Jacquie D’Alessandro - Touch Me

© 2009

Dear Reader,

Every once in a while a character, one who began as merely a friend of the hero or heroine, steals my heart and demands that their own story be told. Genevieve Ralston, who first appeared as a secondary character in my Regency-era historical Love and the Single Heiress, did just that. I’ve wanted to tell her story ever since she first appeared on the page-a woman who has fought to overcome both social and physical limitations. A woman who has known-and lost-love, and who never expects to feel it again. But when a handsome stranger calls upon her, she finds herself experiencing desires she’d believed long dead. However, there is much more to this man than she knows, and of course Genevieve has secrets of her own. And we all know where secrets can lead…

I hope you enjoy my first historical Harlequin Blaze novel-I had a great time writing about Genevieve and her handsome stranger’s adventures. Perhaps their story will inspire you to enjoy some adventures of your own!

I love to hear from readers! You can contact me through my Web site at www.JacquieD.com, where you can find out about all my latest news.

Happy reading and adventuring,

Jacquie D’Alessandro

Little Longstone, Kent, 1820

G ENEVIEVE … alabaster box…letter inside proves who did this …

The Earl of Ridgemoor’s dying words echoed through Simon Cooperstone, Viscount Kilburn’s mind as he stealthily approached the cottage nestled among soaring elms, words the earl had gasped out with his last few breaths to Simon’s urgent question: “Who shot you?”

With any luck, Simon was about to find out the answer-and catch the killer trying to frame him for the earl’s murder.

The radical social reforms advocated by the earl-a man rumored to be the next prime minister-weren’t universally popular. An attempt had been made on Ridgemoor’s life two weeks earlier, an act Simon had already been investigating as part of his duties for the Crown. Now it was too late. Whoever had wanted Ridgemoor silenced had succeeded on their second attempt, something that filled Simon with a sick sense of guilt and failure.

Since becoming a spy for the Crown eight years ago, he’d suffered several unsuccessful missions, but none that had cast suspicion on Simon himself. Unfortunately, this failure had done just that-Ridgemoor’s butler had discovered him standing over the earl’s dead body, holding a pistol. Simon had gone to the earl’s town house after receiving a note stating that Ridgemoor had important information to share. Sadly, Simon had arrived too late. The butler swore to the authorities that no one other than Simon had entered the house, and indeed, all the windows were locked from the inside.

When Simon saw the flickers of suspicion in his superior’s eyes, he knew trouble was brewing. John Waverly, the man to whom he reported, hadn’t said anything to indicate he doubted Simon’s account, but Simon had sensed the man’s hesitancy, and it had hurt more than he cared to admit. Eight years ago, Simon had known nothing about being a spy. In fact, he’d known nothing other than the wealth and privilege afforded him by his exalted title and family name. He’d wanted, needed, a change-needed to do something useful with his life-and John Waverly had taken him under his experienced wing and taught him the intricacies of the spy game. He’d always considered Waverly more than merely his superior-he admired and respected him, and thought of him as both a trusted friend and mentor.

As if Waverly’s uncertainty didn’t rankle enough, Simon also saw the glimmers of mistrust in the eyes of William Miller and Marc Albury, his two closest colleagues, men he thought of as brothers. Indeed, he often felt closer to Miller and Albury than he did to his own brother-Simon’s spying activities weren’t something he could confide to his family or friends. If Miller, Albury or Waverly were in an untenable situation like the one in which Simon now found himself, would he give them the benefit of the doubt, regardless of the evidence pointing toward their guilt? He liked to think so, but perhaps, in the face of such damning evidence, he’d doubt his friends as they were doubting him.

With both the king and the prime minister demanding the swift capture of Ridgemoor’s murderer, Simon feared speed would take precedence over accuracy, and the wrong man-namely him-could hang for the crime, especially as there were no other leads or suspects. Based on the number of missions that had gone wrong over the past year, Simon, Miller, Albury and Waverly, as well as other colleagues, believed someone within their ranks was a traitor, but so far they’d been unsuccessful in discovering who. All Simon knew was that it wasn’t him. Now, unfortunately, it appeared as if he stood alone in that knowledge.

Not knowing who he could trust, who had his best interests at heart, he had lied when asked if Ridgemoor had divulged anything to him. Since Waverly, as well as Miller and Albury could smell an untruth at twenty paces, Simon’s prevarication had only made matters worse and deepened the suspicion he saw in their eyes. No charges had been leveled against him yet, but his instincts warned him it was only a matter of time. And that was why he needed the alabaster box Ridgemoor had spoken of. Now. So he could reveal the identity of the guilty party before he faced his own execution.

With time short, he’d asked Waverly for a leave to clear his name. His superior had studied him at length, then finally nodded and said, “I believe you’ve lied-and you’d better have a bloody good reason for it-but I don’t think you killed Ridgemoor. Still, the evidence against you is damning and if the top demands your head, there won’t be much I-or anyone else-will be able to do to help you. I’ll give you a fortnight, Kilburn. I’ll tell everyone you’re recovering from a fever believed to be contagious-that should temporarily keep them away. Do what you have to do to clear your name, and for God’s sake do it quickly. I’ll work on this end to help you.”

It was all Simon could ask for and he hadn’t wasted any time. His investigations over the past two days since Ridgemoor’s murder had led him here-to the home of Mrs. Genevieve Ralston, the woman who, until a year ago, had been Ridgemoor’s mistress. Had Ridgemoor’s final words meant Mrs. Ralston was involved in the plot to kill him? Or had she perhaps shot him herself? It seemed a good possibility.

Information Simon had ferreted out indicated that Ridgemoor had abruptly ended his decade-old arrangement with Mrs. Ralston a year ago. Could she be a woman scorned who’d sought revenge? Or could her motives be of a more political bent? Was she perhaps an enemy of the Crown, one who’d helped get rid of Ridgemoor before he could become prime minister?

According to Simon’s sources Mrs. Ralston rarely left her property in the small country village of Little Longstone, and the earl had been murdered in London. But then, London was only a three-hour carriage ride away. What better ruse than to be a recluse and sneak away unseen to commit crimes?

Tonight, for instance, Mrs. Ralston had left her cottage five minutes ago. She had only one servant, a giant of a man named Baxter, who Simon had ascertained was currently sitting in a booth at the village pub, a tankard of ale in his hand. So long as Mrs. Ralston returned home before Baxter, no one would know she hadn’t spent the evening in her cottage.

No one except whoever she may have gone to see.