“That my residing here while you, too, are in residence is inappropriate?” Penny’s smile turned understanding. “Indeed, and with the Abbey so close, my second home, and with Cousin Emily there, it seemed wise not to give even the highest stickler cause to whisper. However.”
She looked at Charles; a faint smile curving her lips, she returned her gaze to Nicholas. “As Charles pointed out, residing under my ancestral roof with a distant relative is far more acceptable than residing under his roof with only him for company. That, even the least censorious would find difficult to countenance.”
They hadn’t discussed how to explain her return to Nicholas; Charles watched, more wryly amused than she could know as she airily, with quite spurious ingenuousness, informed Nicholas that sharing a roof with him was indisputably the lesser of two evils.
All he had to do to lend her story credence was to meet Nicholas’s eyes, and smile.
Nicholas considered his smile for only a second, then swallowed Penny’s story whole. Facing her, he manufactured a smile. “I see. Of course, in the circumstances, I’m happy to have you home again. Perhaps you could speak with Mrs. Figgs. She had a number of questions that I’m afraid I had no notion of. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have your hand on the tiller again.”
Penny rose. “Yes, of course. I’ll go and see her now, and I must change before luncheon.”
She looked at Charles. He’d turned to view the jumble of books Nicholas had been studying. “Learning the local lore, or were you looking for something specific?” He glanced at Nicholas. “Perhaps I could help?”
His gaze on the books, Nicholas hesitated, then said, “It was more by way of learning the local history.” He looked at Charles. “I understand there’s a tradition in these parts of preying on the French from the sea.”
Charles grinned, relaxed, unthreatening. “There’s the Fowey Gallants, of course—historical and contemporary. Have you come across them yet?”
“Only in the books.” Nicholas took the bait. “Are they still in existence?”
“I’ll leave you two to your discussions.” Penny picked up her trailing habit; already intent on furthering their quite different aims, the pair accorded her no more than vague nods as she turned away. Leaving the library, she inwardly shook her head. If Nicholas wasn’t careful, he’d soon be thinking the big bad wolf with the very sharp teeth was his very best friend.
She returned to the library an hour later, with luncheon shortly to be served. Garbed in a round gown of soft gray—perfect for the excursion she planned for later that afternoon—she walked in on a scene that had subtly altered.
It wasn’t just that Charles was now seated, elegantly relaxed in the chair before the fireplace, holding forth, or that Nicholas was leaning against the front edge of the library desk, hanging on Charles’s every word. No. Something had happened while she’d been out of the room. She knew it the instant they both looked at her.
Charles smiled, and a tingle ran from her crown to her heels, leaving all places between alert, on edge. Tensing. Slowly, employing to the full that ridiculous extreme of languid grace he possessed, he uncrossed his long legs and stood.
Nicholas looked from her to Charles and back again, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Ah…Charles explained your…understanding.”
She blinked. Managed not to parrot, Understanding?
“Mmm,” Charles purred, strolling toward her. His sensuality, not this time menacing so much as enveloping, was unrestrained, a tangible force, a current carried on thin air, reaching for her, wrapping about her. “Given you’re now fixed here, and he’ll therefore no doubt see us together, I didn’t want Arbry getting the wrong idea.”
His eyes had locked on hers; reading all that glittered in the deep dark blue, she saw not just satisfaction at the consummate mastery with which he’d exploited the situation, making Nicholas feel that he had no real interest in him, but also a devilish glint she’d seen often enough in the eyes of a wild and reckless youth. “I see.”
His long lips lifted; he smiled into her eyes. “I felt sure you would.”
Halting beside her, he reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips.
Eyes locked on hers, he kissed.
Damn, he was good. She was distantly aware that Nicholas was watching, yet was far more aware of the compulsion drawing her to Charles, weakening her resistance, making her wish to lean into him, to lift her face and offer her lips…the clearing of a throat behind her broke the spell.
“Luncheon is served, my lady, my lords.”
Thank heaven! She managed to half turn and acknowledge Norris. Charles lightly squeezed her fingers, then set her hand on his sleeve.
He turned her to the door, glancing back at Nicholas. “Shall we?”
Luncheon had been set out in the small dining parlor overlooking the back garden. Charles seated her at the round table, then took the chair on her left; Nicholas claimed the one on her right.
Under cover of the conversation—about horses, local industries, the local crops—the casual conversation any two landowners might exchange, she tried to imagine what “understanding” Charles had revealed to Nicholas.
The basic element was easy to guess, but just how far had he gone? Having glimpsed that glint in his eye, she was longing to get him alone and wring the truth from him. And most likely, knowing him, berate him after that. She spent most of the meal planning for that last.
In between, she watched Nicholas. Even though he was distracted by Charles’s glib facade, still wary yet not sure how wary he needed to be, there remained an essential reserve, a nervous watchfulness that didn’t bode well for a guilt-free conscience.
Was she sitting beside a murderer?