She swallowed deeply. "So, you didn't come back for me?"

He could not lie, but the truth cut through his heart like a rusty blade. "No, Gwendolyn. I did not come back for you."