A Lady of His Own

by Stephanie Laurens

  Penny glanced back at the wilting Ellie. “Just bring my washing water and lay out a plain gown. I’ll change after I’ve spoken with Lord Charles.”

  Figgs and Ellie bobbed, and turned back to the kitchens.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Penny stopped at the first door and knocked lightly. “Charles?”

  The door opened an instant later. “What?” He looked at her, looked past her. He’d just shrugged on a fresh shirt; the halves framed his chest.

  She fixed her gaze on his face. “We have a problem.”

  He waved her inside. She sat in a chair and told him all she knew while he buttoned the shirt, tucked it in, and quickly tied his cravat.

  “And no one knows who this man is?” He shrugged on his coat.

  “Apparently not.” She met his gaze. “It doesn’t sound good, does it? Why would Mary suddenly go missing just now?”

  “Don’t extrapolate too far, too fast.” Charles glanced at the window, checking the light. “The first thing we need do is confer with Nicholas and set up a search. If someone’s seen her about with a man, maybe there’s some other, less dire explanation.”

  They found Nicholas in the library with Norris; he looked stunned. “Have you heard?” he asked.

  Penny nodded. She sat and let Charles take charge; he’d always been good at that sort of thing.

  Nicholas, a civil servant to his toes, responded to the voice of command; within minutes, Charles had him writing to Lord Culver, informing him of the missing maid and that they were instituting a search immediately.

  Charles turned to Norris. “Send to the stables, the home farm, and the workers’ cottages—round up as many men as you can, but we’ll need to leave yourself and a handful of others here to hold the fort.”

  Norris nodded, glanced at Nicholas, saw him absorbed in composition, bowed to her, and hurried out.

  Charles reached over Nicholas and tugged a fresh sheet of paper free. Pulling a chair to the desk, he sat and picked up Nicholas’s other pen and checked the nib. When Nicholas looked at him, he said, “I’m going to send to Essington Manor for more men. The Abbey’s too far, at least for tonight—it’ll be dark soon. We need to do all we can while there’s still light enough to see.”

  Penny hesitated, then said, “What about the estuary?”

  Charles looked at her, then nodded. “I’ll get the Gallants and the others out, too. They can search the shallows.”

  She sat for a moment, listening to the scratch of nibs on paper, then rose. “I’ll go and change.”

  She returned downstairs just as the Essingtons and the males of their household arrived. Both David and his brother Hubert had come, mounted and ready to search; they’d always been good neighbors and had understood the need—they’d come with all speed.

  Millie and Julia had driven themselves over in the gig to keep her company. “So horrible to have to sit and wait alone,” Millie said.

  Charles greeted the Essington ladies with heartfelt approval; Penny had changed out of her riding habit, but from the look on her face, she’d been planning to drive herself about in the gig, supposedly assisting the search, but not assisting him in the slightest.

  He didn’t want her in any way involved. He had a very bad feeling over what they were going to find. In this part of the country, maids did not walk out and not come back. Not unless they couldn’t come back.

  While Millie and Julia claimed Penny’s attention, he conferred with the Essington brothers; they quickly agreed on the area they’d each scour. He and the Wallingham staff would search the north hemisphere, David the southwest quadrant, and Hubert the southeast, including the estuary banks. “I’ve sent word to the Gallants—they’ll take the estuary.”

  “Right.” David pulled on his gloves, exchanged a glance with his brother. “We’ll be off, then.”

  While they farewelled their ladies, Charles murmured to Penny, “I’ll have a word to Nicholas before I go.”

  She looked at him. “Isn’t he going with you?”

  He met her gaze. “I’d rather he remained here.”

  Penny read his eyes, then nodded and rose. “He’s in the library—I’ll come with you.”

  Excusing herself to Millie and Julia, she accompanied him to the library. Nicholas was looking out of the window and pulling on his gloves; he patently intended riding out, too.

  He turned as Charles shut the door. “Are we ready to go?”

  Stepping past her, Charles halted in the middle of the room. “I am, but you need to remain here.”

  “Oh?” All the antagonism between them resurfaced; Nicholas eyed him with incipient dislike. “Why?”

  Holding Nicholas’s gaze, Charles evenly stated, “Because we must have someone with authority here to direct the search. If any information comes in, there has to be someone here who can analyze it and act on it—by that I mean give orders. You are the most appropriate in that role—this is your house or as near as makes no difference. On top of that, I grew up here, and so did the others. We know this ground like the backs of our hands. And time is limited. Night’s not far off—we need to be quick and certain of the ground we’re covering.”

  He paused, then added, his gaze locked with Nicholas’s, “And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that two nights ago someone tried to attack Penny.”

  Nicholas stared at Charles for a long moment, then his gaze switched to her. Another moment passed, then he glanced back at Charles, a faint, puzzled frown in his eyes. “Very well. I’ll remain.”

  Charles nodded and turned for the door. “We’ll search until it’s full dark.”

  Pausing beside her, he searched her eyes. Instead of taking her hand, he bent and swiftly kissed her. “We’ll be back within an hour of that.”

  She nodded and watched him go. He left the door ajar; his boot steps died away down the hall, then she heard him call to the men as he joined them. An instant later, the thud of many hooves and the scrunch of many feet declared the searchers were away.

  Looking at Nicholas, she watched as he, frowning more definitely, came toward her.

  “Are the Essington ladies staying?”

  “Yes. They’re in the drawing room. I’ll order dinner to be served in an hour.”

  “Dinner?” He looked revolted.

  She grimaced. “We still have to eat.”

  He paused, then said, “I don’t understand Lostwithiel.” The words came out in a frustrated undertone. Nicholas briefly met her eyes, then looked away. “He doesn’t like me—he distrusts me, suspects me, and yet…”

  He brought his gaze back to her face. “Someone tried to attack you the other night, and yes, I realize that for all you or he know, it could have been me. Despite that, he blithely leaves me here with you.”

  Penny met his gaze. “Yes, exactly. And figuring out why might be the best thing you could do.”

  With that tart comment, she led the way back to the drawing room.

  The news, when it came, wasn’t good. Darkness had fallen when they heard the searchers returning. Penny knew what was coming when she heard the horses not riding in crisply, but walking very slowly.

  She briefly closed her eyes, then, opening them, met Millie’s and Julia’s equally apprehensive gazes.

  “Oh, dear,” Millie whispered, one hand rising to her throat.

  Penny exhanged a glance with Julia, then rose. “I think you both should stay here—there’s no need for you to see…”

  Turning, she headed for the door. Nicholas had risen when she did; he joined her. When they reached the door, he closed his hand on the knob, and looked at her. “You don’t have to see, either.”

  She met his gaze levelly. “I’ve been de facto mistress here for the last umpteen years. I hired Mary. Of course I need to see.”

  Neither Charles nor David were happy with her decision, but when she joined them in the cool store where they’d laid the limp body, neither attempted to gainsay her.

  Someone had lit a lamp, but left it
by the door; only faint light reached the table where Mary’s body lay. Even so, it wasn’t hard to see the purple marks circling her white neck, nor the protruding eyes and tongue. Penny stood just inside the door and looked, then Figgs pressed her arm and moved past, going to the table and straightening the rumpled skirts. She cleared her throat, addressed her question to the air, “Was she…do you know…?”

  “No.” It was Charles who answered. “She was strangled, nothing else.”

  Figgs nodded. “Thank you, my lord. Now, if you’ll leave us, Em and I will take care of her.”

  “Thank you, Figgs,” Penny murmured. Figgs and Em, who helped Cook, were the oldest women in the household; to them rightly fell such tasks.

  Charles moved to her side; she felt his hand close about her arm, sensed his strength close, and was grateful. He steered her out into the kitchen yard; David and Nicholas followed.

  They stopped in the middle of the yard; all drew in deep breaths.

  “Where did you find her?” Penny asked.

  “In the woods this side of Connell’s farm.” David shook his head. “Not far at all—we’d met up and were on our way back, searching as we came.” He shivered. “The blackguard had stuffed her body under a fallen tree. If Charles hadn’t thought to poke there…”

  David looked white as a sheet. Penny gripped his arm. “Come inside—you should all have something to warm you.”

  They went in. She detoured via the kitchens to give orders that all the men in the search party should be served ale and cold meats, then swept into the house to supervise the same for their masters.

  A dark and brooding atmosphere enveloped the house. Even though most hadn’t known Mary well, all had met her at one time or another, and this was the country—servants were people with families one knew. There was grief and confusion, shared by all; that sense of sharing, of adversity faced together, drew them closer, even Nicholas.

  Hubert, having sent his men straight home, appeared alone to report no sighting. He was told the news; he insisted on going out to the cool store. He returned shortly, greatly cast down. The Essingtons took their leave. Charles, Nicholas, and Penny saw them off with thanks, then returned to the library.

  Nicholas complied with Charles’s suggestion—more a direction—to write a note to Lord Culver informing him of their discovery.

  Charles, meanwhile, openly wrote a brief report for London.

  Ensconced in a chair, with no wish to spend time in her room by herself, Penny saw Nicholas glance at the sheet Charles was covering, but could read nothing beyond the deepening concern etched in his face.

  Completed, both notes were dispatched by a rider.

  Seeing no reason to abrade Nicholas’s sensibilities unnecessarily, Penny bade both him and Charles a good night in the front hall and climbed the stairs. She’d sent a message earlier excusing Ellie from waiting on her. Ellie and Mary had been friends; Ellie would be grieving.

  As for herself…in her bedroom, she walked to the window, unlatched it, and pushed it wide. Looking out on the peaceful courtyard, she drew a deep breath and held it.

  She thought of the man who’d come looking for her one night, thought of Mary, who that same man, it seemed, had now taken.

  Why Mary? Why her?

  Regardless, alongside her grief for Mary, she was immensely glad to be alive.

  Charles came in. She sensed rather than heard him; he always moved so silently. He joined her before the window; his hands about her waist, he stood looking out over her shoulder, then he turned her to him.

  She lifted her arms, draped them over his shoulders, and went into his arms. Felt them close around her, tight, felt the primal shudder that rippled through him as he pulled her against him. He bent his head, and their lips met, and nothing else mattered but that they were there, now, together and alive.

  Together they’d been before, but never had it been quite like this. Never before had they both, he and she, simply dropped every shield, released every inhibition, and celebrated the simple primitive fact.

  That they could be together like this. At this level, on this plane.

  Their clothes littered the floor between the window and the bed; their hands roved, not so much urgently as openly, flagrantly, blatantly possessively—neither doubted the other would be theirs tonight.

  The moon had yet to rise when he lifted her, when she wrapped her long legs about his hips and, head back, gasped as he impaled her.

  Gasped again as he moved within her.

  Then she raised her head, wrapped her arms about his neck, found his lips with hers, and they settled to the dance.

  No desperation this time but a soul-deep communion, a wanting, a need they both shared.

  Charles held her, thrust into her, following no script but that of deepest instinct. Tonight he didn’t need consciously to pander to her needs; tonight her needs and his were the same.

  No rush, no hurry; inevitable tension, yes, but no mindless urgency.

  So he felt every slick slide of his body into hers, savored the heat, the giving pressure, the incredible pleasure as she willingly took him in. Willingly enclasped him, held him, released him, only to welcome him in once more.

  Pleasure and more engulfed them, wrapped them about, lifted them from the world. They traveled on beyond the earth, to the moon, the stars and the sun, and never once lost their connection.

  They were together when they toppled from the last fiery peak, together when at last they collapsed on her bed. Together when they brushed hair from each other’s eyes so their gazes could meet and they could look, and know.

  And wonder.

  Neither said a word; they were both too afraid, and they knew that, too.

  They took refuge in the physical, in that reflection of their togetherness, in the warmth between them. Lids falling, they exchanged sleepy kisses, drew up the covers, sank into the bed, and slept.

  CHAPTER

  16

  BY MORNING THE NEWS OF MARY MAGGS’S MURDER HAD spread throughout the county. Gimby had been known to few; his murder had attracted little notice. Mary was another matter. The searchers had taken the ill tidings home with them; from there the news had spread far and wide.

  The Wallingham Hall household was, if not precisely in mourning, then somber and subdued. After breakfasting on tea and toast, Penny went to speak with and comfort Figgs. Together they planned the household chores, keeping all to a minimum, doing only what was needed to keep the house running. Penny decreed that the meals should be simple for the next several days.

  “Aye, well,” Figgs said on a sigh. “Mrs. Slattery at the Abbey sent two game pies and a lemon curd pudding this morning. She said as she suspected I had an extra mouth about, and as it was rightly one that was hers to fill, she hoped I’d accept the help.” Figgs sniffed. “Nice of her, I thought.”

  “Indeed.” Aware there were proprieties to be observed between households that were every bit as rigid as within the ton itself, Penny could only applaud Mrs. Slattery’s tact.

  Leaving Figgs, she returned to the front hall just as Lord Culver arrived. Charles had left her bed early; he’d ridden out to look around the site where they’d found Mary’s body, deliberately leaving Nicholas to deal with Culver. Charles was doing all he could to force the consequences of his silence on Nicholas, without compunction using any lever that came to hand to pressure Nicholas into telling him what he knew, or at least enough to capture the murderer.

  Nicholas had been expecting Culver; he came out of the library to greet him. She went forward as they shook hands, but merely exchanged greetings with Lord Culver, who murmured, “Distressing business, my dear.” She glided on into the drawing room. Being reclusive, Lord Culver was very definitely one of the “old school”; discussing anything so horrendous as murder within a lady’s hearing would render him acutely uncomfortable.

  Besides, she, too, was determined to convince Nicholas to confide his secrets; he could deal with Culver alone.

 
; From just inside the drawing room, she listened to him doing so. When the pair walked away down the hall, she turned and followed; it wouldn’t matter if they saw her, just as long as she remained apart from their discussion. Hanging back in the shadows of the kitchen courtyard, she watched as they entered the cool store. Their voices echoed in the stone building; Culver asked the expected questions, and Nicholas answered.

  Last night, Nicholas had looked stunned—horrified and unable to take in a second murder. This morning, when she’d met him briefly over the breakfast table, he’d looked ghastly—appalled, deeply disturbed, yet oddly resolute. It was almost as if the increasing pressure, instead of making him break, was increasing his resistance.