Jacquie D’Alessandro - Touch Me

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

Baxter’s gaze turned to Simon and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Just wot the bloody hell are you doin’ here?”

“I was escorting Genevieve home. When we arrived, the door was open and we found you lying here.”

“Escortin’ her home?” Baxter once again struggled to sit up, this time accomplishing the task with Simon and Genevieve’s assistance. After taking several slow breaths, he turned to Simon with a baleful expression. “She already was home. So maybe yer the one who nearly broke me skull.”

Before Simon could reply, Genevieve said quietly, “I’d left the house. To go to the springs. Simon was walking Beauty and they happened upon me.”

Baxter blinked. “Wot in God’s name were ye thinkin’ to be going off to the springs at night by yerself?”

“I took my pistol and was prepared to shoot any lurkers.”

“Ye didn’t shoot him ,” Baxter grumbled, glowering at Simon.

“I wasn’t lurking,” Simon said lightly. “But someone was.” He recalled the sensation of being watched he’d experienced at the festival. Turning to Genevieve, he asked, “Have there been any robberies in the area lately?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“You need to go through the house, see if anything was stolen. Do you have any valuables?”

Something flickered in her eyes. “A few pieces of jewelry, but nothing worth a great deal.”

“Let’s get Baxter cleaned and bandaged, then we’ll check to see if anything is missing.”

While Genevieve went to gather the bandages, Simon assisted Baxter to his feet, nearly staggering under the man’s considerable weight as he helped him to the sitting room.

“Don’t think I don’t know wot yer up to,” Baxter muttered as they made their way slowly down the corridor.

“Up to?”

“I seen the way ye look at her.”

“And how is that?”

“Like she’s a pork chop and yer a starvin’ mongrel.” Baxter halted and jerked his arm from Simon’s grasp. He swayed on his feet and slapped a beefy hand against the wall to steady himself. Shooting Simon a dark scowl surely meant to reduce him to dust, he said, “I won’t let ye hurt her.”

“I’ve no intention of hurting her.” Indeed, Simon hoped his investigations would prove that Genevieve’s reasons for removing the letter from the alabaster box were harmless and that she was innocent of any wrongdoings.

“Don’t matter wot yer intentions are, ye could do it just the same, and she don’t deserve it. She’s been hurt enough.” Baxter leaned forward. “If you hurt her , I’m going to hurt you . Consider yerself warned.”

Simon didn’t doubt for a moment that Baxter could crush his skull like a walnut with his bare hands. Luckily, thanks to his training and experience as a spy, he excelled at extricating himself from dangerous situations. He’d been threatened by bigger men than Baxter.

“Fine. I’m warned. Now let’s see to getting that head wound cleaned so you’re better able to protect her-from whoever broke into the house.”

Baxter made a sound that resembled a growl and resumed walking slowly. “The bastard will be damn sorry when I get my hands on him. Wot I want to know is wot the hell was she thinkin’, wanderin’ around the woods at night? And why the bloody hell were you walkin’ yer dog on her property? Spyin’ on her, were ye?”

“No, I was chasing my ill-mannered puppy whose razor-sharp teeth bit through her lead. I’m lucky I didn’t have to chase the beast to Scotland. Be glad, at least for tonight, that Genevieve wasn’t here. She might have ended up unconscious like you. Or worse.” A shudder ran through him at the thought.

They entered the sitting room and Baxter plopped down heavily on the settee in front of the fireplace. Genevieve entered seconds later carrying a bowl of water and several lengths of clean linen. Moving directly toward Baxter, she said to Simon, “I’ll take care of him. There’s a bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of the desk. Could you please pour some for Baxter? And help yourself if you’d like.”

Simon crossed to the desk. There were two bottom drawers, one on each side of the chair. Thanks to his earlier searches of the house he knew which one contained the bottle of whiskey. While he poured a generous portion for Baxter and a fingerful for himself, he watched Genevieve gently cleanse away the blood with a steady hand. A steady gloved hand. Clearly not even Baxter saw her without her gloves, and once again, he wondered what sort of injury she was hiding. He recalled the feel of her fingers sifting through his hair at the spring, her hands caressing him, and heat suffused him. Whatever it was, it didn’t lessen the fact that her touch set him on fire.

Carrying the two drinks, he walked to the settee and handed Baxter his glass. The giant grunted his thanks then proceeded to gulp down the potent liquor in two quick swallows. “Am I goin’ to need stitchin’ up, Gen?”

Genevieve lifted the oil lamp to examine the wound then shook her head. “Not this time.” She offered him a soft smile. “That’s nice for a change.”

Curiosity pinched Simon, urging him to ask how Genevieve and Baxter had come to be together, the refined woman and the ruffian, but he shoved aside the urge-for now. Better to wait until he and Genevieve were alone. Instead he asked, “Baxter gets struck on the head regularly?”

“No,” Genevieve said, wiping away the blood that had dripped down Baxter’s face with a calm expertise that indicated it wasn’t the first time she’d performed such ministrations. “At least not recently. But he had his share of altercations in his youth that resulted in some injuries.”

Baxter guffawed. “Other blokes always ended up lookin’ worse than me, though, didn’t they, Gen?”

Her lips twitched. “Always.”

Baxter’s rough features collapsed into a frown. “’Cept this time. That’s going to be one sorry bugger when I get ahold of him. Good thing I weren’t sleeping. It were better I heard the bastard and scared him off-even if me head had to pay the price.”

He winced when Genevieve applied some ointment to his wound and she immediately asked, clearly to distract him from the discomfort, “Why couldn’t you sleep? Are you unwell?”

To Simon’s amazement the giant appeared to blush. “Um, ah, me mind was, er, occupied.”

A knowing glint entered Genevieve’s eyes. “I think I can guess with what, or rather, with whom. Miss Winslow is a lovely young woman.”

Baxter’s blush extended to the top of his bald head. “Far too good for the likes of me.”

“I disagree, and you’d best be careful what you say about my dear friend, Baxter,” Genevieve said, winding a long strip of linen around his head, “or else I’ll be forced to give you another whack to knock some sense into you.” She tucked in the end of the strip then leaned back to examine her handiwork. “How do you feel?”

“Like a bloody idiot for bein’ caught unawares.”

She smiled. “I meant your head.”

“Poundin’ like the hammers of hell, but I’ve had worse headaches after a night swillin’ Blue Ruin.”

“Glad you’re all right,” Simon broke in, in spite of his interest in the byplay between the two, which made it clear they were more friends than employer and servant. He couldn’t imagine any of his staff ever speaking to him in the casual manner that Baxter addressed Genevieve. He tried to envision Ramsey or his valet or his man of affairs calling him Simon and utterly failed. “Now let’s see if anything was stolen.”

While Baxter remained in the sitting room nursing another glass of whiskey, Simon followed Genevieve through the house, helping her straighten up things the intruder had disturbed. She found nothing missing, not even her few pieces of jewelry which she kept in a locked box in her small sitting room-a box which had been forced open.