Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of His Own

Warning enough to prod her into running home to Wallingham—indeed. She’d have given a great deal to laugh lightly and assure him he was indulging in fantasies, yet after last night…

She refused to look away, to simply give in. “What are the reasons I should be at Wallingham?”

His menacing sensuality receded; she breathed a little easier.

“So we can mount a watch on Nicholas. In case it’s escaped your notice, he and I are the definition of antipathetic—I can’t turn up there looking for a drinking companion, or invite him out for a night of carousing, or even to put up our feet with a glass of brandy and swap stories of London and the ladies. Nicholas and I are never going to be that close. If you, however, are at Wallingham, then I’ll have a perfect excuse to haunt the house. Simple.”

She would have loved to blow a hole in his plan—for instance, by refusing in light of his declaration of moments before to have him paying her visits—but they were in this together. “Hmm. And I’ll be there even at night…I don’t suppose, now we’re certain he’s involved, that it matters if he suspects we’re watching him—it can only make him more nervous.”

“True. With you at home, we can effectively watch him most of the time, which will certainly make him feel crowded and cramped. If we can make him desperate enough, he’ll make some slip, somewhere.”

The more she thought, the more she favored the idea; if she was at Wallingham with Nicholas under her nose, Charles would find it impossible to edge her out of the investigation—she was well aware he would if he could.

And there was the not insignificant consideration that if she was at Wallingham, there would be far less scope for Charles to fan the still-smoldering embers—they should have been long dead but demonstrably weren’t—of their long-ago association into a flaming affair, an entanglement she definitely didn’t want or need.

Retreating to Wallingham could well be her best move all around.

She’d been staring into space. “Very well.” She refocused on his face, and caught a subtle shift in the dark blue of his eyes that had her rapidly reviewing all they’d done, learned, still needed to do…“You’re going to visit the Fowey Gallants tonight, aren’t you?”

Exasperation flashed through his eyes. “Yes.”

She nodded. “I’ll come with you and return to Wallingham tomorrow morning.”

“No.”

She opened her eyes wide. “You’ve changed your mind about me going home?”

His eyes darkened; she met his frustration with complete assurance, enough for him to growl, “I should pack you off to London.”

“But you can’t, so you’ll just have to make the best of it.”

After a moment, he sighed through his teeth. “Very well. We’ll call on the Gallants tonight, then tomorrow morning after breakfast you’ll be on your way home. Agreed?”

She nodded. “Agreed.”

“Now that we have that settled”—he rose—“I’m going for a ride.”

She came to her feet, swiftly rounding her chair to come between him and the door. “Where are you going?”

“You don’t need to know.” He walked toward her, toward the door.

She met his eyes and held her ground.

He kept walking.

She backed until her shoulders met the panels; reaching behind her she clamped her fingers about the doorknob.

He halted with less than a foot between them. Looked down at her, and sighed.

Then he ducked his head and kissed her.

Witless.

She hadn’t expected such a direct attack, hadn’t been braced mentally or physically for it. With consummate mastery he swept her wits away, sent them tumbling, spinning; he captured her senses and held them in his palm.

While he reached around her and with both hands tried to pry her fingers from the doorknob.

That she’d expected; she’d locked them tight.

Charles inwardly cursed. He couldn’t break her grip, not without exerting force and very likely hurting her. Not something he could contemplate.

And the kiss…it was so tempting to simply fall headfirst into it.

He moved into her, ratcheting the intensity up several notches, pinning her to the door…her grip on the knob only seemed to tighten, as if she were clinging to it like an anchor.

His mind started to shift focus from what he was supposed to be doing, to what he wanted to do….

It took considerable effort to lift his head and break the kiss. Yet he couldn’t seem to get his lips more than an inch from hers.

“Penny…” He nipped her lower lip, trying to focus her attention. “This is seriously unwise.”

Eyes still closed, she dragged in a breath. “I know.”

Her breasts swelled against his chest; his breathing hitched. He caught enough breath to acerbically comment, “You might have reservations over performing certain acts in daylight, but I don’t, if you recall.”

She recalled very well; a sensual shiver ran through her, sending desire spiraling through him all over again.

But at least she opened her eyes. She searched his, then sighed. “I know I can’t go visiting smugglers’ dens by daylight—I know I can’t go with you. But where are you going?”

If she accepted she couldn’t go with him…he mentally cursed. He was losing his touch; she was winning too many concessions. “Lostwithiel first, just to ask around. Then down to Tywardreath. I doubt Granville would have gone that far afield, but I’ll see if they know him down there.”

He released her hands, still locked on the doorknob, his fingers trailing the length of her bare forearms as he stepped back.

She held his gaze, then arched a brow. “See? It wasn’t that hard.”

Before he could respond, she whirled, opened the door, and walked out into the hall.

He followed, shutting the door. He caught her gaze as she faced him. “Behave yourself while I’m gone—go ask Mrs. Slattery for more of Mama’s recipes.”

That earned him a glittering, tight-lipped smile.

He grinned, reached out with one finger and traced her cheek. “I’ll be back for dinner.”

Penny watched him walk off, arrogantly assured, heading for the stables. Her lips eased into a genuine smile. Now she knew where he was going, she could make sure their paths didn’t cross.

After an early luncheon, she rode into Fowey, left her mare at the Pelican Inn, and once again descended to the harbor. After checking that the fishing fleet was indeed out, she climbed the narrow lanes to Mother Gibbs’s door.

Mother Gibbs welcomed her with a cackle, and a shrewd eye for the sovereign she’d promised, but the old biddy was as good as her word; when Penny left some twenty minutes later, all they’d heard thus far and surmised of Nicholas’s interests had been confirmed.

She turned out of the narrow passageway onto the quay.

And walked into Charles. Again.

One look into his eyes was enough to confirm that he now understood why she’d wanted to know wither he’d been bound.

She raised her brows at him. “You must have ridden like the wind.”

“I did, as it happens.” His accents were clipped, his jaw tight; he clearly recalled telling her he didn’t want her visiting Mother Gibbs alone. His fingers locked about her elbow, he turned and walked beside her along the harbor wall.

Refusing even to acknowledge his very male irritation at her intransigence, she looked ahead. “What did you learn?”

After a tense moment, he conceded. “There wasn’t much to learn in Lostwithiel—no one around who could name any local lads Granville may have called friend. As for Tywardreath, the fraternity there knew of him only by repute—he’d never run with them.”

“If he hadn’t gone as far west as Tywardreath, it’s unlikely he’d have gone farther.”