Her gaze lingered on Penny, who had stopped to talk with Jacqueline and Lydia, who had squealed and pounced on her—the reason he’d made sure she preceded him into the room. Seated nearby, Annabelle and Helen were eagerly listening to Jacqueline’s inquisition and Penny’s replies.
Smiling, his mother looked up at him. “Business?”
Dragging his eyes from the scene, his mind from wondering how Penny was coping, he nodded. “We’ve just come from Amberly House.”
His mother’s eyes widened—the marquess was the titular head of Penny’s family. He rapidly clarified, “It’s the same business that took me away.” Pulling up a chair, he sat beside her. “Arbry was at Wallingham.”
He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “I haven’t yet told Elaine—we need to keep the whole quiet, at least for the moment, but…” Briefly he explained how the Selbornes had been involved in a long-running scheme providing incorrect information to the French, and how some French agent was now intent on exacting revenge.
“Good God!” His mother’s gaze went to Penny. “Penny will remain here, of course.”
His frustrated sigh had her glancing back at him. He felt her eyes searching his face, but kept his gaze on Penny. “I would, quite obviously, prefer she remain here, with you or with Elaine, but I doubt she’ll agree.”
A moment passed, then his mother merely said, “Hmm…I see.”
When he looked at her, she was studying Penny.
“Still,” she mused, “at your relative ages, it’s to be hoped you both know what you’re doing.”
He did. It didn’t make the doing—the adjusting—any easier.
“So.” His mother turned to him. “How long will you be in town?”
“Just tonight—and no, we won’t be attending any events. We’ll be leaving for Amberly Grange in the morning.”
He stood, intending to go back down the room and greet his sisters and sisters-in-law. The twinkle in his mother’s eye made him pause. “What?”
At his suspicious tone, she smiled—gloriously smug. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to hide away here, not tonight.”
A hideous thought bloomed. “Why?”
“Because I’m hosting a dinner, followed by a ball.”
When he only just succeeded in biting back an oath, she raised her brows at him, not the least bit sympathetic. “Without the distraction of organizing your life, your sisters fell back on theirs. As it happens”—she gave him her hand and let him help her to her feet—“there’s a captain in some regiment who’s been casting himself at Lydia’s feet, and a rakehell if ever I saw one sniffing at Jacqueline’s skirts—not that either Lydia or Jacqueline is likely to succumb, but it’s just as well that you’re here.”
She patted his arm, ignored his groan. “Now come, I must warn Penny.”
It was two o’clock in the morning before, with the captain and the rakehell routed and most of the guests long gone, Charles finally succeeded in seizing Penny’s hand and dragging her upstairs. To his room.
She protested; her hand locked in his, he kept walking down the corridor to the earl’s apartments, now his private domain. He didn’t release her until they were in his bedroom and he’d locked the door.
Exasperated, she sighed and met his eyes. “This is hardly the right example to set for your sisters.”
He shrugged out of his evening coat, then looked down as he unlaced his cuffs. “I’m not sure this isn’t exactly the right example to set them.”
Placing her earrings on a side table, she looked at him, puzzled, but he made no move to explain. Insisting she spend the night in his room, in his bed, with absolutely no concern over who in his household knew of it, was, to his mind, a clear declaration of his commitment to their goal—to her being his wife. Nothing else could explain such a blatant act; he was certain his mother, sisters, and even more his sisters-in-law, would see it for the admission it was.
They’d probably coo. Thank God he wouldn’t be about to hear them.
Penny pulled pins from her hair, then unraveled the intricate braid Jacqueline’s maid had set her long tresses in. She assumed she was in his room rather than him being in hers because her room was near his sisters’, and thus far since returning from Amberly House they hadn’t had a chance to talk—he hadn’t had a chance to persuade her to remain in London. She knew the argument was coming, had known it from the moment she’d jockeyed him into bringing her to town. In London with his mother, or Elaine, was where he would deem her safest, where he would prefer her to be.
That was not, however, where she needed to be.
But she couldn’t explain until he broached the subject. Combing out her long hair with her fingers, she shook it free, then started undoing the buttons on her gown.
Still in his trousers, he stopped behind her and undid her laces. She murmured her thanks, then drew the long silk sheath off over her head; she felt his hands slide around her as she shook the gown out. Tossing it aside, clad only in her fine chemise, she let him draw her back against him. Let him wrap his arms around her and surround her with his strength.
Bending his head, he pressed his lips to her throat, lingered there. She could almost hear him thinking how best to open the debate, then he raised his head, steadied her, and stepped back. “Before I forget…”
Crossing to his tallboy, he lifted a letter from the top. “This was waiting for me.” He handed it to her. “It’s really for you.”
Puzzled anew, she took it, unfolded the sheets, smoothed them, and read. It was an account of an engagement at Waterloo, written by a corporal who’d been in the same troop as Granville.
She read the opening paragraph, slowly moved to the bed and sank down as the action unfolded, told in the young corporal’s unpolished phrases. She read on, aware that Charles sat beside her; blindly, she reached for him. He took her hand, wrapped his around it, held it while through the corporal’s eyes she saw and learned of the circumstances of Granville’s death.
When she reached the end, she let the letter refold, sat for a moment, then glanced at Charles. “Where…how did you get this?”
“I knew Devil Cynster led a troop of cavalry in the relief of Hougoumont. It was likely he or some of his men would know various survivors, so I asked. One of his cousins had assisted Granville’s troop afterward; he remembered the corporal and searched him out.” He nodded at the letter. “The corporal remembered Granville.”
Mistily, she smiled at him. “Thank you.” She glanced at the sheets in her hand. “It means a lot knowing he died a hero. In some way it makes it, not easier, but less of a waste.”
After a moment, she looked at him. “Can I give this to Elaine?”
“Of course.”
She rose, crossed to the side table, and left the letter with her jewelry. Turning back, she paused, studied him waiting for her, broad chest bare, his dark mane framing his dramatically beautiful face, his midnight eyes steady on her. He held out one hand. She walked to him, gave him her fingers, and let him clasp them as she sat again on the bed, angling to face him as he shifted to face her.
He searched her eyes, then simply said, “Please stay here and let me and Dalziel handle whatever happens at Amberly Grange.”
She studied his eyes, equally simply replied, “No.”
The planes of his face hardened. He opened his lips—she stayed him with a raised hand. “No—wait. I need to think.”
His eyes widened incredulously, then he flopped back on the bed, gave vent to a pungent curse, followed by a muttered diatribe on the quality of her thought processes and her familial failing regarding same.
She fought to straighten her lips, aware of the tension riding him—aware of its source. “I know why you want me to stay here.”
His dark gaze flicked down to fix on her face. “If you know what violence it does to my feelings to have you exposed to any danger, let alone a madman who’d be quite happy to slit your throat”—he came up on one elbow, patently unable to keep still—“
then you shouldn’t have to think too hard.”
She met his blatantly intimidating gaze. “Except that there’s more at stake here, something more important than just catering to your protective instincts.”
For a moment, he stared into her eyes, then he sighed tensely and looked away. And sotto voce in idiomatic French reminded himself of the futility of arguing with her.
She tightened her fingers, squeezing his hand. “I understood that.”
He glanced at her, and humphed.
They were both trying to lighten a fraught moment—fraught with emotion rather than threats. Dealing with emotions had never come easily to either of them; what they now had to face, to manage, accommodate and ease, was daunting.
He was descended from warrior lords; one of his strongest instincts was to protect, especially those he cared about, especially the females in his life. Especially her. She’d accepted that in drawing close to him again, his protective instinct would flare again, and it had, even more fiercely than before. But she was neither weak nor helpless, and he’d always acknowledged that and tried to rein in his impulses so they didn’t unnecessarily abrade her pride. However, this time the danger was immediate and very real; he wouldn’t easily be persuaded to let her face it with him.
She searched his dark eyes, saw, understood, and felt certain, this time, that it was important she be with him; why, however, wasn’t easy to explain.
Slipping her fingers from his, she slid from the bed and stood; clasping her elbows, she walked a few paces, then turned and slowly paced back.
Charles watched her, saw the concentration in her face as she assembled her thoughts. As she neared the bed, he sat up. She lowered her arms; he reached for her hands and drew her to stand between his knees.
She looked into his eyes, her gaze steady; her fingers locked with his. “There are two reasons I need to go with you. The minor one is that this ‘game’ was a Selborne enterprise—concocted, instituted, and executed for years by Amberly and my father. Amberly represents his side of it, I represent my father and Granville, who are no longer here. It’s right that Amberly should have one of us beside him to the end.”
She paused, then went on, “I could point out how old and frail he is, but it’s more a question of family loyalties, and that’s something I know you understand.”
He arched a resigned brow. “No point arguing?”
“In my shoes, you’d do the same.”
He couldn’t contradict her. “What’s the other, more important reason?”
You. Sliding her fingers from his, Penny raised her hands and framed his face, looked into his midnight eyes. She watched his expression harden as he read the resolution in hers. “It’s important to me to see this through with you, by your side. We’ve been apart for a long time; I’ve been out of your life for more than a decade, and you’ve been out of mine. If we’re to marry, if I’m to be your wife, then I’ll expect to share your life—all of it. I won’t be cut out, shielded, tucked away even for my own safety. If we’re to marry, then I’ll be by your side not just figuratively but literally.”
She now understood how important that was—for him no longer to be alone, for her to be with him. She’d decided to accompany him to London more than anything because instinct had insisted she should.
Instinct hadn’t lied. Alerted by it, she’d watched him since they’d left Wallingham; she could now see beyond his mask most of the time. She’d observed how he’d behaved and reacted during the grueling journey, through their arrival here, their interview with Amberly and Dalziel, and even more tellingly, in dealing with his womenfolk. She’d seen how he’d coped with her beside him, and contrasted that with how he would have managed if she hadn’t been.
If she’d harbored any doubt of the difference her presence made, his behavior over the evening would have slain it. When they’d greeted the first guests, she’d seen how inwardly tense he’d been, although not a hint showed, even to his sisters; his mask of devil-may-care bonhomie was exceptionally good, exceptionally distracting. At first, knowing his background and experience in ballrooms, she’d been at a loss to understand his difficulty, then she’d caught him swiftly scanning the room, and realized—he held everyone at a distance. He was used to being completely alone, even in a crowd, guarding against everyone, trusting no one…except her.
As the evening wore on, and he realized she didn’t mind being used, that she was amenable to being his link, his connection with the glittering throng, his interactions with others subtly changed, shifted. By the end of the night, much of his defensive tension had left him. When he laughed, it was more genuine, from his soul.
She was the only person he trusted unreservedly, without thought. She could be his anchor, his trusted link with others, one he now, after all his years of being alone, desperately needed. His mother understood, possibly the only other who saw clearly; from across the ballroom, she’d smiled her approval. A few other matrons who knew them both well probably suspected.
He needed her. He’d told her so, in multiple ways, but she hadn’t truly appreciated how real that need was. She was still getting used to the situation; she had yet to learn how, between them, they needed to deal with it.
Lost in his eyes, in all she could now see, she drew in a deep breath; releasing his face she lowered her hands, found his and let their fingers twine and grip. “We’ve missed a lot of each other’s lives, but there’s no reason for that to continue. If we’re to face the future together, it has to be all the future, side by side.”
His eyes had narrowed, gaze sharp as he searched hers, reading her message. She wasn’t agreeing to marry him; she was establishing parameters. After a moment he confirmed, “That’s the sort of marriage you want—the sort of marriage you’ll agree to?”
“Yes.” She held his gaze. “If you want all of my future, then I want all of yours, not just the parts you think safe for me to share.”
Not the wisest ultimatum to put to a man like him. She’d tried to avoid it, but cloaking his need and her determination to fulfill it in her usual willful stubbornness seemed the simplest way forward.
His expression impassive, he stared at her for ten heartbeats, then he carefully set her back from him, stood, and paced away. His back to her, he stopped. Hands rising to his hips, he looked up at the ceiling, then swung around and impaled her with a gaze that held all the turbulent power of a storm-racked night. He’d spoken of violence and it was there; she knew it wasn’t feigned.
“What you ask isn’t—” He sliced off his next word with an abrupt gesture.
“Easy?” Propping her hip against the bed, she folded her arms and lifted her chin. “I know—I know you.”
He held her gaze, then exhaled through clenched teeth. “If you know me so well, you know that asking me to let you go into danger—”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He frowned.
“I said I wanted to be with you. If I am, by definition I’m not in danger.” Pushing away from the bed, she walked to him. “If there’s danger, I’ll be perfectly content to stand behind you. I don’t even need to help with what you have to do.” Halting, she laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. “I simply need to be with you.”
A certain wariness filled his eyes. Raising a hand, he closed it over hers, held her palm to his chest. “You don’t have to be with me physically—”
“Yes, I do. Now, I do. Years ago, perhaps not.” She held his gaze. “The youth you used to be is not the man you are. The man you are learned to be alone—very alone, very apart. You can keep the rest of the world at bay, but if we marry, you can’t and won’t keep me at a distance.” After a moment, she softly added, “I won’t let you—I won’t accept that.”
She wouldn’t accept leaving him to deal with life alone.
He understood what she was demanding; she saw comprehension in his eyes, a center of calm coalescing in the darkness.
A long moment passed, then he exhaled. He briefly close
d his eyes, then opened them. “Very well.” His eyes were still stormy when they met hers. “We’ll go to Amberly Grange tomorrow, and…we’ll see.”
CHAPTER
22
HE’D KNOWN WINNING HER WOULDN’T BE EASY, BUT HE hadn’t expected it to be this hard. It had been bad enough when she’d returned to Wallingham; given all that had evolved between them since, taking her with him to Amberly Grange was a hundred times worse.
As the carriage rocked and swayed, four horses swiftly drawing them into Berkshire, Charles sat beside Penny and contemplated fate’s ironies.
A Lady of His Own Page 45
