Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of His Own

“See?” With one finger, Penny traced the fine lines of the highly detailed hand-drawn maps. “These show every little inlet along the estuary and the nearby coast.” She looked up at him, transparently delighted at having found such a valuable tool to aid him. “With these, you can be certain you’re not missing any of the landing places.”

“Excellent.” Reaching out, he turned the book his way, then shut it and picked it up. “Thank you—these will indeed help enormously.”

Nicholas’s lips had set in a thin line; Charles could easily imagine his chagrin. For a nonlocal seeking to learn about the local smugglers, the maps would be a godsend. Nicholas had had access to them, but hadn’t known. He now had to watch as Charles, of all people, tucked the tome under his arm.

Looking at Penny, with his head he indicated the display case he’d glanced at earlier. “Your father’s collection seems just the same as I remember it as a child. I’m surprised he never added to it.”

Penny met his eyes briefly, played to his lead. “I’m not sure why he stopped collecting.” Rounding the desk, she glanced at both cases. “But you’re right—it’s been, well, decades since he last bought a new one.”

Sweeping up to one case, she trailed her fingers across the glass, studying the pillboxes laid neatly on white satin with small cards engraved in her father’s precise hand describing each one.

Charles came up beside her. “Perhaps he grew bored with pillboxes.”

Nicholas was watching, listening to every word, every inflection, his intensely focused attention the equivalent of a red flag waving in Charles’s face. Any notion Nicholas wasn’t deeply involved in whatever scheme had been operating was untenable. He had been involved, and was now intent on ensuring Charles did not find the evidence he was seeking.

“Perhaps.” Penny shrugged, then turned to Nicholas. “Now we’ve found the maps, we won’t disturb you further, Nicholas.”

Nicholas blinked, then seemed to shake himself. “Why—ah, surely you’ll stay for tea. Take some refreshment?”

“No, no!” Penny waved aside the invitation. “Thank you, but no. By the time we ride back to the Abbey it’ll be time for luncheon.”

She glanced at Charles, a question in her eyes. He smiled approvingly, adding just a hint of wicked anticipation—enough, he hoped, to prick Nicholas.

From the way Nicholas’s jaw set, he succeeded.

Nicholas rather stiffly took his leave of them. Together, they left the house.

It was indeed time for luncheon when they clattered back into the Abbey stable yard. Charles’s grooms came running. Penny slid from her saddle without waiting to be lifted down; handing the reins to a groom, she joined Charles, and they started across the gently rising lawn toward the house.

“That went well!” Head up, she savored the exhilaration still singing through her veins. They hadn’t talked on their journey home, just exchanged triumphant smiles, and ridden, laughing, before the wind.

“We’ve certainly given Nicholas a few things to think about.” The book of maps under his arm, Charles paced beside her.

“He was put out about the maps—and your questions about the pillboxes were inspired. He was hanging on every word.”

“With luck, he’ll accept that you—and thus I—have no knowledge of the pillboxes hidden in the priest hole.”

She frowned. “Why didn’t you want him knowing we knew?”

“Because they’re the proof—the irrefutable evidence—that some presently inexplicable but clandestine relationship has existed between the French and your family’s menfolk for decades. I’d rather they remained where they are, accessible should we need them.”

She glanced at him. “Decades?”

He met her eyes, baldly reiterated, “Decades. You counted the boxes—how many were there?”

“Sixty-four.”

“If we assume every piece of information was paid for with a pillbox, and I checked—most are the work of French jewelers—then given the rate at which sufficiently valuable information would crop up to be passed, it would take something like thirty years to amass sixty-four boxes.”

“Oh.” The knowledge cast a pall on the day, leaving her feeling as if clouds had covered the sun.

“Do you still want to help me?”

She looked up to see Charles regarding her, understanding very clear in his midnight eyes. She stared into them for a moment, then looked ahead. “Yes. I have to.”

She didn’t need to explain. He nodded, and they walked on, passing beneath the spreading branches of the huge oaks bordering the south lawn, the side door their goal.

Despite the confirmation that it wasn’t only Granville but her father, too, who’d been involved in the traitorous scheme, she still felt curiously buoyed by their success, minor though it had been.

That morning, for the first time in she couldn’t remember when, she’d shared fears and concerns with someone she trusted, someone who understood. Just being able to air such thoughts had been a catharsis in itself.

As for her specific concern, while the problem hadn’t gone away, its weight had lessened, lifted in part from her shoulders—truly shared. She now felt immeasurably more confident that whatever the truth was, Elaine, her half sisters, and she would be safe. Shielded as far as it was possible to be.

Whatever was going on would be properly and appropriately dealt with; actively contributing to that end would help soothe her lacerated family pride.

Forty hours before, she’d been lost and uncertain; now she felt confident, all because she’d joined forces with Charles.

She glanced at him.

He caught her gaze. Arched a brow. “What?”

She was tempted to look away; instead, she held his gaze as she said, “It seems I made the right choice in confiding in you.”

Three heartbeats passed; he didn’t release her gaze.

Then he caught her hand, halted, waited until she did the same, then smoothly drew her to him.

All the way to him. He bent his head and kissed her.

She hadn’t been expecting it—her lungs locked, her senses froze, her very heart seemed to stop…but he’d kissed her before. Even starved of breath and with her senses reeling, she recognized the feel of his lips against hers.

Clung to the sensation. Found memories pouring in. Found reassurance in the familiar, no matter that it had been years.

She found herself drifting on a familiar tide, one of subtle warmth, simple pleasure, gentle waves of delight.

Then…something changed.

He shifted closer, angled his head, and what had started as a simple exchange became more—much more. More complex, more complicated, infinitely more absorbing. His lips moved on hers, compelling, hungry but not ravenous, not frightening in any way. He supped, sipped, as if needing to explore her lips again, needing to taste them. He’d always excelled at kissing, but now…it seemed as if he felt the leaping of her heart, felt and understood the sudden upwelling of yearning that, entirely unbidden, totally against her will, filled her soul.

She kissed him back—raised her free hand to his shoulder and pressed her lips to his. She hadn’t meant to, yet was incapable of denying not him but herself. It had been a long time since she’d kissed any man, but it wasn’t only that that impelled her to want and take what he offered.

Just a kiss, or so it seemed. No reason not to part her lips and invite him in, as she had so long ago…

He accepted, not as if he took her offer for granted, yet not as if he’d forgotten their past either. The languid surge of his tongue against hers made her bones melt. What followed demonstrated beyond all doubt that he’d learned volumes in the years since they’d last indulged, acquired skills and talents far beyond those he’d had.