Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of His Own

She raised her head as they emerged into the bright sunshine. Charles appeared beside her as she went down the steps into the inn yard. An ostler was holding her mare; she was about to wave him to the mounting block when Charles touched her back.

“I’ll lift you up.”

She would have frozen, stopped dead, simply refused, but he was walking half-behind her; if she stopped, he’d walk into her.

They reached the mare’s side. Charles’s hands were already sliding around her waist as she halted and turned.

Lungs locked, she glanced into his face as he gripped and effortlessly hoisted her up. But he wasn’t even looking at her, much less noticing her embarrassing reaction; his gaze was locked on Nicholas, helping Millie and Julia into their gig.

“How long has he been here?”

Slipping her boot into the stirrup he’d caught and positioned for her, she managed to breathe enough to murmur, “He arrived yesterday.”

That brought Charles’s dark gaze to her face, but an ostler appeared with his horse, and he turned away.

Nicholas had also asked for his horse—one of Granville’s hacks—to be brought out. He, too, mounted. Without actually discussing the matter, the five of them clopped out of the inn yard together, Nicholas riding attentively beside the gig, she and Charles bringing up the rear.

She watched Nicholas’s attempts to be sociable. Millie and Julia were thrilled, their day crowned by being able to claim they’d spent time conversing with both the two most eligible, and most elusive, gentlemen of the district.

“Has he been spending much time down here?”

Charles’s tone was low, noncommittal.

If she didn’t tell him, he’d ask around and find out anyway. “It’s his fourth visit since July, when he and his father came for Granville’s funeral. The longest he’s stayed is a week in December, but that was their first formal visit as owner, so to speak. He came down alone in February for five days, then turned up yesterday.”

Charles said nothing more, but was aware she was watching her “cousin” with an assessing and cynical eye. He wasn’t surprised Nicholas had joined them on their way home; all through luncheon, he’d shot swift glances at Penny, concerned, yes, but not just in the usual way. There was definitely something between them.

They reached the Essington lane and farewelled Millie and Julia. By unspoken consent, he, Penny, and Nicholas cantered on together.

Until they came to the lane to Wallingham. Nicholas drew up, his chestnut stamping as he half wheeled to face them. Penny slowed and halted. Charles drew rein beside her.

Nicholas looked at him, then at Penny. “I, er…” His features hardened. “I had thought, or rather understood, that you believed the countess was still at the Abbey.”

Penny had an instant to decide which way to jump. Charles, being Charles, would already have guessed she’d left Wallingham for the Abbey because of Nicholas. A nobleman with four sisters, two of them married, Charles would also know there was no social reason behind her decamping; she hadn’t gone to the Abbey to avoid possible scandal. Nicholas, of course, thought she had, because she’d led him to think so.

But now here she was, staying at the Abbey apparently alone with Charles, to whom she was in no way related.

She had three options. One, take advantage of Nicholas’s misconstruction and seek refuge at Essington Manor, free of both Charles and Nicholas. Unfortunately, Lady Essington, Millie and Julia’s mama-in-law, was a dragon and would expect her to remain with Millie and Julia during the days, and even more during the evenings and nights. She’d never find out what was going on, and what she needed to do to protect Elaine and her half sisters.

Alternatively, she could return to Wallingham Hall on the grounds that residing under the same roof as Nicholas was scandalwise preferable to sharing a roof with Charles; no one could argue that. However, she’d then be using the same stables as Nicholas, the same house, and she’d much rather he remained ignorant of her comings and goings while following him.

Living at Wallingham might be useful if Nicholas lowered his guard while distracted by Charles, but she’d seen enough of Nicholas to be sure that if Charles wasn’t physically present, being distracting, then Nicholas would have defenses aplenty deployed against her.

All in all, her last option seemed preferable.

She smiled reassuringly. “The countess’s elderly cousin Emily is at the Abbey, so there’s no reason I can’t remain there, at least while you’re at Wallingham.”

She glanced at Charles; his expression deceptively open, he was watching Nicholas. His horse didn’t shift. Not by a flicker of a lash did he betray her.

“Ah…I see.” It was Nicholas’s horse that shifted. After a fractional pause, during which she sensed he searched for some other reason to have her return to Wallingham, he conceded. “I’ll bid you farewell, then.” He nodded to Charles. “Lostwithiel. No doubt we’ll meet again.”

“No doubt.” Charles returned the nod, but his tone made the comment anything but comforting.

Enough. With a gracious nod of her own, she set her mare trotting, then urged her into a canter.

Charles’s gray ranged alongside. He waited until they’d rounded the next bend to murmur, “Where did Cousin Emily come from?”

“If she’s your mother’s elderly cousin, then presumably she came from France.”

“Presumably. And what happens when dear Nicholas asks around, innocently or otherwise?”

She kept her gaze forward. “Until recently, Cousin Emily has been staying with other relatives—she only arrived two days ago to spend some time here, in warmer climes—”

“Warmer climes being recommended for her stiff joints, I suppose?”

“Precisely. However, Cousin Emily still prefers to converse in French, and considers herself too old to socialize, so she’s something of a curmudgeonly recluse, and not at home to callers.”

“How convenient.”

“Indeed. Your Cousin Emily is the perfect chaperone.”

She felt his gaze, scimitar-sharp on her face.

“What is it about Arbry that sent you to the Abbey?”

She exhaled, but knew he’d simply wait her out. “I don’t trust him.”

“On a personal level?”

His tone was uninflected, perfectly even; latent menace shimmered beneath. “No,” she hurried to say, “it’s not personal. Not at all.”

They rode on; sure of what his next question would be, she strove to find words to explain her suspicions without revealing their cause.

“Is Arbry the person you’re protecting, or the person you were following, or both?”

She glanced at him, eyes widening. How had he seen, deduced, known all that?

He met her gaze, his own steady. And waited.

Lips setting, she looked ahead as they slowed for the bridge over the river. She knew him; correspondingly, he knew her. The noise as they clattered over the wooden bridge gave her a minute to think. As they set out again along the well-beaten lane, she replied, “He’s not who I’m protecting. He is who I was following.”

That said, she urged Gilly, her mare, into a gallop. Charles’s gray surged alongside, but Charles took the hint; as they rode on through the fine afternoon, he asked no further questions.

She escaped him in the stables, leaving him holding both their horses. He cast her a dark look, but let her go. She reached the house, glanced back, but he hadn’t made haste to follow her.

Just as well. Last night, after leaving him in the kitchen, she’d gone to bed, but memories had swamped her, claimed her; she hadn’t slept well, but neither had she analyzed. She desperately needed to think, to put together the information she’d gathered and decide what it might reveal, especially to someone used to dealing with such matters, like Charles. Telling him…she accepted she would ultimately have to, but if there was a way to present the facts in a more favorable light, she needed to find it first.