“And he believed you?”
He glanced briefly at her. “What’s so strange about that?” Looking ahead, he went on, “I’ve recently returned from the wars to assume an inheritance and responsibilities I never thought would be mine. I accept I need to marry, but have little time for the marriage mart nor liking for chits with hay for wits, and here you are—a lady of my own class I’ve known for forever, and you’re still unmarried. Perfect.”
She didn’t like it, not one bit. Taking three quick strides, she got ahead of him and swung to face him, forcing him to halt.
So she could look him in the eye. Study those midnight blue eyes she couldn’t always read…they were unreadable now, but watching her. “Charles…”
She couldn’t think how to phrase it—how to warn him not to imagine…
He arched a brow. They were almost breast to chest. Without warning, he bent his head and brushed his lips, infinitely lightly, across hers.
“Fowey,” he breathed. “Remember?”
She closed her eyes, mentally cursed as familiar heat streaked down her spine, then jerked her eyes open as, her hand locked in his, he towed her around and on.
“Come on.”
She let out an exasperated hiss. If he was going to be difficult, he would be, and there was nothing she could do to change that.
Granville’s curricle was waiting when they reached the stable yard, a pair of young blacks between the shafts. Charles lifted her up to the seat, then followed. She grabbed the rail as the curricle tipped with his weight, then he sat; she fussed with her skirts, helpless to prevent their thighs, hips, and shoulders from touching almost constantly.
It was not destined to be a comfortable drive.
Charles flicked the whip and expertly steered the pair down the drive. She paid no attention to the familiar scenery; instead, she revisited the scene in the library before luncheon, and luncheon, too, incorporating Nicholas’s belief in their “understanding”…Nicholas’s reactions still didn’t quite fit.
She drew in a tight breath. “You told him we were lovers.”
Eventually, Charles replied, “I didn’t actually say so.”
“But you led him to think it. Why?”
She glanced at him, but he kept his gaze on the horses.
“Because it was the most efficient way of convincing him that if he so much as reaches out a hand toward you, I’ll chop it off.”
Any other man and it would have sounded melodramatic. But she knew him, knew his voice—recognized the statement as cold hard fact. She’d seen the currents lurking beneath his surface, the menace, knew it was real; he was perfectly capable of being that violent.
Never to her, or indeed any woman. On her behalf, however…
She let out a long breath. “It’s one thing to protect me, but just remember—you don’t own me.”
“If I owned you, you would at this moment be locked in my apartments at the Abbey.”
“Well, you don’t, I’m not—you’ll just have to get used to it.”
Or do something to change the status quo. Charles kept his tongue still and steered the curricle down the road to Fowey.
They left the curricle at the Pelican and strolled down to the quay.
Penny scanned the harbor. “The fleet is out.”
“Not for long.” He nodded to the horizon. A flotilla of sails were drawing nearer. “They’re on their way in. We’ll have to hurry.”
He took her arm, and they turned up into the meaner lanes, eventually reaching Mother Gibbs’s door. He knocked. A minute later, the door cracked open, and Mother Gibbs peered out.
She was flabbergasted to see him, a point he saw Penny note.
“M’lord—Lady Penelope.” Mother Gibbs bobbed. “How can I help ye?”