Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of His Own

“So Mother Gibbs owes you a favor, and you’ve asked her for information in return.”

That, in a nutshell, was it—her morning’s endeavor.

“You are not, I repeat not , going back there alone.”

His voice had changed. She knew those tones. She didn’t bother arguing.

He knew her too well to imagine that meant she’d agreed.

A frustrated hiss from him confirmed that, but he let the matter slide, which made her wonder what he was planning.

Regardless, they’d reached the High Street. She turned onto the wider pavement with Charles beside her.

And came face to face with Nicholas, Viscount Arbry.

She halted.

Charles stopped beside her. He glanced at her face, noted the momentary blankness in her expression while she decided what tack to take.

He looked at the man facing them. He’d also halted. One glance was enough to identify him as a gentleman of their class. No real emotion showed in his face, yet the impression Charles received was that he hadn’t expected to meet Penny, and if given the choice, would have preferred he hadn’t.

“Good morning, cousin.” Penny nodded in cool, distinctly mild greeting; smoothly, she turned to him. “I don’t believe you’ve met. Allow me to introduce you.” She glanced at the other man. “Nicholas Selborne, Viscount Arbry—Charles St. Austell, Earl of Lostwithiel.”

Arbry bowed; Charles nodded and offered his hand. While they shook hands, Penny said, “Nicholas is a distant cousin. His father is the Marquess of Amberly, who inherited Papa’s title and estates.”

Which might explain her coolness, but not Arbry’s hesitation. How distant was the connection, Charles wondered. More than the stipulated seven degrees? There was definitely more in the “cousins’ ” interaction that required explanation.

“Lostwithiel.” Arbry was studying him. “So you’re back at…the Abbey, isn’t it? A fleeting visit, I expect.”

Charles grinned, letting his practiced facade of bonhomie bubble to his surface. “Restormel Abbey, yes, but as to the fleetingness of my visit, that remains to be seen.”

“Oh? Business?”

“In a manner of speaking. But what brings you here with the Season just commenced?” It was the question Arbry had wanted to ask him. Charles capped his inquisition with a studiously innocent, “Is your wife with you?”

“Nicholas isn’t married,” Penny said.

Charles glanced at her, then directed a look of mild inquiry at Arbry. He was a peer in line for a major title, appeared hale and whole, and looked to be about Charles’s age; if Charles should be in London getting himself a bride, so, too, should Arbry.

Arbry hesitated, then said, “I act as my father’s agent—there were aspects of the estate here that needed attention.”

“Ah, yes, there’s always something.” Charles darted a look at Penny. She’d managed the Wallingham Hall estate for years; if there was anything requiring attention, she would know, yet not a hint of anything resembling comprehension showed in her face.

Arbry was frowning. “I vaguely recall…I met your mother and sisters last time I was here. They gave me to understand you would be marrying shortly, that you intended to offer for some lady this Season.”

Charles let his smile broaden. “Very possibly, but unfortunately for all those interested in my private life, duty once again called.”

“Duty?”

The question was too sharp. Arbry definitely wanted to know why he was there. Charles glanced again at Penny, but she was watching Arbry; she wasn’t giving him any clues.

She was protecting someone. Could it be Arbry?

“Indeed.” He met Arbry’s eyes, dropped all pretense. “I’ve been asked to look into the possible traffic of military and diplomatic secrets through smuggling channels hereabouts during the late wars.”

Arbry didn’t blink. Not a single expression showed on his pale face.

Which gave him away just as surely; only someone exercising supreme control would be so unresponsive in the face of such a statement.

Still blank-faced, he said, “I hadn’t realized the…government had any real interest in pursuing the past.”

“As certain arms of the government are controlled by those who fought, or sent others to fight and die over the last decade and more, you may be assured the interest is very real.”

“And they’ve asked you to look into it? I thought you were a major in the Guards?”

“I was.” Charles smiled, deliberately cold, deliberately ruthless. “But I have other strings to my bow.”

Penny glanced around, desperate to break up the exchange of pleasantries. Nicholas might be good, but Charles could be diabolical. She didn’t want him to learn more, guess more, not yet. God only knew what he’d make of it, or how he might react.

Her gaze found Millie and Julia, both with faces alight, hurrying as fast as they decorously could to join her. And the two handsome gentlemen she’d somehow acquired. For quite the first time in her life she thoroughly approved of their blatant curiosity.

“Penelope! We were just coming to join you.” Julia beamed as the three of them turned. “We got held up in the apothecary’s.” She directed her gaze to the gentlemen; Millie did the same. “Lord Arbry, isn’t it?”

Nicholas had met them before; he bowed. “Mrs. Essington. Mrs. Essington.”

Charles turned fully to face them. He was taller than Nicholas; Millie’s and Julia’s gazes rose to his face. They both blinked, then delighted smiles lit their countenances.

“Charles!” Julia all but shrieked. “You’re back!”

“How delightful,” Millie cooed. “I had thought, from what your dear mama let fall, that you were quite fixed in London for the Season.”

Charles smiled, shook their hands, and deflected their questions. Penny heaved a sigh of relief. Now if only Nicholas would grab his chance and escape.

She was turning to nudge him along, when Julia gaily said, “You both must join us for luncheon—it’s gone one o’clock. If I know anything of gentlemen, you must be ravenous, and the Pelican has the best food in Fowey.”

“Oh, yes!” Millie’s eyes shone. “We’ve booked a private parlor—do join us.”

Charles glanced at Penny, then at Nicholas. “Indeed, why not?” His smile as he gazed at Nicholas was distinctly predatory. “What say you, Arbry? I can’t see any reason not to take advantage of such an invitation from such delightful company.”

Millie and Julia preened. They turned shining eyes on Nicholas.

Penny inwardly swore. Nicholas couldn’t do anything but agree.

With Julia, Millie, and Charles providing most of the conversation, the five of them walked the short distance to the Pelican Inn. As the landlord, all delighted gratification, bowed them into his best parlor, Penny hoped Nicholas understood that he was walking into a lion’s den, with a lion with very sharp teeth and even sharper wits beside him.

She was nursing an incipient headache by the time lunch ended. Predictably, Millie and Julia had filled the hour with bright conversation, retelling all the repeatable local gossip for Charles’s edification. He’d encouraged them, leaving him able to direct the occasional unexpected and unpredictable query at Nicholas, not that he’d learned anything from the exercise.

Nicholas was clearly on his guard, his attention focused on Charles, his attitude to everyone as it usually was, reserved and rather standoffish. She’d clung to the cool demeanor she always adopted around him; most put it down to understandable distance over his father’s assumption of her father’s estates.

Little did they know.

As they all rose and together quit the parlor, it occurred to her that, with Charles now present to draw his attention, Nicholas might lower his guard with her. She’d never given him reason to think she suspected him of anything; he had no idea she knew of the questions he’d asked the Wallingham grooms and gardeners, or of his visits to the local smugglers. He certainly didn’t know she’d been following him.